Troubled Waters

By Bobby A. Troutt

Copyright 2011 Bobby A. Troutt

Smashwords Edition


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Table of Contents

Short Creek
Web of Deceit
Fourteen New Shiny Pennies
A Table for Three
The Audrey Moore Scandal


*****


Troubled Waters
Short Creek
In 1964 it rained nonstop for four days in the little town of Halfway, Mississippi, in Guthrie County.  Finally, a week later, the creek crested and the waters flowed back within its banks.  I’ll always remember that day when I received a phone call from Oscar Dillehay, who was now the Sheriff in Halfway.  My name is James W. Donohue.  I am a retired U.S. Marshall.  As Oscar and I talked, caught up on some of the things since we had lost contact.  I asked him about Nancy, his wife, and Chad, his son.
“Nancy is doing fine,” he said.  “But Chad, I don’t guess you have heard?”
“Heard what?” I asked.
“We lost Chad in a car wreck a few years ago,” he replied.
“Oh, I didn’t know.  I’m sorry to hear that, Oscar.  It must be hard.”
“We’re making it,” he said.  “We still have our moments.”
“Yeah, I know it’s hard sometimes to let them go,” I agreed.
It was good to hear from an old friend.  We had a lot to catch up on.  But that wasn’t the reason he called.  He told me that Short Creek had overflowed its banks causing flooding, mudslides, and washed out roads and bridges.  The best I remember, Short Creek ran about a mile above Benton Bridge, down through Hidden Hollow through Halfway, and emptied out into Coon Creek just north of the delta about Jasper’s Rock.  Evidently, the sweeping rains had opened up some ghosts of my past, and now it would bring me back to Halfway to face my demons.
Oscar briefly filled me in.  He stated that some boys were playing along the banks of Short Creek when they uncovered a skeletal hand from a body.  He believed the body had been there for years and the flooding had washed it out of its grave.  
“What does it have to do with me?” I asked.
He replied, “They found a locket around the neck of the skeleton engraved with the name Melba Jean.”
Suddenly, my heart seemed like it fell into my stomach as sweat broke out on my forehead.  I was speechless at first.  
“Are you sure?” I cried.
“Yes, I’m afraid so,” he said.  “The locket is identical to all the others.  I thought you would want to know.”
I paused for a minute and dropped my head into my hands.  Then I replied, “I do, Oscar, I do.  I’m glad you let me know.  Give me about an hour and I’ll be there.”
“Okay, James, I’ll see you when you get here.”
“Oh, by the way, did they find much of the body?” I asked.
“Most of it is bones and some small pieces of clothes,” he replied.  “We found some hair particles and oh, yes, a wedding band.”
“Oscar, are you thinking what I’m thinking?” I asked him.
“You got it,” he said.  “We may have finally found Melba Jean Willoughby’s missing body.  I bet it’s been at least 15 maybe 20 years ago.”
“I’m thinking the same thing,” I replied.  “Oscar, I’ll see you in about an hour.”
“Alright, James, I will see you then.”
As I slowly hung up the phone, I couldn’t believe it.  Nearly twenty years later, the missing body appears.  Maybe it would give me the answer I needed to put a close on the unsolved case that had haunted me for years.  Maybe the nightmares would end.  I hurried to get ready.  I was anxious to look at the new development in the case.
I didn’t live too far from Halfway.  I lived over in neighboring Giles County in a little town of Flat Rock.  As I was driving over, I tried to remember a little about Halfway.  It seemed like it had been so long ago.  Of course the courthouse was the centerpiece of the square.  There were grocery stores, barber shops, a garage, couple of churches, a five & dime, a small park, restaurants, and a post office.  It was a pretty good size town, probably bigger now than then.  There was a popcorn stand on the square that sold some of the best popcorn I had ever eaten.  It was called the Corn Crib.  It also had candy and drinks.  I’ll have to go by there and get me some of that popcorn, I thought.  On Saturday evenings, crowds of people would go by the Crib to buy popcorn and catch a picture show down the street at the Palace Theater.  I looked forward to returning to Halfway.
As I drove, I went over some of the details from the phone call.  It was in ‘44 or ‘45 when Melba Jean had disappeared.  Who would have thought she’d be buried along the banks of Short Creek?  Oscar was a young deputy back then.  I remember him as an excited, adventurous officer when I first met him.  He was pretty sharp and full of spunk.
Oscar informed me they had finished digging up the bones of the body and sent them to the crime lab in Jackson.  The report showed the body had been buried at least twenty years ago.  Before I retired, I was working on the case in 1945 around Halfway and Short Creek.  It all began to haunt me once again.  I was trying to put together the missing pieces, wondering if I had overlooked a key part of the evidence.  I wondered if the doors of the mystery had finally opened, that I may have peace.
I had been on the road about thirty minutes when I noticed I needed some gas.  I pulled up to the next filling station and put some in and got me some cigarettes.  As the man at the station filled my car up, I slowly opened my pack of cigarettes.  I tapped the pack on my finger and out slipped a smoke.  I placed it in my mouth, lit up, and began to inhale.  As I reached for it to take it away from my mouth, I slowly blew the smoke out.  It was good until I started to cough.  After a short coughing spell, I reached for the cigarette again.  But, I remembered the doctor had told me to give them up.  But that was easier said than done.  Then I started coughing again and decided to crush it out in the ashtray and drove on. 
When I reached Halfway, I pulled in at the Sheriff’s office.  As I got out, I noticed the town hadn’t changed a lot.  I looked about and saw some officers leaving and some coming out of the door of the station.  It brought back so many memories.  I reached in my shirt pocket for a cigarette and lit one up.  As I stood there that day, I enjoyed my smoke and a beautiful day.  I spoke to some officers as they passed and not far out of town you could hear the siren of where they probably caught someone speeding.  Would I do it again?  I don’t really know.  I finished my cigarette and dropped it on the ground, crushed it out with my foot and walked into the station.  Oscar met me inside.  As we entered his office, I looked around.  He had all the cold case files on the case in his office.  I began to prowl around in the boxes.  I couldn’t believe it, all this work and time and still an unsolved crime.  Where, oh, where did I miss the mark?  
 “James, this is your case,” Oscar stated.  “It always has been yours and the Sheriff’s department is here to help in any way.  Welcome back to work.”
I didn’t know what to say.  Once again I was faced with the unsolved case of my career.  
“Where do I begin?” I said.
Oscar handed me the necklace that was found on Melba Jean’s skeleton.  It was like the others: a silver heart with a diamond chip in the center. Inside was her name, and the picture was gone.  
“I want to set up a team of good, sharp officers,” I said, “to help me go back through the evidence and start all over.”
“You got it, James, and I’ll give you the best deputies I have,” Oscar replied.  “You’ll also need a place to work.  I’ll set up one of the rooms across the hall for you to work in.”
Within an hour, Oscar had it all set up and I was briefing the officers on the background of the case.  As I thumbed through the old photographs of the victims, cold chills ran all over me as if I had seen them for the first time.  Slowly, I placed them one at a time on the bulletin board behind me as I made some brief comments on each of them to the officers.  
“These are the victims, all between 45 to 52 years of age, all divorced or separated except for the last victim.  None of the victims had children.  The first victim, Sarah Bennings, was 46 years of age and a widow from Hamilton County.  Ruby Kay was 45 years of age, the youngest victim, and a divorcee from Giles County.  Paulette Johns was 51 years of age from Hamilton County and separated from her husband, who was in prison.  Vera McDuffie was a 46 year old divorcee from Giles County; her husband died from a heart attack three years after her death.” 
 I paused for a few minutes as my eyes began to water and my throat knotted up.  “She was my sister….”  
It took me a few minutes to get a hold of myself as I placed her picture on the board.  “Melba Jean Willoughby, the last victim, was 48 years of age and married from Guthrie County.”  
I continued, “One of the women was found in her bedroom.  The victim had been choked to death from behind.  The body was left lying on the floor beside the bed.  The bed had not been touched and nothing in the house was found out of place.  It appeared that the killer followed her up to the bedroom and then killed her.  One victim was found in her backyard.  She may have tried to get away.  One was thrown into a pond behind her house, another victim was in a motel room, and Melba Jean was buried at Short Creek and the other one was found in the motel not far from town.  Each of these victims had been strangled and their necks were broken.”
I reached into the box and pulled out a plastic bag with the necklaces inside.  Each victim had a necklace on when they died or at home in a jewelry box.  All of the victims lived by themselves except Melba Jean, and she was still married.  There were no signs of a struggle, no fingerprints, no blood, and no hair particles.  We believe the killer wore some type of hairnet and gloves.
Then one of the officers spoke up, “They must have known the killer very well to get that close.”
“That’s what we believe,” I replied.  “There was no sign of forced entry and no robbery.”
“What about sexual activity,” spoke up another officer?
“There was none with any of the victims.”
“What about the last body found around Short Creek?” asked another officer.
“We are still waiting on tests on Melba Jean.  I don’t think we have much luck with her because it’s been so long.  But, to go on with the question, no there was no rape or any kind of sexual assault.  We’re not really sure about the motive.  There may be more than one reason why.  Each victim had money in the bank, but there was no substantial sum taken out around the time of the murders.  The woman at the motel got a room in the early part of the evening.  She was alone at the time.  Sometime between 11:30 p.m. and 7:10 a.m., the maid found her body. The cover on the bed had been turned down but there was no sign that anyone had been in the bed.  She was found lying across the bed, dead.  Again there was no forced entry or struggle.  Vera was found floating in the pond face down and Melba Jean had disappeared and no one could find her until just a few days ago.  It was as close to a perfect crime I had ever seen.  It was like the killer was a ghost.  One day he appears, one minute he’s there, and the next minute he is somewhere else.  His random killing spree made it almost impossible to pinpoint his next move.  At the pond where they found one woman, they found a bunch of cow tracks in the mud.  That made it hard for us to find any shoe or boot prints.  But they did find some small round peg-like tracks in the mud about the pond.  Speculation was they were the ends of a walking cane.  
“That brings me to the suspect, William David Ward.  He was a nice looking young man with dark eyes, wavy black hair, and a dark complexion.  He was part gypsy.  A real woman’s man, I guess you could say.  He traveled around the country, peddling pots and pans, material, hats, medicine, vegetables, clothes, shoes, tobacco products, and scarves.  He is now serving a thirty year sentence for the murder of Melba Jean in the Jackson State Prison.  He was tried and convicted on slim-to-none circumstantial evidence.  We were not completely sure if he was the man or not.  I hoped we hadn’t sent an innocent man to prison.  The strongest evidence of his case was he was having an affair with Melba Jean and he had been with her the day she disappeared.  If that sounds like case closed, it’s not.  We still have five unsolved murders that maybe linked to him.  He had a little brother by the name of Danny Ward, nicknamed ‘Shakey.’  Danny was the right opposite of William David.  He was short and a little chubby.  He had an acne problem on his face, more white skin, and dark straight hair. Danny was a cripple.  He wore braces on his legs and walked with two canes.  It appeared that Danny, the younger brother, worshipped his older brother.  He wanted to be like him, a ladies’ man.  But due to his looks and complexion his circumstances made the ladies shy away from him.  But when we investigated there were no signs of mud or dirt from the pond.  The canes were completely wiped clean.  Not only that, he had an alibi.  He had spent all day with his brother and they had not been out of each other’s sight at the time of the murders.  That, gentlemen, was their story throughout this whole investigation.  We could not find a way of breaking their alibi.  It was airtight.  What do I think, men?  I believe they did it, but we never could get enough hard, strong evidence to support our theory.  Some of the townspeople even believed they had seen them out together about town, but they weren’t sure of the time.  There was no way of placing them at the scene of the crime.  No one was sure of the time, and their alibi they were always together.  But, there was a common denominator of the case and that was each victim, a few weeks before Melba Jean’s death she had been seen with the peddler.  The peddler was never pinpointed at the scene of the time of the crime, nor around the area of the scene.  Some of the murders took place at night, some in the daylight, and early morning.  Before we take a little break, I do want to mention that at some of the murder scenes there was a slight odor, like a cigarette or cigar smell.  But, as we followed in the investigation, it appeared that neither William David nor Danny smoked.  We assumed once again that the killer smoked a cigar after the murders as some sort of ritual celebration of his victory over the victim.  Speaking of smoking, let’s take a break and come back in about fifteen minutes.”
As the officers filed out one by one I made my way to the door.  I was about to die for a smoke.  As I stepped outside in front of the station, Oscar approached me.  I quickly placed a cigarette in my mouth and started to light it but didn’t have a match.  I was out of matches.  I must have left my lighter at home on the table, I thought.
“Oscar,” I said as he appeared beside me.  “Do you have a light?”
As he ran his hand down into his pocket, he pulled out a book of matches.  I reached for them, took one match, and struck it.  As I placed it at the end of the cigarette the end turned red with fire 
“What a relief,” I said as I blew out the smoke. 
As I enjoyed my smoke, Oscar gave me an update on Melba Jean.  The dental records confirmed that the body was definitely Melba Jean.  With only a few of her bones it was going to be hard to determine how she died.  As I stood there listening, I lit another cigarette.  As I puffed on it, the smoke encircled my head and I began to cough.  
“James, are you alright?” Oscar said.
I tried to answer him but I was coughing so bad I had to throw the cigarette down. 
“James,” he said again.
“I’m okay,” I replied.  “It’s just a little allergy.”
“That cough sounds bad.  Have you been to the doctor about it?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I replied.  “He said it was nothing.  He says I should quit smoking.”
Finally, I stopped coughing and told Oscar I would work on it.  Then we headed back in to the conference room.  As we all gathered around as a group, we exchanged our thoughts and ideas.  We then divided up in pairs.  
“Men,” I said, “I want each team to take the names of the people that were interviewed at that time.  Interview them again and see what you can find out.  Some of the people have passed on.  Just do what you can.   There may be someone who saw something but kept quiet about it.  They may not have wanted to get involved.”
 Then an officer spoke up.  “Did the necklace give you any leads?”
“Good question,” I replied.  “I meant to bring that up.  The necklace was traced back to a small gypsy village in Italy.  But there was never a necklace found on the two brothers or in their truck.  The locket was a sign of eternal love.  The jeweler in question was interviewed twice, but we could not make a connection with the peddler or his brother.  Men, that’s about all that we have.  The rest of it will be leg work of interviews and pure luck.  Good luck, men.  If you have any questions, feel free to ask.  I may not have the answer but maybe we can find one.”
The following two weeks were crucial.  We were hoping to uncover new evidence in the case so that the judge would reopen the case of a full blown investigation and put away the ghosts of my past.  If the judge could find fit cause to reopen the case after all these years that would give us the manpower and the money to pursue more advanced technology than we had before.
As I reached into my shirt pocket for a cigarette Oscar hollered for me.  He was in his office.
“Do you want some popcorn?” he asked.  
“From the Corn Crib,” I replied.  “You bet.”
 “I’m buying,” he said.
As we walked and talked about the new evidence of the case of finding Melba Jean’s body, I finished my smoke.  We both knew that it was a long shot to find enough evidence to try William David for the five unsolved murders.
“Oscar, is William David still in Jackson State Penitentiary?”
Oscar replied, “As far as I know.”
“I’d like for us to go up there and have another talk with him.  Can you arrange that?” I asked.
“Sure,” answered Oscar.  “That won’t be any trouble.”
When we got to the stand it was as I remembered it and the smell made my mouth water.  It was as good as I remembered or maybe even better.  
“James, meet Benny, old man Willie’s son.  He took the Crib over when Willie died a few years back.”
“Hi, Benny,” I said.  “You’ve got your dad’s touch with the corn.  It’s good.”
“Thank you, sir,” he replied.
“Hey, I’ve got a good idea,” said Oscar.  “Why don’t you come over to my house for supper tonight?”
I hesitated, “I don’t know.”
“When was the last time you had a good old hot meal?” he asked.
“Well,” I slowly replied.  “It’s been awhile.”
“What about it?” he encouraged.  “Nancy will be glad to see you again.”
“Well,” I replied, “since you twisted my arm, I guess so.  It won’t be any trouble for Nancy will it?”
“No way,” said Oscar.  “She’d love to see you again.  I’ll call her when we get back to the office and tell her you’re coming.”
As we turned and headed back to the station, Oscar told me while he was on the phone he’d call the warden at Jackson and see about making an appointment to see William David.  
The day soon passed and I drove up at Oscar’s house.  It still looked the same.  It was his dad’s old place.  He was a fireman when Oscar was growing up.  He got burned real badly when they were putting out a house fire.  The roof caved in on him.  By the time they got to him it was almost too late.  He spent a little over a year in the burn center and was later put into a nursing home where he finally passed.  As I got out of the car I headed for the front porch.  Oscar and Nancy met me at the door.  She reached out and hugged me.
“Will James Donohue, it sure has been a while.”
“You sure look great,” I said.
She took me by the arm and Oscar by his arm and waltzed up into the house.
“You always were a man of flattering words,” she laughed.
“Mmm, mmm, what on earth are you cooking?” I cried.
“Oh, nothing much,” she stated.  “Just some white beans, hoecakes, stewed potatoes, turnip greens, slaw, some homemade macaroni and cheese, and chocolate pie and fried apple pies for dessert.”
We sat awhile and talked about the old days.  I enjoyed being with them, but I still had the case stirring in my mind.  My thoughts raced in my head, they were tossing and turning.  What had I missed?  What could I have overlooked?  I didn’t want to talk about the case around them at home.  So I excused myself and stepped outside for a smoke.  
“She’s a good woman, Oscar,” I said.
“I agree to that,” he replied.  “You can’t let it go can you James.”
 “No, Oscar,” I replied. “It’s hard to do.  Does it show that bad?  I’ll never be able to let it go until I find my sister’s killer.  Senseless acts of murder for no reason.”
 Nancy came to the screen door, “Let’s eat,” she announced.
I took a couple of hits of my cigarette and thumped it out into the yard.  Then I started coughing again.  I paused for a few minutes as I reached into my pocket and pulled out an inhaler and breathed in the medicine.  The cough slowly eased up.  
“That sure is an awfully bad cough,” Nancy said as she stood and held the screen door open.  “Go in there and eat you a good hot meal and relax.  I have some cold iced tea waiting.”
“It’s good to spend some time with old friends,” I replied, “and eat a good hot meal.”
After Oscar said grace, we tore into the meal.  It was delicious.  After supper, I headed for the front porch to take a smoke.  Oscar followed as Nancy cleaned up the kitchen.  As we sat and talked, Nancy soon joined in.
“You miss her, a lot, don’t you, James,” said Nancy.  
I couldn’t help myself.  A big lump came up in my throat as my eyes gave away with tears.  I started to cry.  We were more than brother and sister, we were best friends.  When Mama died, she made me promise to take care of her.  I tried, but somewhere, somehow I feel like I failed.  She loved dogs.  When Lucky got hit by a car she cried for weeks.  I went out and bought her another dog.  She was so happy.  She named him Mr. Roosevelt.  We used to play a lot and help Mama around the house.  Mama had emphysema and Daddy had died a few years earlier with lung cancer.  One time on the creek, I dove off some bluffs.  I floated to the top of the water like I was hurt, then when she raced out to me, I jumped up and started laughing.  She grabbed me by the hair of my head and pulled me up on the bank.  She broke a fine limb of a nearby tree and striped my naked legs.  It hurt but I couldn’t help but laugh a little.  Do I miss her?  Yes, more than anything.  I was with her that morning before she was murdered.  She told me she had someone she wanted to meet.  I then wiped my eyes with the sleeve of my shirt and lit up another cigarette.  If I only had it to do over, I thought as I exhaled the smoke.  
Oscar then spoke up, “I’m sorry James.  I can imagine how hard it can be.  Nancy and I lost our son about five years ago to a drunk driver and I have to say that it is something you never get over.  But, by the help of the Lord he helped us to live with it and he’ll do the same for you.”
“You think so,” I replied.
“Talk to him,” Oscar said as he placed his hand on my shoulder and patted it.  “Trust him.”
“Where are you staying?” she asked.
“I’ve got a room at the station,” I replied.
“His office,” interrupted Oscar.
“Why don’t you stay here with us?  We have an extra room,” she insisted.
“Yeah, James,” spoke up Oscar.  “It will be better than sleeping on that old couch in the briefing room.”
“I don’t know,” I said.  “But I appreciate you asking.”
“There’s nothing else to be said,” said Nancy.  “You can stay here.  I’ll fix your room.”
“But…” I tried to say.
“No, buts about it,” they replied.
“Hey, it’s still a little early,” Oscar said.  “What about catching a picture show at the Palace?”
“Yeah, that will be fun,” replied Nancy.
“I’m sort of tired,” I spoke up.  “I’d probably fall asleep.”
“Come on, James,” said Oscar.  “You need a break.  Let’s go for it.”
“Well, it has been a while since I was at the Palace.  Years, really.”
“Then come on.  We can get some popcorn at the Crib,” she said.
“Now, that would be good,” I replied.  “Okay, why not.  I’ll buy this time.”
It was late when we got back home.  The movie and corn was good and the bed was a lot better than the couch at the office.  It had been a long time since I had slept on a feather mattress.  I guess the last time was when I was a kid and stayed over at my grandmother’s house.  It was late when I turned in but early when I heard the rooster crow.  I got dressed, ate one bite of toast, drank some coffee, and headed for the station.  When I left, Oscar was staring at two eggs sunny-side up and gravy and biscuits.  The time seemed to pass so quickly.
It had been a few days since the briefing and I wondered if anything new had turned up.
The first week came up with nothing much.  The officer had interviewed several people.  A lot of them couldn’t remember anything.  It had been so long ago.  But some of Melba Jean’s close friends did recall seeing William David and her together a lot.  Especially around the time she disappeared.  They always believed he had something to do with it.  The motel owner and his wife had placed them at the motel several times.  That was on the original police report and the court transcripts.  According to the transcripts they had also been seen together at Brazwell Ford Bluffs, a clearing above the creek, and also from time to time at Burgett’s Bar.  The bartender thought he had seen them together that day at the bar before she disappeared, but wasn’t sure about the time.  It was enough to bring a guilty verdict by the jury, even though there was no body.  
The first week we only rehashed what we already knew.  But we did get an interview with William David.  Oscar and I took off for Jackson, which was only a few miles up the road.  As Oscar drove, I glanced back over the court transcript.  The peddler had been offered a plea bargain.  If he would admit to the murders of the other women he would receive life with possible parole in thirty-five years.  If not it could be the death penalty.  But as the jury deliberated on the case, they unanimously agreed without a reasonable doubt of a second degree murder conviction.  They believed he had something to do with it, but weren’t completely convinced he had killed her.  The second degree guilty conviction gave him thirty-five years in prison with the possibility of parole in eighteen years.  
Shortly, we arrived at the penitentiary.  As we waited for them to bring in William David, I started getting a sick feeling in my stomach.  Then suddenly the door lock slowly began to turn.  Click, click went the lock as the guard slowly opened it.  He hadn’t changed much.  I felt a lump come in my throat as I hadn’t seen him since the trial.  I started coughing as we sat down at the table.  
“Do you have a cigarette?” asked William David as he rubbed his face with his hands.
I replied, “Sure.”
He took it and as I lit it he slowly inhaled and exhaled out the smoke.  
Oscar spoke up, “I am…”
“I know who you are,” he shortly replied.  “You are here to talk to me about Melba Jean,” he said, “and the other women.”
I spoke up, “I have told you time and time again I had nothing to do with those murders.  Why can’t you believe that?” he stated.
“What about Melba Jean?” asked Oscar.  “Do you have anything else to add to her case?”
He paused for a few minutes and crushed out his cigarette on the metal table top.  The guard stepped over to the table and slid the ashtray over to him.  As William David looked up at him with a hard look, chills raced down my back.  
“What about Melba Jean?” I asked.  
“What about her?” he said.  “We were in love.  That’s what I know, and I didn’t kill her.  If anybody killed her it was her angry and jealous husband.  I have tried to tell you I was set up but you don’t believe me and you’re not going to believe me now.”
“Why should we?” spoke up Oscar.  
“All you want from me is a confession that I killed those women and I keep telling you I haven’t killed anybody.”
As he started to stand up, the guard placed his hands on William David’s shoulders and pressed him back down at the table.
“Okay, okay I have something for you.  Melba Jean’s husband found out about our affair.  He tried to keep her from seeing me.  She told me she had lived in an abusive marriage for years and when we met it was different.  We fell in love.  At first we saw little of each other, but as time passed we couldn’t stay apart.  Her husband threatened to kill her and me if she didn’t stop.  He would hit and choke her.  I saw the bruises.  I confronted him several times, but she was afraid of him.  She thought he would kill me.  I had to promise her I would not confront him.  That’s the truth.”
“Go on,” I said.  “What else happened?”
The first time I seen her I was down by Short Creek.  She had her shoes off and was wadding in the water.  She had her dress pulled up about her knees.  I watched her from a distance.  She was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen.  Then suddenly she screamed and ran toward the bank.  I ran out to her.  As we met she fell into my arms.  I quickly looked in the water; it was a snake swimming across the creek.  It was then our eyes met for the first time and our hearts burned with fire from that first kiss.  Can I have another cigarette?” he asked.
I took one out of the pack and he reached for it.
“Thanks,” he replied.  “Like I said, time went on and spent more time together.  Then one day while my brother and I were hiking in the woods, we found her body in a gully next to a ravine.  She was dead.  It appeared she had been strangled and her neck was broke.  I couldn’t bear seeing her like that.  I couldn’t let her go.  So my brother and I buried her on the banks of Short Creek where we first met.”
“Why didn’t you bring this out at the trial,” questioned Oscar.
“What good would it have done?  You already had tried and convicted me before then.  It wouldn’t have done any good.  You wanted to hurry up and put the blame on someone and I was an easy target.”
“What about the other women?” I spoke up.  
He hit the table with his fist and jarred the ashtray over and stood up.  “Damn it, man.  I’ve told you that I didn’t have anything to do with those other women.”
The guard stepped up and cuffed William David’s hands behind him.  They made their way over to the door.  
“Time is up,” said the guard.  
As William David neared the door, he stopped, looked back, and smiled.  “Thanks for the smoke,” he said as the lock clicked twice again.
Oscar looked over to me and said, “Maybe he didn’t do it.”
Then we got up and headed for home.  But as we passed through the prison lobby Warren Bond stopped us and asked us how the interview went.  We filled him in.  Then he showed us a letter he had in his hand.  It was a letter to the United States Department of Criminal Affairs in Washington from Interpol.  He told us they were inquiring about an inmate.  A William David Ward, alias Marcus Diego Florentinoa.  The State Department had been notified of the expedition of William David back to Italy for questioning of his mother’s death several years ago.  They had substantial proof and evidence that he had something to do with her death.  Quickly, Oscar looked at me and I looked back at him.  After his trial in Italy he would be sent back here to finish his time and then go back to Italy to do his time there.  
Evidently, the peddler and his younger brother had gotten a job on a ship years ago as crew members came over to New York.  Then they changed their names and left and were never heard of since, until they came to Mississippi.
“They were illegal immigrants,” I said.
“Right,” replied the warden.  “We will be getting him ready for expedition soon.”
“Thanks, Warden Bond, for all your help,” said Oscar.  
“Thanks a lot,” I replied.  “What do you make of that, Oscar?”
Then we headed back to Halfway.  It had been a weird day.
“Do you still think he killed those women?” asked Oscar.
“Yes, I do,” I replied, “and his mother, too.  Oscar, will you stop at the next store?” I said.  “I need to get a pack of cigarettes.”
“Sure,” replied Oscar.  
“I wonder whatever happened to his younger brother,” I said.
“I don’t know,” replied Oscar.  “No one has seen him since his brother’s trial.  He just disappeared.”
“They were close,” I reminded Oscar.  “Real close.  Maybe we could put the word out and find him and talk to him to see what he would say.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” replied Oscar.
We finally arrived at Halfway.  It was getting late.  Oscar asked if I was coming over, but I told him I was going to work on something and get my thoughts back together.  I was coughing more and more now, so I decided to try to lay off the cigarettes.  I hadn’t told anyone, but I had been spitting up some blood and my chest had begun to hurt more often now.  I really didn’t want to go back to the doctor now.  He had already said there was nothing left to do.  The year he had given me was about up.  If only I could just hold out to find my sister’s killer.
The night was long and haunting.  Between the murders and the pack of cigarettes, my restless night soon came to a halt.  At the break of day the door of the conference room opened.  I slowly rose up off the couch.  I was still tired and getting more weak.  Oscar entered and brought me a cup of coffee.  
“James, are you alright?  Your hands are trembling,” he said.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” I replied.  “Thanks for the coffee.  I needed that.”
For the next few days of the second week, we heard nothing.  Time was running out, especially for me.  Late last night I ran across a police report by Wendell, the sheriff at the time, of the murders.  I had completely forgotten about it.  The sheriff held Danny, the crippled brother, for seventy-two hours for questioning.  While he was in custody there was another murder.  But the peddler stated that he had spent the night with a prostitute and she backed his alibi.  The murder proved to be a random killing, but not a copycat murder.  Wendell soon put pressure on William David to push him into a mistake, but he was too smart.  A lot smarter than we gave him credit for.  There had been some calls to the station between Melba Jean and her husband.  But when the sheriff’s department went out there, Melba Jean would not go against her husband.  She would always say it was a misunderstanding.  Not long afterward, she disappeared.  
Then I looked up at Oscar.  Maybe William David was right.  Maybe he didn’t kill Melba Jean.  
“But who then killed her?” I asked.
About that time a deputy entered the room.  
“Oscar, I have a call for you,” he stated.  
“I’ll take it in my office,” he replied.
I followed him.  As I waited, I tried to make out the phone call, but I wasn’t very successful.  In a few minutes I heard Oscar tell them we were leaving shortly and thanks again for the help.  As Oscar hung up the phone he told me that was the Louisiana State Police.  They had found Danny Ward, dead, a few days ago.  Evidently he left here after his brother went to prison to go live with his uncle in Louisiana.  They found him in the swamp.  They believed he was fishing and somehow fell out of the boat and drowned.  There wasn’t much left of him by the time the gator got through.
“Are they sure it’s him?” I asked.
“His uncle was able to positively identify him.  It was Danny,” replied Oscar.
“Then why are we going down there?” I asked as I eased down into the chair.  
“Are you alright, James?” asked Oscar.
“Sure, I’m fine,” I replied.  “I’m just a little weak.”
“Do I need to take you to the doctor?” he said.
“No, no, Oscar, I’ll be alright,” I assured him.  “Now what were you saying?”
“Danny had kept a journal.  When his uncle was going through his things he found a fake bottom in the trunk where he kept his journal.  The detective down there said that we needed to see it.  James are you up for the trip?”
“Yeah,” I replied.
“You can stay here until I get back,” suggested Oscar.
“No, I’m fine.  Don’t worry, I can make it,” I replied.  “I have come this far; I can’t quit now.”
Soon we were on the road headed south.  I didn’t have a lot to say.  I was quiet. 
“Have you quit smoking?” Oscar asked.
“Yeah, I’m trying to cut back,” I replied.
“It’s about time,” he said.
I didn’t want him to know that they made me sick now.  I just had to hold on and try to make it.  But it was a long drive to Bottom Creek, Louisiana.
“You’re awfully quite today, James,” he said.
“I’m just sleepy,” he replied.  “I didn’t sleep good last night.  I wish I had some of Nancy’s iced tea right now.”
“We’ll get some when we get back,” he replied.  “Why don’t you take a nap?  I’ll wake you later.”
“Sounds good,” I replied.
As I turned my head and stared out the window, I felt tears slowly running down my cheeks.  I knew it was only minutes, but I thanked the Lord I didn’t have to die alone.  I then took a deep breath, swallowed and slowly closed my eyes as the last tear fell from my chin.  A few minutes later Oscar called my name.
“James, James…”
I could barely hear his voice.  It sounded like a whisper.  Quickly, Oscar pulled the car over to the side of the road and turned me toward him.  The last thing I remember were the tears beading up in his eyes.  As Oscar reached for the mic he called out the distress call.  
Not long, an ambulance came and took James to a nearby hospital where he was pronounced dead on arrival.  It was hard to keep from breaking down.  They took James back to Halfway where he was buried beside his sister.  
About a week later I headed back to Louisiana, alone this time.  It was an even longer drive.  Hours later, I arrived.  I spent hours reading Danny’s journal.  William David’s and his mother was a full-blooded gypsy.  William David and Danny had different daddies.  Their mother had been with somebody else, according to the journal.  William David loved and admired his daddy.  He was obsessed with him.  But his mother cheated on him and this made William David mad. It also caused his dad to commit suicide.  William never could accept her infidelity.  His daddy always blamed her for Danny’s crippling.  He believed it was a curse from her affairs.  Danny believed this was the reason he killed her.  He had stated in the journal that he was afraid of William, but he loved him and respected him.  He knew that his brother was sick.  He also feared that his brother might turn on him.  It was like his brother was three or four different people at different times.  But, William had always taken care of him.  Inside the journal was a photograph of his mother and father.  In the photo she was wearing the same necklace around her neck as the other victims.  His uncle had found some more of them in the bottom of the trunk.  As I turned the pages, I ran across this quote Danny wrote.
I guess I was jealous of him and Melba Jean.  He hardly had time for me anymore.  I had gone down to the creek to get some water.  I ran upon Melba Jean and her husband.  William was no where around.  They were fussing and arguing.  I couldn’t make it all out.  He then slapped her and she fell to the ground, then he left.  About that time I saw William step out from behind a tree.  I don’t know how long he had been there.  She sat down on the ground and was crying.  I watched for a minute to see what my brother might do, but he just turned and walked away.  After that evening, I never saw her again.  William and I, later on, was walking through the woods where we found her dead.  We took her and buried on the banks of the creek.  I was the last one to see her alive.  
The journal went on and on giving the account of the other five murders.  From what Danny had said in his journal, William David had murdered four of the women, but he didn’t kill Melba Jean.  He didn’t think so.  But yet was tried and convicted for her death alone.     They had found a pack of European cigars, made in Italy a European blend, in the bottom of Danny’s boat.  I smelt of them and lit one up.  It smelled like the odor of the crime scene.  I’ll never forget the smell.  Then I paused for a few minutes.  “James, I wish you could have read this journal.  I believe you knew all along, but you wanted somehow to make it up to Vera, your sister, for you not being there.”  Case closed.

*****

Troubled Waters
Web of Deceit
Autumn fell as I stood by the gravesite of my dad, Wilson Ward.  Autumn was beautiful that year in Clover Hill Ridge in East Tennessee.  The hills were blazed with radiant colors, and the mountain air was so crisp and clean.  Giant timbers dressed the slopes as leaves covered the ground.  
I watched as they shoveled in the dirt on my daddy’s grave.  My daddy was no saint to many, maybe to me.  He had made his fortune by making and selling bootleg whiskey for years in the hills and hollows of East Tennessee.  He was protected by high-ranking officials who got a cut for their protection.  He covered up his operation with a road crew company that built bridges and repaired roads for the government.  He received top money on government contracts.  Not only guilty of bootlegging whiskey, he was also guilty of bid rigging, prostitution, and tax evasion.  But he made most of his money by running whiskey to East and Middle Tennessee, Virginia, and North and South Carolina.  Regardless, he was still my daddy and I loved him.  Like I always said, no one is perfect.
I’ll never forget the fall of 1934 when my dad died; I’ll never forget him. Mama had already gone.  She had TB and died a few years ago.  I also lost my seventeen-year-old brother, Shane, in a boating accident on the Stone’s River.  His body was never found.  We were the only two children.  Daddy had a hard time with Shane’s death.  He never got over it.  He grieved himself to death.
Nothing ever changes around Clover Hill, except your age.  I was twenty-two that day at the graveyard.  It seemed like I had spent my whole life here in Bennett County.  Then suddenly I heard someone.
“Hey, girl,” called someone.
Turning around, I saw it was Rachel, my best friend.  
“Are you going to be alright?” she asked.
“Sure,” I replied.  “I’ll be okay.”
“I hate to have to leave, but we have to drive to Knoxville and catch our flight back home.  I wish we had some more time together, under different circumstances,” she apologized.
“Me, too,” I replied.  “Don’t worry about it, Rachel, you need to get back home.  I understand.”
Then Richard, Rachel’s husband, stepped in between us and offered his condolences.  “I’m sorry about your dad,” he said.
“Thank you, Richard,” I replied.  “Take care of my best friend.”
“I will,” he promised as they turned to walk away.
Then Rachel turned back, hugged me, and started to cry.  “I love you, Kat.”
“I love you, too,” I replied as I started to cry.
I watched as they walked across the cemetery hand in hand.  As they got into their rental car, Rachel waved and blew me a kiss.  I returned her one as they drove away.  
Rachel and I had been friends since grade school.  We graduated together and dated some of the same guys.  We were inseparable.  We were like sisters.  I was 22 and she was 23.  
But as time passed, we went our separate ways. Rachel and Richard had only been married two years.  She had met him in Atlanta on vacation.  Richard was a contractor out of Florida.  He was on a business trip to Atlanta when she met him.  Rachel said they hit it off perfectly.  She decided to move to Atlanta so he could fly up to see her in his private jet.  They dated for a while.  Everything seemed to be great, so they decided to get married.  Of course, I was invited to the wedding—the maid of honor.  They were married in his home in Key West, Florida.  It was a beautiful wedding.  A lot of high profile people were there. Richard had started a small construction company that blossomed into a distinguished business.  He did a lot of government projects in and around Florida.  The wedding was the talk of the town from Key West up the coast.  Rachel was loving every minute of it.  She always did like the limelight.  That day, she was like a kid at Christmas.  She was so happy, and I was glad for her.  
As I turned back to the gravesite, they were placing the flowers on daddy’s grave.  A lot of the friends had left already.  I walked over to his stone, placed a kiss on the top of it, and softly whispered, “I love you, daddy.”  As I walked toward the car, tears began to flood my eyes.  I took a handkerchief from my purse, dabbed them dry, and then left.  James, the chauffeur, asked if I wanted to go home.  I nodded my head yes, fighting back the tears.  When I arrived home, I retired to my room for a few days.  I told the housemaid and James I didn’t want to receive any visitors.  
Two weeks later, I met with the family lawyer to settle the will and estate.  Everything was made to Shane and me.  Since Shane was officially dead, Ward’s fortune went to me.  Since the estate was so large, the lawyer told me to give him a couple of days, and he would have all the paperwork and documents transferred over in my name.  I asked him to call me when he was ready.  When I arrived back home, I heard the phone ring in the study.  I answered it; there was no one on it; I figured it was the wrong number.  When I hung up the phone, I sighed with relief.  As I turned to leave the room, I looked up at daddy’s picture, blew him a kiss, and said, “Thank you, daddy,” then left.  
A few days later, the lawyer called and said I could come to his office at my convenience and sign the papers.  
On the same day I went back to the lawyer, I ran into a very handsome man.  His name was Dennis Cole, a salesman from Tumbling Creek, Alabama.  By chance, he was passing through Clover Hill Ridge on his way to North Carolina.  He had stopped over in Clover Hill to get a bite to eat.  I bumped into him coming out of the restaurant. 
“Excuse me,” he said.
“Oh, excuse me,” I apologized.
Then we looked into each other’s eyes.  It seemed like the world stopped turning.  It was like autumn, my favorite time of the year, had come again.  From there the romance blossomed to full bloom.  We started dating.  I rode with him to North Carolina where he took care of some business.  We came back to Clover Hill and spent a few more weeks together.  He showered me with gifts and seemed to love me for who I was and not what I had.  I asked him to stay in Clover Hill, told him he didn’t have to go back to Tumbling Creek.  He said he had some unfinished business there that he had to take care of, but he’d be back.  I asked him if he was married.  He said no.  I asked if I could come with him, but he said it was something he had to do alone.  I told him that I loved him, and I would be here when he got back.  “Dennis,” I said, “please keep in touch and call me.”  
He replied, “I love you, too and I’ll call.”
I remember the day he left.  I cried my eyes out.  Something inside told me that he wouldn’t be back. He said he would.  I wanted to believe that so badly, but I didn’t feel that I would be that lucky.  The next two weeks were the longest in my life.  As time passed, there were no calls or letters.  I was beginning to believe my instincts were right.  Then a week later he called.  I couldn’t talk for crying.  It was so good to hear his voice again.  He only talked for a few minutes; there was a bad connection.  But he did say he’d see me soon.  The next day, I had to talk to him.  I missed him so badly I called the operator for a Dennis Cole in Tumbling Creek, Alabama.  I wanted to surprise him.  It took a few minutes, but when the operator replied back there was no listing for that name, my heart sank, my legs buckled, and I lay confused on the couch.  All that I knew was that I loved him and had to trust him.  Then the phone rang.  It wasn’t Dennis as I hoped, but an unknown voice.  I listened carefully.  “Who is this?” I cried.  “What about South Carolina.  What are you talking about?”  Frightened, I hung the phone up.  
It wasn’t long until things settled back down.  I had finally started to get my head back on straight when a knock came at my door.  I was close by so I told the maid I would get it.  When I opened it, there on the other side stood Dennis and a couple of suitcases.  He then let the bags down, opened his arms and hugged me.  I hugged him back and asked him to come in.  I wanted to confront him about the phone call so badly, but I decided to hold off for a while.  I was glad to see him, and in my heart, I was hoping the things I worried about were wrong.  As he came in, we began to talk.  We had so much to get caught up on.  He opened one of the bags; inside it was a gift for me.   Hurriedly, I opened it.  I was so tickled, my heart fell into my stomach and I felt faint.  It was the most beautiful engagement ring I had ever seen and a card that read ‘Will You Marry Me?’ I didn’t know what to say or think.  I first said, “No, I can’t.”  Then “Yes, I can.”  	
“But when?” I cried.
“Today,” he replied.
“It’s so soon!  I don’t know,” I said.  “We need to talk, I think.”
“Sure,” he replied.  “Let’s sit down.”
I asked him how many more trips he was going to have to make back to Alabama.
“None,” he replied.  “I have taken care of it all.  For instance, my house is for sale.  I have quit my job, hopefully to find one here.  All my utilities have been paid and cut off.”
“Even the phone?” I asked.
“Yes, the phone too, everything has been taken care of.  There are no loose ends,” he replied.  “I even stopped off at Round Pond where my mother is in the rest home to see her and tell her about you.”
“What’d she say?” I asked.  
“She was hoping I had found someone,” he said, “that I could be happy with.”
I was quiet for a few minutes, collecting my thoughts.  In my mind I kept saying over and over to trust him, but my heartfelt faint and weak.
“Well, Katherine,” he asked.  “Will you marry me?”
As I stared into his beautiful brown eyes, I took a deep breath.  I felt like a teenager who had been asked out on her first date.  It felt good to me for him to hold me in his arms again.  I felt so secure, warmed, and loved.  It had been a long time since I had felt that way.  I was tired of being alone.  I may be sorry about it, but I looked at him and said yes.  He then reached over and kissed me.
“But first I need to make the arrangements,” I said, “and get together a guest list.”
Then he placed his finger over my lips and said, “Let’s just do it.”
“Now?” 
He smiled and nodded his head.  The doubt didn’t seem all that important anymore.  I loved him so much that was all that mattered.  We left then and drove into town to Judge Russell’s office and got married.  I couldn’t believe it. After the short but sweet wedding, we came back home to pack to leave for our honeymoon.  I chose to go to South Carolina to my island manor on Judd Island.  Then the phone rang.  I quickly answered it.  It was the same mysterious voice.  They called me by name and then hung up.  
“Are you okay?” he asked.
I replied, “Sure, it was a wrong number.”
In my inheritance were several resort homes daddy had bought through the years.  The summer home on Judd Island was my favorite.  It was about five miles off the coast of South Carolina.  Then I remembered what I was going to do.  I was going to call Rachel and tell her the news.  As I picked the phone up, I listened.  There was someone on it.  I said hello and they said hello.  I then asked, “Who is this?”
They replied, “Who is this?”
“Katherine,” I said.
Then they said, “Kat, is that you?”
“Rachel, is that you?” I then replied.
“Yes, it’s me,” she said.  “I was trying to call you.”
“I was trying to call you too,” I replied.  “I must have picked the phone up before it rang.”  Then we both burst out laughing.
“Oh, yes, girl, I wanted to call you and tell you I met this wonderful man,” I stated, “the man of my dreams.”
“You did?” cried out Rachel.
“Yes, he is so handsome, intelligent, and wonderful in the bedroom.  And Rachel guess what, we just got married,” I cried.  “I wanted you to be the first to know.”
“That’s great,” she replied.
“Rachel, what’s wrong?” I asked her.
She started to cry and told me Richard had passed.
“What!” I cried out.  “Girl, what happened?”
“He died of a massive heart attack.” 
“When did it happen?” I questioned.
“Yesterday,” she said.
“Had he been sick before?” I asked.
“I really don’t know,” she said.  “But I found out that he had had a light heart attack before I met him, according to his doctor.  The damage to his heart then could lead to a major attack.  It was a matter of time.”
“Why didn’t he tell you?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” she said.  “We agreed not to keep secrets, but so much for that I guess.”
“You poor, girl,” I replied.
 “I’m sure happy for you, Kat,” she said, “and I hope things will work out.”
“Me, too,” I replied.  “When is the funeral?”
“Richard had told me earlier that he didn’t want a funeral that he wanted to be cremated and his ashes spread in Key West.  He loved it down here.”
“What about the estate, his business and money?” I questioned.
“It was all left to me,” she replied.  “He wanted me to have it all.”  
 “Dennis and I are going to move to Judd Island to live in the chateau.  Why don’t you buy a place there and settle down?”
“I don’t know,” she said.  “The Keys are so beautiful and so much Richard.”
“What you and Richard had was great and to be cherished,” I encouraged her, “but you need to move on.  You’ll find someone else.  You don’t want to be alone forever.”
“I don’t know,” she said.  
“What I’m telling you is right,” I replied.  “You will find another Mr. Right.”
“I know you’re right,” she said.  “I’ll think about it.”
“Okay, I’ll talk to you later,” I replied.  “Call me if you need me.”
“Bye, I love you,” she said.
“I love you too, sister,” I replied.
While Dennis took a shower, I decided to tidy up the bedroom a bit.  When I went to pick up his clothes to put into the clothes hamper, something fell from his pocket.  I quickly bent over to pick it up so he wouldn’t think I was being nosy.  But when I picked it up, I found it was a receipt from Coleman’s Best Jewelry for my engagement ring and a stub from a motel bill.  It was for Hidden Rock Motel, the motel outside of town.  The date had been torn off.  Then I tried to remember if he had told me he ever stayed there and when.  I couldn’t remember.  About then he entered the bedroom.  I wadded the paper up in my hand and put my hand behind my back.
“What’s wrong, baby?” he asked.  “Who were you talking to?”
 “I was talking to Rachel.  I told her we had gotten married, and she told me Richard her husband had died.”
 “That’s terrible,” he said.
“She was happy for us,” I replied, “and she gave us her best.”
“Is something else wrong?” he said.  “You look bothered.”
“Well, there is a little something,” I replied.
“What is it?” he asked.
“When I was picking up your clothes,” I said, “these fell out of your pocket.”
“Here let me see,” he replied.
“This is your receipt for your ring,” he explained.  “I picked it up from another salesman I know who sold jewelry.  I ran across him a few weeks ago, and I bought it from him.  The motel receipt is where I stayed when I first met you.  I thought I told you.”
“I don’t remember,” I replied.
“Why the concern and suspicion,” he asked.
“Oh, it’s nothing,” I said.  “Things are going so fast I can’t keep up with everything.”
“Well, don’t you worry about a thing,” he said.  “I’m going to take good care of you.”
Then he took me in his arms and kissed me.  Carefully, he laid me back on the bed as I thought, what does he really want?  
It was early the next morning when we loaded up and headed for South Carolina.  Things were awfully quiet as we drove up there.  Dennis didn’t have much to say, nor did I.  I couldn’t help but wonder in the back of my mind what his motive was, or if there was any.  I tried to recall if he told me he stayed at the motel or did I ask.  I’m sure he was staying somewhere before I met him.  He did say when we got to South Carolina he wanted to get a job.  He said he wanted to work and make his own money.  He didn’t want to live off me.  I told him there was no need of that, and he interrupted me and asked if I trusted him.  I told him I did, but there had been some suspicion created in my mind about our relationship.
“I’m sorry, I can’t let it go,” I said.  “You are going to have to give me some time.”
“When everything is said and done,” he replied.  “I think you’re going to find out that I have been honest with you all along.”
I never said another word, nor did he.  It was a long drive there.  I didn’t think we would ever arrive.  We drove straight through.  Finally, we arrived in Charleston.  We stopped off and got a bite to eat then headed on to Judd Island.  They had had some bad thunderstorms and it was pouring down rain when we reached the coast.  From the looks of things and the ocean, it had been a bad one.  When we reached Walker’s Ferry, we had to wait about an hour for the waves to settle down.  The ferry was the only way to and from the island.  After thinking about everything, I finally decided to chalk it up as a bad misunderstanding.  I may have jumped to conclusions.  I do that a lot.  I made up my mind that I would give him the benefit of the doubt until he proves me wrong; after all it was our honeymoon.  
While we waited, I told him that I was sorry that I doubted him, that is was my nature.  Dennis admitted it did seem to be suspicious, and he should have told me instead of finding out that way.  He said he was sorry, too.  So we kissed and made up and made out in the car while we waited.  
Shortly, the giant ferry began to move, setting its sail for Judd Island, our new home.  We got out of the car to get some fresh salty air.  As we held each other in our arms, the waves splashed against the ship getting us wet.  But, we didn’t mind.  We were as one like it should be.  Then he kissed me again and looked into my eyes and told me he loved me.  I looked at him and told him that I loved him too, more than he would ever know.  
Judd Island was about five miles from Charleston, about an hour and forty-five minutes by the ferry.  In a few minutes, I yelled out, pointing at the lighthouse, on the horizon of the island.  I told him we were almost there and I was glad.  As the lighthouse grew nearer it stood big and bold, overlooking Witcher’s Cove.  The island looked so beautiful.  It had been a long time since I had been there.  When we docked in the cove, we drove off the ferry and headed for the estate.
About three months after Richard’s death Rachel had a flat tire on the road.  Rachel was telling me about it one day when she called me.  She had sat there for a while when a man pulled up behind her. 
“Can you change my tire?”
“Sure, there’s nothing to it,” he replied and smiled, “if you have a spare tire.”
As he started changing the tire, I couldn’t help but notice how built he was and how handsome he was.  I noticed a scar that ran down the left side of his face.  He wore glasses and had a well-trimmed beard and mustache, and a light receding hairline.  Then I asked him his name.
“Benjamin,” he replied.
“I’m Rachel,” I said, flipping my hair in the breeze.
He was younger than I first thought.  When he finished he asked me if he could buy my lunch.  I clumsily looked at my watch and quickly looked around as the wind blew my hair every which way.
“Sure, that would be nice,” I replied.
I then followed him to a cozy seafood restaurant, Hook Line & Sinker, not far from there.  We sat and talked for hours, and after our meal we swapped phone numbers.  He told me he would see me again.  
“That will be good,” I replied.
“See Rachel I told you someone else would come along,” Katherine encouraged her.  “He may be Mr. Right.”
I found out a few days later that Katherine said that Rachel didn’t hear from him, but at the end of the week he called.  That weekend they spent hours talking and laughing on the phone.  Then he asked Rachel out on a date and from there they started dating.  She guessed it had been six months now, and he made her feel young again.  Rachel and I kept in touch.  We loved to share girl talk.
Then one night as they were hitting the clubs, Benjamin asked Rachel if she had ever heard of Judd Island.
“Sure,” she said.  “I’ve been there a lot of times when I was a little girl with my best friend and her family.”
Then he took a sip of whiskey and suggested they go up there on a trip.  
“It sounds great,” she replied.
“That’s great,” he replied.  “I’d like to do some fishing.”
“Katherine, my best friend has moved up there,” she said.  “I would love to spend some time with her, too.”
“Then it’s settled,” he agreed.  “Let’s make plans to head up there by the end of the week.”
Rachel couldn’t help but wonder about him.  She had known Benjamin for over six months, and he hadn’t made a pass at her.  He always seems to squirm out of it.  She wondered if he was gay.  He would only kiss her on the cheek. She began to think it was her that was turning him off.  By the end of the week they were flying from Key West to Judd Island.  While on the plane, she finally got her nerve up and asked him about what had been bothering her.  He sat and listened.  She asked him why they hadn’t gone to bed together after all this time.  He didn’t say anything.  He just looked out the window. 
 “Are you gay?” she asked.
He sort of laughed a bit and replied, “No, I promise you I’m not gay.  Call me old-fashioned,” he said.  “Jumping into bed is not all that a relationship is about.”  
He said he wanted to know about the woman first.  
“In the past,” he said, “I’ve been hurt. Does that answer your question?  That’s the reason.”
“Jumping in bed is not what it is all about,” she replied.  “But it is a part of a relationship.”
“Right,” he agreed.  “Is there anything else?”
Then he turned to Rachel and asked would she be patient with him.
“Okay,” she said, “but don’t take too long.”
When they arrived in Charleston they took the ferry to Witcher’s Cove.  Meanwhile, Dennis had gotten a job working on the ferry.  That’s where he first saw Rachel and Benjamin.  Rachel noticed he kept his eye on her.  She was prettier than the pictures he had seen of her.  Rachel was a model of beauty and full of excitement.  She caught his interest and he was very flattered.  Although Dennis was older, his interest moved her imagination.  Rachel had noticed that Benjamin seemed to pay little to no attention of the connection and sort of passed it off and went on.  
“After we get settled in,” she said, “I want us to go see Katherine,” she told Benjamin.
“That’ll be fine,” he replied.  “I look forward to it.”
A few days later, Benjamin went out on a fishing trip along the cove with a few of the islanders.  They docked on its outer edge about one hour from the mainland.  Rachel had taken the ferry back into Charleston to do some shopping.  She hit some of the high dollar shops and stores, loading herself down with bags galore.  Then she ran across a coffee shop where she stopped to rest her feet.  Shortly, Dennis walked in, looking about. Rachel took a deep breath and quickly straightened her posture in her chair as he spoke.
“Hello,” he said.
“Hi,” she replied back.
“My name is Dennis,” he said
“My name is Rachel,” she answered back.
“What a beautiful name for such a lovely lady,” as he charmed her.
“Well, thank you,” she replied.  “I am very flattered that you like what you see.”
“Oh, I do,” he said.  “May I sit down?”
“Why, sure,” she wiggled about in her chair. 
Not losing any time, they began to get acquainted. They began to open up and it started to get steamy.  From the excitement and the temptation of their desires, they soon left the coffee shop and rented a motel room.  Engaged in their sinful desires, they both knew it would be only a one-night stand.  They both willingly gave over to their desires and in that brief few moments those sins would cost them both the rest of their lives.  The passion soon passed, and Dennis lay beside her.  Slowly, he ran his fingers through her hair, kissing her repeatedly.  Then he rose up and looked into her eyes.
 “You don’t know who I am, do you?” he asked.
“All I know is Dennis,” she replied.
Then he smiled and lightly kissed her on the lips and said, “I’m Katherine’s husband.”
Quickly, she jumped up out of the bed, grabbed a sheet, and wrapped it around her naked body.  
“What are you talking about?” she cried out.  “How do you know Katherine?  Tell me please you didn’t say that.”
Then he reached over and took a picture of Katherine and her and showed it to her.  Quickly, she started grabbing her clothes.  He lay back in the bed and laughed about it.  
“Can you imagine,” he said, “what Katherine would say if she knew?”
She started to cry as she picked up a small lamp and threw it at him.  	
“What in heaven’s name did you do this for?” she cried.  “Is it the money?”
He never replied, got up and got dressed.
“Oh, my God!” she screamed.  “What have I done?”
Then she grabbed her bags and raced out of the room.  There was no way that she could face Kat now.  As days passed, she worried herself to death, crying, and wishing she had never done what she did.  She hadn’t seen Dennis since that evening at the motel.  She wondered what he was up to and what would Kat say.  
“She’s going to hate me!” she cried out.  “How could I let this happen?  Oh, God,” she cried.  “Please forgive and help me.”
Benjamin didn’t know.  She tried not to let it show around him.  She couldn’t tell him.  She was ashamed, but he also had the right to know.  But she felt it wasn’t the right time.  Benjamin didn’t stay home much.  He was always out fishing, she guessed.  Then one day she took a walk to clear her nerves, she ran into Dennis down by the lighthouse.  
“I haven’t seen you in a while,” he said.
Then she started cussing at him, giving him a piece of her mind.  
“Now, hold on here a minute,” he said.  “I believe you wanted to go to that motel room as bad as I did,” he boasted.
Then she turned and walked over to the edge of the cliff.  As she cried in her shame, she listened as the waves crashed upon the beach rocks below.  A flock of seagulls flew above as the giant lighthouse stood bold upon the hill.  The salty sea drove its moist wind inland, causing the humidity to rise.
“What do you want from me?” she asked.
“Not much,” he said.
“So you’re going to blackmail me?” she yelled.  “How much will it take to forget this whole thing?”
“Oh, I don’t want your money,” he replied.  “I want Katherine’s money.”
“What!” she cried.  “What does that have to do with me?”
“One thing at a time,” he replied.  “There is one thing I want you to do first.”
“What’s that?” she asked.
“Tomorrow I’m going out in my boat,” he said.  “I want you to see that Benjamin is on it with me.”
“How can I do that?” she said.  “He doesn’t even know you.”
“You tell him that I need someone to show me some good fishing spots outside the cove,” he explained.
“Why, why are you doing this?” she questioned.
“Time will tell,” he replied.
“And if I don’t?,” she spoke up.
“Well, Katherine,” he replied as he reached into his shirt pocket, “will have to see this locket with yours and her picture.  She gave you this when you graduated from high school.”
“Where did you get that?” she shouted.  “Give it to me!”
“You left it in our bed in the motel room,” he replied.  “You left so fast I didn’t have time to give it to you.”
Quickly she turned and walked off.
“Have him at the cove at eight o’clock sharp,” he warned.
She never looked back.  
“What in God’s name am I to do?” she said.  “What does he want with Benjamin anyway?”
Scared of his threats and afraid of losing Kat, she tossed it about in her head and heart.  That evening when Benjamin came in, she told him about a man who wanted him to help him find some fishing holes outside the cove. 
“Sure,” he replied. “How was your day?” 
“Not too good,” she replied.  “If you don’t mind I think I’ll lie down and rest.”
“That’s fine,” he said.  “I am going to go out for a while.”
“Where are you going?” she questioned.
“I might go into Charleston for a while,” he said.  “I’ll be back early.  See you later.  Bye.”
“Bye,” she replied as he disappeared out the door.
It so happened since Rachel and Benjamin had been on the island, things were so mixed up and up in the air they hadn’t run into Kat.  She thanked the Lord because she was dreading it more than anything.  Kat could always see through her and could always tell when she was lying.  
Meanwhile over at Kat’s, the phone rang.  She answered it.  It was the strange voice again, asking to meet at the Salty Dog Restaurant on Third and Fourth Street at seven o’clock.  
“Come alone,” the voice warned.
“How will I know you?” she asked.
“You won’t,” he replied.  “But I’ll know you.  I have a secret to share.”
I arrived a little early and took a booth.  The waitress came by and asked me what I would like.  I asked her if she had some Southern Bourbon with a lime twist.  She said she would have it right out.  As I waited, I looked about the room to see if I recognized anyone but I didn’t.  The waitress brought my drink.  I sipped on it, wondering who the stranger was and what he wanted.  The time passed quickly as I waited.  It was forty-five minutes past seven.  I had begun to give up when the waitress came by with an envelope in her hand.  I quickly took it and opened it.  Inside was a stick of peppermint candy and nothing else.  I quickly threw it down on the table.  I am allergic to peppermint.  It messes up my allergies, makes my nose run, gives me a headache, and sometimes my eyes swell.  But what on earth does it mean?  I quickly looked across the room and asked the waitress who gave her the envelope.  As she looked about the room she didn’t see him anywhere.  She quickly started to apologize.  I asked her what he looked like.
“He was short, young, and nice looking,” she said.  “He had a scar that ran down the side of his face.”
Evidently he had left and she couldn’t tell me much more.  But, what does it mean I thought.  Who would know I was allergic to peppermint?  Puzzled, confused, and a little scared, I left and headed home.  Then that night on the ferry I saw him.  He stood on the deck of the ship.  As I walked up behind him it was dark.  He turned around a slight bit.  That’s when I saw the scar.  He kept his back to me the rest of the time. 
“What do you want?’ she asked.  “Who are you?”
The same voice she had heard on the phone returned to speak.
“Katherine, I need your help,” he said.  “Think back on the peppermint and you’ll know who I am.”
Shortly the boat docked at the cove and he turned to leave.  I grabbed his arm to turn him around.  When I did the light from the lighthouse passed over us.  I quickly placed my hand upon his face and took a deep breath and said, “Oh, my God.”  Then as he rushed away, he looked back.
“I’ll call,” he said.
That night after I got home, I was so upset and nervous that I took a shot of whiskey straight.  I didn’t know what to think or say.  Had I seen a ghost?  I didn’t sleep much that night.  I didn’t know what to think or feel.  The next morning I stepped outside and started to walk to try to clear my head.  
When Rachel awoke that morning, she noticed Benjamin was gone.  She quickly got dressed and ran down toward the lighthouse.  When she arrived, she took her binoculars and looked along the shore till she saw them.  The waters about the cove looked troubled and uneasy.  The sky was a grayish color with a few dark clouds.  Then she began to yell for them.  She was afraid something bad was going to happen.  But, the noise of the waves made it impossible to hear her.  She watched as they got into the boat and headed out to sea.  About then Rachel heard someone call her name.  
“Rachel, is that you?” Kat asked as Rachel quickly turned around.  “Why, it is you!” I replied as I ran over to her and hugged her.  “Girl, what are you doing here and why didn’t you tell me you were on the island?”
She told me that she had been on the island about two weeks.  
“Why haven’t you come by to see me?” I asked.  “Let me tell you, baby girl, you have got to come by.  I have got someone I want you to meet and I have something I want to tell you.  You won’t believe it.”
About that time, they heard an explosion out in the cove.  Rachel scanned the edge of the cove with the binoculars.  She saw Dennis’s ship in flames and sinking.  
“Oh, my God!” she cried.  “Oh, no, Benjamin!” she cried out.
Her eyes filled with tears as her hands and legs trembled.
“Please, God, don’t let it be,” she prayed.
Then she looked about and saw some of the other boats racing to the burning ship.  She looked again but didn’t see a soul.  Quickly, I took the binoculars and looked out.  I recognized the boat.  I started screaming and took off down the hillside for the shore.  Rachel ran behind me as I raced down the hill, screaming Dennis’s name.  Then all of a sudden I tripped and fell.  As I tumbled down the hillside, Rachel was crying out.
“Kat, Kat, I’m coming,” she shouted.
Then Rachel fell.  As we both rolled down the hill in the tall thick grass, you could hear the island sirens sounding.  Its sound was so haunting it sent chills up my spine.  When we reached the shore, we ran as fast as we could toward the edge of the water.  All that we could see was heavy black smoke coming from across the bend.  There were other boats approaching from the neck of the cove.  Then we turned and saw a patrol boat headed for the black smoke.  We both cried out, “Lord, please don’t let it be.”  As the other islanders began to gather around, the police and rescue squads took their positions.  Luckily the patrol boat was also a small tanker and it was able to put the fire out.  We all waited patiently and prayed.  From where we watched, we couldn’t tell if they were all right.  All we could do was hope and pray.  
Suddenly the black smoke began to break up and settle around the bend.  We could still hear the siren of the patrol boat across the cove.  From the looks of things, the patrol boat was able to put the fire out and salvage the boat.  As they towed the boat into the dock, it appeared to be empty at first.  But then they brought out a body.  It was burned so badly you couldn’t identify who it was.  Which one was it and where was the other body?  The officers at the scene stated that not far from where the boat exploded there had been sharks swimming near the bend.  He also said that they were going back out with divers to continue the search for the other body.  I was numb and Rachel was in shock.  We all wondered who the body was.   Then out behind the crowd down from the beach, a voice called out my name.  Quickly, I looked.  My heart stopped as I took off tearing through the crowd screaming and hollering.  It was Dennis.  He was all right.  When I saw him coming down the beach I couldn’t believe it. I asked him if he wanted me to come to the hospital with him, but he wanted me to stay with Rachel because she needed me more right now.  That was the way he was.
Everyone was cheering as he came near, all except Rachel.  She knew then the body was Benjamin.  She passed out.  As the rescue squad tended to Rachel, the police asked me a few questions.  Dennis stated that everything was fine until they entered the bend.  That is when he smelled a real strong odor of gas.  It exploded and he was blown off the side of the ship into the water.  
“I must have gotten hit in the head by some debris when I went over.  Last thing I remember, Benjamin was on fire and rolling around in the boat trying to put himself out.  Next thing I knew I had floated down the beach and washed up on shore.”
As Dennis talked, the police did notice a bad cut on his forehead.  In a few minutes, Rachel came to.  She was hysterical.  They put Dennis in an ambulance to take him to the hospital.  Katherine took Rachel back to her house.  The officer roped off the boat area for a routine investigation.  It was off limits to everyone.  Benjamin’s body was sent in another ambulance to the county coroner’s office for an autopsy.  Slowly the crowd broke up, and Katherine and Rachel went to Kat’s house.  Rachel lay down on the couch as Katherine wiped her face with a wet bath cloth.  
“I’m so sorry about Benjamin,” I cried.  
Then Rachel broke down again crying hysterically.  I held her in my arms and rocked her.  Tears filled my eyes as we cried until we couldn’t cry any more.  All that we could do was sit silently and stare.  About two hours later, Dennis called.  He was fine and needed me to come and get him.  
 “Rachel, do you think you’ll be all right for a few minutes?” I asked.  “I’ve got to go pick up Dennis at the hospital.”
“Sure, Kat, I’ll be fine.  I think I’m going on home,” she said.  “I’ll see you later.”
“Are you sure?” I replied.  “You can go with me.”
“No, that’s alright,” she explained.  “I’ll meet him later.”
“Okay, then,” I said.  “I’ll check on you later.  Bye.”
A few days later, Rachel, Katherine, and Dennis stood on the banks of the lighthouse.  Below the beach, the crashing waters of the ocean drove hard against the cliff.  Rachel held an urn in her arms.  She opened the lid and poured out Benjamin’s ashes in the gusty winds.  That was Benjamin’s wish.  Rachel stood bold and brave as she held back the tears.  I took her in my arms and held her close to me, like a big sister.
About two weeks later, Dennis approached Rachel once again and told her he had a plan to kill Katherine and he needed her help.  He wanted all of her money and Rachel was a big partner in his plan.  He was holding the one night-stand over her head, because he believed that if Kat found out it would destroy them both.  He wanted Katherine dead.  
Then one afternoon, Rachel and I took a walk down by the lighthouse.  I asked her what was wrong, and she said nothing.  But, I knew better.  It was something else besides losing Benjamin.
“There is something you want to tell me,” I said.
She began to cry.  She was afraid and didn’t know what to do.  Then I looked in her eyes and said, “It’s something about Dennis isn’t it.”
She nodded her head yes.  
“I could tell by the way he looked at you,” I said.  “I think I know what it is.”
Then Rachel told her the whole story.
“Forgive me, Kat,” she cried.  “I didn’t know.  I swear I had no idea.”  
 “Go ahead,” I said.  “Rachel, you can tell me.”
We both sat down in the tall grass on the hillside overlooking the bay.  Rachel confided in me.  She told me the whole story and about the one night stand and the blackmail.  Tears filled my eyes as I saw the hurt and pain she had been carrying.  I turned to her and told her that I loved her and always have loved her and that there was nothing that would change that.  I slowly looked around me to see that autumn had fallen in my life once more.  Like so many times my saying had triggered onto a hard time.  Autumn was not always sad, but happy at times.  I told Rachel to keep things like they were and not to let him know I knew and I wouldn’t either.  As we stood, we hugged once more, and Rachel told me that she loved me.  I told her that I forgave her.  When we got back to the house, the detectives were there.  When we approached them, I asked what was going on.  I hadn’t expected to see them so soon.
He said, “I hadn’t planned on coming back, but something has come up that you should know about.”
“What’s that?” I questioned.
“The body we took off the boat that was burned so badly is Shane Ward, your brother.  Shane and Benjamin is the same person.  Shane was using Benjamin, his middle name, to hide his identity.  Word has it that the accident may be mafia connected.”
My legs fell weak as they started to buckle under me.  Quickly, we sat down on the porch steps.
“How can you be so sure?” Rachel asked.  “The body was burned so badly.”
“When they did the autopsy in Charleston, they checked his dental records and the fingerprints they took off his good hand.  His prints proved a match and his dental work was a perfect match.”
“But why?” I asked.  “What is going on?  How did Shane get involved with the mafia?”
“Gambling debt we suspect,” replied the detective.
“That’s what we found out from street informants.  Shane was in with the mob too deeply.  They wanted their money, and he didn’t have it so they had put a contract on him.  He wound up with a truckload of gambling debt he couldn’t pay.  He faked his death to keep from having to pay.  He is also wanted in the suspicious murder in Long Bottom, North Carolina.  The boy who helped Shane fake his death was found about six weeks ago, also dead.  By the way, is your husband around?” asked the detective.  “I have some questions to ask him about the explosion.”
“He’s gone over to Charleston,” I replied.  He said he wouldn’t be back until later tonight.”
“What about the explosion?” Rachel inquired.  
“After they examined the boat, your husband said he smelled gas.  We found a small hole in the gas line.  It looked like it was made by the point of a pocketknife.  The fumes and gas leak dripped enough gas on the engine that when it got hot it ignited and blew up.  My question is, with it being a new boat, how did the hole get in a new line?”
“Are you suggesting that he killed Shane?” I asked.
“About how long have you known him?” asked the detective.
“Not as long as I should have,” I answered back.
“Okay, ladies, that’s it for now,” he said.  “I’ll check back tomorrow with your husband.”
As he was leaving, Rachel and I looked at one another in disbelief.
Why didn’t Shane come to daddy or me to get the money?  We would have paid it off to save him.  Then it dawned on me.  He didn’t want daddy to know because he was afraid he’d be cut out of his inheritance.  Then after daddy died, he would resurface and claim his part.  That was what he was trying to tell me all along.  That he needed help and money, but the mob must have been right on him and he had to move around a lot.  Then that’s what he was trying to say with the peppermint stick.  I am allergic to peppermint and when we were growing up, Shane nicknamed me Peppermint.  He was the only one who called me that.  I wish I would have caught on to it.  Maybe he would still be alive.  
Rachel didn’t say anything, but while Katherine was figuring out Shane, she was, too.  That’s why he never made a pass at her.  They were only good friends.  We were like brother and sister growing up.
“What are we going to do?” Rachel asked.  “He’s evidently working for the mob.  He already killed Shane.  Killing again won’t matter to him.”
Kat quickly hushed Rachel as she thought for a minute.  
“He won’t be home until late tonight,” I said.  “I’ve got an idea.  Come on in the house, and I’ll tell you about it.”
As they entered the house, Kat explained the plan.  
“Do you think it will work?” asked Rachel.
“We’ll make it work,” bragged Kat.
Time passed slowly as the two girls went over the plan.  It was finally a quarter to one in the morning.  The two girls waited for him in the dark house.  Katherine was right; he come home dog drunk.  They had cut off the main breaker inside the house.  The only light that you could see was that of the full moon and the sudden flash of the lighthouse every few seconds.  When he stepped into the room, I met him at the door in a negligee.  I was hot and ready.  When he saw me, he asked for another drink.  I poured him one.
“I want to make a toast,” he said, “to my darling rich wife.  Here’s to you, baby, cheers.”  
Then he fell down on the couch.  About then in came Rachel in a beautiful negligee.
“Rachel,” he said, “is that you?  Are there two of you?” he laughed.  “That calls for another drink.  Katherine let me have a double.”
I quickly poured the drink and handed it to him.
“I want to make a toast to Rachel,” he cheered, “the best one-night stand ever.”
Then we eased over to him, one on each side.  He smelled of alcohol and smoke.  Slowly, we started loving on him.  He was eating it up.  In a matter of minutes he passed out.  Quickly, we changed clothes.  I got one arm and Rachel the other.  Then we hurried to get him to the cliff.  We struggled to get him there; he was a big guy.  We fell down a couple of times, but we picked him up and moved on.  When we got to the cliff we were going to let him fall off when he came to.  As he staggered about, he turned to me and asked what was going on.  I told him to look over his shoulder.  He turned and his feet slipped and he fell over the cliff.  When he did, he grabbed me.  Rachel screamed as Dennis and I disappeared into the darkness.  She fell to her knees, looking over the edge.
“Kat, Kat, Kat!” she cried.
“I’m here,” I cried.  “Down here.”
As the lighthouse lit up the cliff, Rachel finally saw me.  I was hanging from the cliff by some old roots and grass.  There was no sign of Dennis.  Quickly, Rachel reached down, trying to grab hold of my hand.  She stretched and tried her best to reach me but we couldn’t get a hold.  
“Hold on!” she cried.  “Hold on, Kat.”
“Hurry up,” I cried.  “My hand is slipping.”
About that time a big hand broke through the darkness.  It was Dennis climbing up on Kat’s back.  She fought to get him off, but she was limited from her situation.  Rachel slapped and knocked him around with her other hand.  But he was not backing off.  Then Rachel picked up a rock and started hitting him in the head.  Dennis tried to pull her over the edge, but he was too weak.  Then he grabbed me by the hair of the head and jerked me back from the cliff into the darkness to the rocky beach below.  Rachel stood crying at the top of the cliff.  The lighthouse searched the night sky and the beach below.  Quickly Rachel looked down and saw Katherine and Dennis lying there.  They lay motionless and still.  Then she took off and ran down the hill to the beach.  When she got there she saw Kat; she was dead; her neck was broken.
“Kat, Kat!” she cried.  “Please don’t die.”
Then all of a sudden something grabbed Rachel’s leg.  She started to scream and started kicking with all her strength.  It was Dennis’s hand.  Then it let go and fell limp after a few minutes.  Rachel called the police and the detective came out.  She explained to him about Shane and that Dennis was a hit man for the mob.  
“Kat confronted him when he came home drunk and they fought and argued.  I tried to break it up, but they kept on and they wound up over by the cliff.  Dennis was so drunk he couldn’t stand up.  He tripped over the edge and when he fell, he grabbed Kat.  She went over with him.  I tried to help them but it was too late.  They both ended up on the rocky beach below.  That’s when I called you.  I believe you’ll find out that Dennis also killed Shane’s friend in North Carolina.”
The detective took the report and looked at all the evidence.  He wasn’t for sure if everything happened that way, but enough had already happened.  Did it really matter?  
About a week later, Rachel left Judd Island.  But before she left, she received a call from her attorney in Key West.  He told her that he had gotten a call from a Katherine Ward’s attorney in Clover Hill Ridge, Tennessee, and she needed to go by his office immediately.  She agreed to go by on her way back to Key West.  It wasn’t long until she was back in Clover Hill puzzled by the strange meeting.  Rachel sat down with Kat’s attorney.  
“I guess you are wondering,” he said, “why I have asked you to come by.”
“Kinda,” she replied.
“Actually, Rachel, Wilson Ward had three children, Katherine, Shane and you.”
“What!” she interrupted.
“Yes, you,” he said.  “Katherine and Shane are your half brother and sister.  Wilson had a brief affair with your mother several years ago.  She got pregnant and had you.  Wilson and your mother agreed never to tell anyone and let it remain a secret until after his death.”
“Did Kat and Shane know?” she asked.
“No, they didn’t.  Not even their mother knew.  Your mother loved him unconditionally.  She took it to her grave.  There was an attachment to the will.  It was only to be opened at the death of Katherine and Shane Ward.  It was a written addition and was attached to the original will.  It is a safety clause set up through the Tennessee Supreme Court to protect inheritors such as an unknown child, children, or other parties to their rightful inheritance.  It is called The Unclaimed Children’s Law.  Docket #4A73B10-C of 1921 protects the rights of those children in question.  If a party or parties have a child or children outside of their family, those children have the right to claim their share of the inheritance in question.  But they must have documented proof, without a reasonable doubt, of their birth father and mother.  In your case, Rachel, you are the last surviving heir to the Ward fortune.  Besides, Katherine left everything to you.  She made you the beneficiary if anything ever happened to her.  So that’s it,” he said.  “Rachel you are a very rich woman.”
She was dumbfounded, not knowing what to say.  She got up and quietly walked over to the window and looked out.  In a few minutes, with tears in her eyes, she mumbled out the words, “When Autumn Falls.”

*****

Troubled Waters
Fourteen New Shiny Pennies
The silhouette of a young woman hung in the midst of the drizzling rain.  Debra stood quiet beside the stone colored casket.  The tilt of her umbrella accented her eyes as the small crowd began to taper off, leaving her in a moment of solitude.  Moments later the rain began to pick up and fall harder.  Another woman, Bessie Mae, came over to Debra and escorted her to the car.  As the two stood there waiting to get in the car, Bessie Mae turned to embrace Debra.  A small two-year-old girl stepped out of the car.  
“Mama, Mama,” she cried. 
Quickly Debra turned and took the child in her arms.  The two women and the child disappeared into the car.  The rain drummed hard upon the ground as the casket sat alone above the grave.  As the car drove off I wiped away the fog from the window.  As I was leaving the graveyard I thought it was the longest day of my life, I was out of tears.  All I could think about was my Mama.  It was hard to give her up.  She was my mother and my best friend.  When Mama died, I felt that part of me died with her.
The rain continued on into the early night, while I lay down to sleep.  I remember the thunder roaring outside, and the rain dancing hard on the tin roof of the house. Mama always did love Smokey Mountain rain.  
It was 1958.  The hard rain of the night before lay still on the ground as morning broke over the golden horizon.  I stood and stared out the window of Mama and Daddy’s home at the awakening dawn—I remembered Mama.

***
I grew up in the Appalachian Mountains of east Tennessee in the small community of Slick Pig, about five miles from Barefoot, North Carolina.  Barefoot was the largest town close to us.  At the intersection there sat an old country store on one side, and across from it was a post office and a barbeque pit.  A church sat about a half mile down the road along with the local garage.  The bus came through once a week; nobody ever got on or off.  
Daddy and I always went to the country store, and he would buy me candy.  The storekeeper would take a butcher knife, slice him a piece of bologna, and place it on crackers.  Sometimes he would buy a slice of cheese on crackers with a dash of hot sauce.  We would top off our treats with an ice-cold soda drink.  
Slick Pig was a spot in the road at the Junction of Highway 6, about eight miles from Heady Ridge in Gilmore County.  It wasn’t much, but it was home.  I grew up there.  I wouldn’t change it for anything, from gathering eggs to planting, cutting, and stripping tobacco.  I thought getting my divorce was enough in one year but I lost my mama, and that was almost more than I could bear.
Mama was a big woman with long auburn hair that she always wore up.  She had the prettiest face.  Daddy had wavy black hair and always wore overalls.  He had a small mustache that accented his upper lip.  Daddy was still handsome for his age of sixty-three years.
Life in the Appalachian Mountains was good I thought, now that I look back on it.  They were probably the happiest days of my life.  It is funny when you’re young you see things one way, and years later, you look back and it’s completely different.  I remember helping Mama hang out clothes on the clothesline.  I would always hand her the clothespins while we did laundry.  Her auburn hair would blow dry in the wind after she washed it, and she would sing with a voice of an angel.  Daddy would come home from the fields.  We would sit out on the front porch, talking, as the wind whistled through the screen door.  
For me, I wrote songs.  I spent a lot of my time writing and playing with my best friend, Bessie Mae.  I loved to hear Mama sing.  I guess that was why I fell in love with music.  On Saturday night, we would listen to the Grand Ole Opry.  Mama, Daddy, Aunt Kay, Uncle Jim and some of my cousins would all sit around, eat popcorn and listen.  I always believed Mama could have been an Opry star.  She was an extraordinary person to me.  There was nothing she couldn’t do.  Daddy was good, too.  He worked all the time.  She kept the house, washed and ironed, took care of the garden, canned, filled the freezer and took care of me.  I remember when she got saved and was baptized in the creek.  Daddy didn’t go to church much.  But Mama sang in the choir every Sunday.  I got my first taste of song writing from church hymns.  The first song I wrote was The Sheep Know the Voice of the Shepherd.  Mama put music to it and sang it in church.
***
I heard someone enter the living room and walk up behind me.  A fragile, trembling hand, touched my shoulder, and then came a voice, “Debra, are you all right?”
Slowly I turned and reached for him.  He started to cough.
“I’ll be all right, Daddy,” replied Debra.  “I believe your breathing and coughing is getting worse.”
As the tears welled up in his eyes, his chin quivered, and as his cough left he replied, “I can’t believe she’s gone.”
“Daddy,” I said.  “She’ll always be with us.”
Then he took his trembling hand and lightly stroked my hair.  Tears dripped from his face and he said, “Debra, I see her so much in you.”
I slowly took him in my arms and hugged him.  “Everything will be all right, Daddy,” I assured him.
There was a knock at the front door.
“Who could that be?” asked Daddy.
I peeped out the window.  It was Bessie Mae. Daddy opened the door.
“Is Deb up, Mr. Jenkins?” she asked.
“She sure is,” replied Dad as he gave her a hug.  “Come on in.”
As I stepped out into Bessie’s view we ran to each other and held each other tight.  
“I love you, Bessie Mae,” I said.  
“I love you, too, Deb,” she replied.  “I’m sorry about Mrs. Shirley Ann.”
“Thanks, Bessie.  What about you, girl?  It’s been a long time now.  What have you been up to and how’s Billy Joe?”
“He’s fine,” she said.  
“Why, girl,” I said.  “I haven’t seen you since you and Billy Joe tied the knot and that was over a year ago.”
“After we left Slick Pig, Billy got a job offer in Coates Station in northern Georgia.  It’s about fifty miles south of Chattanooga,” she replied.  “He works in a mill where they make carpet.”
“What about you?” asked Bessie Mae.  “I didn’t get a chance to talk to you earlier.”
“It was pouring down rain,” I replied.  “Bessie, I’ve got something to tell you.”  I took her hand in mine and we squeezed them tight.  “I am going to Nashville to write songs.”
“That’s great!” cried Bessie.  “That’s what you’ve always wanted.”
“I believe Mama would have wanted it that way,” I said.  
“I believe,” she replied.  “I know she would.  That was her dream for you, girl.”
“As soon as I get Daddy situated and some other things taken care of, I’m heading that way with Bonnie Mae.”
“Speaking of Bonnie, where is she?” asked Bessie.
“She’s still asleep,” I replied.
“I didn’t get a chance to see her much except in the car,” she said.
“She’s really growing.  She’s going to take after you,” I replied.  “I did name her after you.”
About that time Daddy came in with some coffee.
“Here you go girls,” he said.  “Like old times.”
“Are you okay, Daddy?” she asked.
“I’m fine,” he replied, “just a little weak.”
We sat and enjoyed our coffee and began to reminisce of things lost through years past.  Bessie Mae lived down the creek from us.  We spent many long summers wading up and down the long and winding creek, playing along its bank with giant sycamore trees.  There were many times we slipped on the slick rock bottom and busted our butts.  Mama would always fuss at us to stay out of the creek.  When the creek was low, we played with our dolls and rode our bikes on every dirt road around.  
“Remember, Bessie,” I recalled, “we’d take a piece of cardboard and stick it between the spokes of the bicycle wheels with a clothespin to make racket.”  
“We’d pick wildflowers in the woods,” she laughed, “and fish in the creek.  Those were the days.”
We both laughed.
“Oh, I’ll never forget your mama’s chocolate and biscuits,” I said, “or that time we got lost in the woods and when it got dark your dad and mine came looking for us with a flashlight and hound dogs.”
“I remember that,” replied Bessie.  “I want you to know when I got home that night, he wore me out with a switch.”
“I know,” I replied.
“Deb, do you remember that summer your mama was going to kill an old rooster for Sunday dinner?  She finally caught him and handed him to you to snap his neck, and the more you pulled and tugged the longer his neck would stretch.  You were crying, “Take him, take him, Mama!”  She laughed at you.  Then you let it go and Mama chased him down again and rung his neck.”
“I remember,” I said, “but he did make a good dinner, didn’t he?”
“A fine one at that,” agreed Bessie.
“What was that your Aunt Carrie used to call sweet potatoes?” I asked.
“Oh, what was that?” wondered Bessie.
“Oh, yes, she always called them music roots.”
“Yeah,” spoke up Daddy.  “They always gave you gas.  You girls had a song you made up for it.  What was that called?”
I looked at Bessie Mae, she looked at me.  We both belled it out together, “The Sweet Potato Rag!”  Then we all laughed.
Those days were special and would stay with us the rest of our lives.  Growing up didn’t seem so bad.  It was when I grew up, that was my biggest problem.  Bessie was my maid of honor and I was hers.  We didn’t know how much our lives would change when we said I do and got married.  Who could have told me, a seventeen-year-old girl, that 1951 would be the beginning of turning my world upside down.  It was a bad time.  I was a foolish teenager, and a good-looking, sweet-talking boy swept me off my feet.  If I could have seen then what I see now, this girl would have run like hell.  I was a teeny bopper with long wavy black hair, a small birthmark on my bottom lip, and a song for the world.  He was Jimmy Ray, my dreamboat, my knight in shining armor.  
“Do you remember, Bessie, my first date with Jimmy?” I asked her.
“Do I! I’ll never forget it.  We double dated that night.  Willie B. and I sat in the car as he stole that kiss when you were up on the porch.  Your mama cut the porch light on and off.  I remember it was time to go in.”
“Speaking of Jimmy Ray and Willie,” spoke up Dad wheezing.  “What about that night Bessie spent the night, and you two girls snuck out of the house to see them and drove over to the bonfire at Hunter Point, nearly twelve miles away?”
“Yes, we do remember,” we both said.  “Mama met us at the door at two o’clock in the morning.  I never heard the last of that.  The county fair, fall festival, hayrides and barn dances were a lot of fun.  I guess I could say it wasn’t all bad.”
“Do you girls want some more coffee?” Dad asked.
“No, not for me,” replied Bessie.  “I’ve got to be going in a few minutes.”
“No, for me,” I said.  “Thanks, Dad.”
“I believe I’m going for a little walk and let you girls get caught up on old times.”
“Bye, Mr. Jenkins,” said Bessie Mae.
“Bye, Bessie Mae,” he replied.  “It was good to see you again, and the next time don’t stay gone so long.”
“Okay, I’ll try not to,” she said.  
“You know, Bessie, I don’t know what really happened with Jimmy Ray and me.  After we had been married a little over a year, he started drinking more and staying out late, living at the Highway 10-Bar,” I said.  “Sometimes he didn’t even come home.  It’s been rough, girl.”
“I know,” said Bessie, “but it’s all over with now, you’re divorced, he’s gone, and he can’t hurt you anymore.  Your mama talked to me many times about the way he treated you.  The verbal abuse, the cuts and bruises, the black-eyes. How much is a woman supposed to take?”
“He’d come in drunk late at night.  I always knew right before he would start to hit me.  He would have a little faint chuckle that ended with a light exhale.  He would pull me around by the hair and slap me in the mouth.  I don’t know, Bessie, how I took it for three years.”
“I know, girl,” she replied.  “I was there with you.”
“I love you, Bessie,” I said.  “If it wasn’t for you, I never would have gotten out.  I’m so thankful Billy Joe is not like that.”
“Hey, girl,” she said, “remember that time Jimmy Ray came home drunk, cussing and raising Cain, and we had to hide the butcher knives?  You were fed up with it, and when he passed out on the bed, we wrapped him up in a sheet, took a needle and fishing line and sewed him up in it.  Then we took a broom and mop handle and whipped the daylights out of him.  The next day when he woke up he was covered with black and blue bruises.  He couldn’t figure out what had happened unless he had gotten into a fight.  He still hasn’t figured it out today.”
“Yes, I remember that,” I cried.  “He stayed humble for about two weeks.  Then he went at it again.  What about that time when we caught him and another girl parking up on Baker’s Hill?”
“Yeah, girl,” replied Bessie.  “That was when you grabbed her out of his car by the hair, and ya’ll fell to the ground rolling, scratching, knocking and pulling hair.  You never saw that heifer around here again.  She left with a couple of teeth missing.  That’s my girl!” yelled Bessie.  “Wait a minute!  Wait a minute, Deb!  Do you remember that night when he went swimming down by the creek, and we snuck down there and stole his clothes and car keys and ran back home and called the law on him?  By the time the law got there he was walking home naked and drunker than a clown.  They arrested him for indecent exposure and public drunkenness and took him to jail.”
“Yeah, I remember,” said Bessie.  
“Those are but a few times I got even compared to several years of abuse.  When he gets real drunk and passes out, he doesn’t remember anything.  He thought he had misplaced his clothes and keys,” replied Deb.
“Why did you stay, Deb?” she asked.
“I don’t know.  I thought I loved him.  He had a problem he couldn’t help.  Mostly I guess I was afraid.”
	“Afraid of what?” replied Bessie.
“I don’t know, maybe being alone.  After Bonnie was born, I thought he would change and settle down, but he didn’t.  It made things worse.  He started in on her.  I couldn’t let that happen.”
“Well you’re out of it now, Debbie, and you can move on with your life,” she said.  “There’s one thing about it, we whipped him a few times.”
“Mama and Daddy stuck with me through it all.”
“I know,” said Bessie.  “I don’t know what you would have done without them.”
“They tried to get me to leave him several times, but I wouldn’t listen.  Now Mama’s gone and Daddy has emphysema.”
“What was the turning point?” asked Bessie.  
“I was already fed up, the love was gone and the hatred was growing fast,” replied Deb.  “Bessie,” I answered very boldly.  “I came home from work one evening and he was drunk.  Do you know what that crazy thing was doing?”
“No,” she answered.
“He had found my collection of songs I had written,” cried Debra.  “Can you believe he was wadding them up and throwing them into the fire?  I ran over to him and jerked the box out of his hand.  As I started to leave, he grabbed me by my legs, knocking them out from under me.  We fought for our lives.  I spent two weeks in the hospital where I finally got some help.  He spent sixty days in jail for assault and battery and domestic violence.  From there, I filed for divorce.”
About that time, a wee voice warmed the room.
“Mama,” said Bonnie Mae.
“Here, baby.  I’m in here,” I answered.  “Come here and see who’s here.”
She slowly rubbed her eyes and quickly looked up, “Its Bessie!” she cried.
“Come here, Bonnie, and see me.  I didn’t get to see you much yesterday.”  Bessie reached over and picked her up.  “Oh, you’re getting to be a big girl.”
Then Bonnie hugged her neck and kissed her on the cheek.  “Are you going to stay?” asked Bonnie. 
“No,” Bessie replied, “not this time, but I’ll be back soon and guess what.”
“What?” said Bonnie.
“You, your mama, and I are going to wade up the creek like we used to do when we were little girls.”
“Oh, boy,” cried Bonnie.  “Can we?  Can we Mama?”
“I suppose so,” I said.  “When Bessie Mae comes back.”
“Oh, boy, thank you Mama,” replied Bonnie.  
“Well, Deb, I need to be going,” she said.  “I’ve got a long drive ahead of me.”
Making our way to the door, I warned her to be careful, and if she ever needed me to let me know.  About that time Daddy stepped up onto the porch.
“Are you leaving us,” he said, “or trying to sneak out on me before I got back?”
“You know me better than that, Mr. Jenkins,” replied Bessie.
“I know you and Debra better than you think,” he laughed.
“Oh, hush, Daddy, we’re young women now,” I replied.  “Our days of slipping out are far behind us.  I’ll see you, Daddy, give me a hug.”
“Call me if you need me,” said Bessie.
“Bye!  Keep in touch.”
We waved until the car disappeared out of sight.  
“Mama, can I have some cereal?” asked Bonnie.
“I’ll get you some,” replied Daddy.  “Come on with me.
They vanished into the kitchen, and I began to wander about the house, thinking about Mama and Bessie Mae.  I noticed how Mama had things tidy, her pictures, what-knots, even her furniture.  It’s funny; I hadn’t looked at it this way before.  It was her; it was Mama and her touch.  I could see it all through the house.  Then I made my way through the kitchen to the back porch.  Daddy was eating a bite with Bonnie.  I slowly opened the screen door and stepped outside.  
There was an old pie safe sitting up against the wall, a wooden table with a granite metal top with two buckets of water and a granite dipper in a washbowl.  Outside on the ground was an old rubber tire cut in two where Mama watered the chickens.  
The backyard was filled with oak, hickory and some maple trees among a few scattered buildings and an outhouse on the other end.  It was so quiet and peaceful in the evenings.  On Sundays after church, Daddy and his two brothers Jim and Henry and their families would all come over and play music and sing.  Mama always fixed a big dinner outdoors for everybody.  The sounds of guitars, banjos and fiddles really stirred things up in the hollow.  When the wind carried that sound up the creek, Bessie would come as soon as she heard it.  Jim and Henry never had a desire to do anything with their music.  We were country folks.  Playing at the barn dances, picnics and benefits kept them happy.  But even then, I wanted more.  I always loved music and wanted to do something with it.  
“It’s going to be different around here,” said Daddy as he walked up behind me.  “I’m going to miss her.”  Tears filled his eyes and he began to shake and tremble as I took him back in and sat him down.
“I know, Daddy,” I said while starting to cry.  “We both will.”
“What am I going to do?” he said with a shortness of breath.  
“I’m going to work things out for you,” I replied.  “You’re going to be taken care of.  I’ll see to that.  Why don’t you go lay down, Daddy, and rest a while?  Your walk may have worn you out.”
“Okay,” he agreed.
“Mama, I finished,” said Bonnie.
“Okay,” I replied.  “Let me get Daddy into his room.”
When Daddy carefully stretched out on the bed, he was off to sleep.  I went over to the window to look out.  My hands were trembling, and my legs felt weak.  I ran my hands down my face.  “Lord, please help me,” I said softly.  “Everything is so up in the air.  I don’t know what to do.  Please help us.”  Then I dropped my head into my hands.  Shortly, I began to hear a voice calling my name.
“Debra, Debra, look out the window.”
Quickly, I raised my head to see.  I saw Mama.  
“Mama, Mama, is that you?”
“Yes, Debra,” she replied.  “It’s Mama.  Things are going to be all right.”
“They are, Mama?” I cried.
Then she was gone.
“Mama, who are you talking to?” asked Bonnie.  
I looked out again, but she was not there.  It must have been all the stress or the pressure of everything, or maybe it was closure.
“Come on, Bonnie, let’s go in here and let Daddy sleep.”
In a few weeks, the time had come for me to leave.
Slowly, I turned, stopped and looked back at Daddy.  I assured him, with no doubt, things were going to be all right.  
Within the next two weeks, I had made arrangements to get help for Daddy.  When I left, a nurse would be coming by three times a week and I had someone to stay with him at night.  I also took care of some other business, about moving to Nashville.  
By the end of the month, Bonnie and I were on our way.  We boxed our belongings and packed my ’56 Ford Fairlane to the top.  I had some money saved up, enough to get a new start, plus Mama and Daddy had also saved me up a nest egg.  On our way there, I couldn’t help but wonder how it was going to be. Aunt Betty Jean, Mama’s sister, agreed to let us stay with her until we got on our feet.  After several hours of driving, I finally entered the outskirts of Nashville.  
“Look, Mama, at the airplane!” cried Bonnie.  “Look how big it is.”
I quickly glanced up; it was so low you could almost touch it.  It was followed by a loud roaring sound.  Bonnie and I were amazed at the city once we got downtown.  Shortly, I began to call out street names—Church, Demonbreun, 2nd Avenue, and Broadway.  I got so carried away that I missed my turn and had to go back.  I turned on Charlotte and got back on course and headed for Betty Jean’s house on Roosevelt Circle.  When we arrived, she met us at the door.  We went in and sat a spell, playing catch up, and sat down to a home cooked meal.  She was always a good cook like Mama.  Afterward, I started unloading the car.  
The next day was more exciting than the day before.  Bonnie and I went sightseeing.  We saw Union Station, the Ryman Auditorium, the wax museum of the country stars, Country Music Hall of Fame and Music Row.  We stopped at some of the record shops and I bought some 45’s.  I saw some lounges along Printer’s Alley, Tootsies and the Blue Diamond.  “This is it,” I said to myself.  “This is the place for me and my music.”
I couldn’t wait to get started pitching songs.  The next day began with a new task, to get started job hunting.  I had looked in the paper for some jobs and Betty Jean’s friends told me about some others.  I began looking that day, but by the end of the second week, I still hadn’t found anything.  At night, I would sit down and write, trying to get back into the country beat.  I had a box of songs, what was left of them, Mama and I had written through the years.  It was a few days later that I received a call for a job interview for a waitress at a diner.  I got the job.  I worked the next six weeks and got another offer for more money at another waitress job.  I took it and moved out, but not far from Aunt Betty Jean’s.  She kept Bonnie for me during the day.  The times I wasn’t working or writing, I spent missing Mom, Dad and Bessie Mae.
I didn’t have much time to pitch many songs and I got little or no response.  Music Row was covered with recording studios, Hilltop Records, Star Studio and Song Tunes to name a few.  There was a restaurant called Wagon Trail Steak House next to Hilltop Records.  I tried to hang out there a lot.  There were record producers, stars, and recording people eating there all the time.  I didn’t have any luck there either.  But I loved Nashville.  There was something about it that stirred your insides.  
There was no telling how many songs a day were written in Music City.
The phone rang; it was Daddy.  He was breathing heavy, and still coughing.  We talked a few minutes before he told me why he had called.  My eyes filled with tears as a big lump hung in my throat.  He told me Bessie Mae’s husband had been abusing her ever since they had been married.  This time he had put her in the hospital.  That’s how he had found out.  Tears ran down my face; I couldn’t believe it.  Why didn’t she tell me? After Daddy hung up, I tried to call her, but there was no answer.  I tried for several days.  I even called Daddy back later to see if he could reach her; he couldn’t.  There was no answer.  Maybe she’ll call me, I thought.  Daddy had tried to get in touch with her family, but they had either died or moved away.  She had an uncle who lived back up in the hollow, but he didn’t know where to begin to look for her.
I hurt for her.  I knew what she was going through.  I never thought Billy Joe would ever do anything like that.  He seemed so crazy about her.  They seemed so happy.  I said a prayer for her everyday and hoped she would call me.  
As time passed, I started a second job as a part-time waitress at the Hidden Way Inn.  There I hustled tables, living on tips to help make ends meet.  The extra money tide us over when work was slow at my other job.  If it wasn’t for Aunt Betty Jean’s help with Bonnie, I don’t know what I would have done.  Work and sleep seemed to be all my life had become.  I still tried to pitch a few songs around, but never had any luck.  
Then one night when I got home from work, I found my apartment had been broken into.  I immediately called the police.  In no time they were there.  They asked me to look about and see if I could see anything missing.  They talked to me about the break in, if I had any idea who may have done it—husband, boyfriend, a stranger mysteriously hanging around.  I told them I didn’t know, that I had only been in Nashville for three months.  They did their routine investigation and left.  I began to study for a few minutes, but I couldn’t find anything missing.  
What were they looking for and why?  None of the neighbors had seen or heard anything.  It had been a long rough week, and my brain was tired.  The landlord changed the lock on the door the next day and added a deadbolt lock.  It would be a whole lot harder to get in the next time, but I prayed there would not be a next time.  
Everything went on as usual for the next few weeks when one day the police dropped by the restaurant.  They were able to lift some prints from my apartment and asked me if I knew a Jimmy Ray Warner.
“Yeah, I know him,” I said.  “He’s my ex-husband.  Is he the one that broke into my apartment?”
“Yes ma’am, it seems so,” they replied.  “Do you have any idea where we can find him?”
“The last time I saw him, he was in East Tennessee.  I didn’t know he was in Nashville.  How did he find me?”
“There’s an APB out on him,” said one of the officers.  “If he is in Metro we’ll find him.”
“Thank you, sir,” I replied.
I became afraid.  Why was he here and what did he want?  I began to watch myself more carefully.  I knew if he ever got his hands on me again, he’d kill me.  I called Aunt Betty Jean and told her what I had found out.  She insisted that we stay with her until he was caught.  I agreed with her and sighed with relief.  A week had gone by and we hadn’t heard anything until late one evening.  The detectives came back by the restaurant and told me they had caught him.  They assured me that I wasn’t going to have to worry about him for a while.  He was caught breaking into a convenience store market, and had violated his probation.  It looked like he would have a little stay at Cockrill Bend State Prison when the judge got through with him.  What a relief.  I was so glad to find out.
I called Aunt Betty Jean and told her.  Now I could move back into my apartment.  But I still wondered what he was looking for.  I still hadn’t heard from Bessie Mae, and Dad hadn’t either.  It was like she had disappeared off the face of the earth.  
Things did open up for me, though, with the help of my second job.  I worked a lot of four top stations (a table and four chairs) on the floor some, six tops (a table and six chairs), and some deuces (a table and two chairs).  Between running food, clearing food from cook’s window, and bussing tables, I stayed busy.  Whenever a table was not going down (setting the table), I rolled silver in napkins.  You will always have your slackers and half-steppers, the lazy ones who halfway did their work.  Also, too, with the shouting from the bosses to get the food out hot, the kitchen yelling orders, dishes crashing, phones ringing, and lots of yelling from everyone, it was a typical waitress job.  
I got to do a little more writing and pitching songs.  I had talked to some record producers and some stars I had run into at the Wagon Trail.  They all said about the same thing—not what we’re looking for.  I joined a songwriter’s class at one of the local colleges.  They were helpful, but I learned it was a whole lot harder to break into the business than I had thought.  
Then about a year later, I was at work one day at the restaurant, taking a smoke break, when a song came across the radio.  I listened and thought to myself; that sounds like one of my songs.  I listened closer, and then I screamed out.  You could hear me out on the floor.  Suddenly I stopped. I had never pitched that song before.  The title and some of the words were changed, but it was my song.  Then the DJ came on bragging about this new group with the song that was quickly climbing the charts.
“Damn!” I yelled as I slapped the top of the table.  “How did they get my song?”  Then it dawned on me—Jimmy Ray.  That’s what he was doing in my house.  That’s why I couldn’t find anything missing.  I never thought to look in my song box.  But what could I do?  Those songs in the box were not copyrighted, and I didn’t know how many he took.  I was about to go through the ceiling, but what could I do?  I couldn’t prove it was mine.  It would be my word against theirs.  Jimmy Ray would never own up to it.  
Just my luck, damn it.  I write and pitch songs out all over Nashville and when one gets recorded I can’t prove it is mine.  But my song stayed on the top ten fn the country charts for three weeks.  Praise the Lord.  That made me want to try that much harder.  And Jimmy-Ray got three to five in prison.  A-men.  That song may have cost him more than he wanted to pay.  
There were many times I wanted to quit and throw in the towel, pack my bags and head back to East Tennessee.  The love to write and the melody of a song in my heart pressed me on.  I was in it all the way till death took me out.  I wrote more, I demanded more out of my work.  But my cheerful, high spirits were trampled in defeat when I got a phone call from Daddy.
Bessie Mae was dead.  When he first told me my legs nearly buckled out from under me.  I started screaming, “Oh, God, oh, my God.  No, please, no, my God.”  I broke down crying.  
I could hear Daddy quietly on the phone saying, “Debra, Debra.”
I tried to pull myself together.  I didn’t want to lose Daddy, too.  “I’m all right,” I replied as I held back the hurt.  I sat there and listened as the tears poured and my heart raced.  “What happened, Daddy?” I asked.  
“Billy Joe shot her while she was sleeping.”
I gasped for air as my lungs fell weak.  All that I could do was stare in silence.  I could see her face as a little girl, her dark eyes sparkling, her smile so innocent, and her pigtails accenting her face in a way that it was only her.  I told Daddy that I would be home for the funeral.  From then on, I was in a daze.  
I had some time saved up, and I took off to East Tennessee.  It was good to see Daddy again and the old home place.  I couldn’t help but look back and think of Bessie Mae and me running up and down hollows.  It was still a shock.  I couldn’t believe it was true.  
They brought Bessie back to East Tennessee for the viewing of the body and the funeral.  I spent a lot of time with Daddy; I could tell he had gone down a lot.  We visited Bessie’s uncle who lived down the creek from us.  He saw to it that she was put away properly.  Most of her family had moved away.  Some of them came back, and there were other families and friends about the community who came and helped.  Her Mom and Dad were already gone.  She was to lay at rest next to them.  
It was a beautiful funeral.  Bessie would have loved it.  The soulful songs and the swing of the music stirred your heart.  The harmony laid a peace on your heart.  As they carried her body from the church to the cemetery, they paraded with song until the last drop of dirt lay at rest upon her grave.  I stood by her casket, as I had stood by Mama’s, in silence.
“Bessie, we will meet again,” I slowly whispered.  
Afterward, I returned to Nashville.  It was hard to get over her death.  With the help of my two jobs, I could get away for a moment, but not for long.  
The year was 1964.  I was still working at the Hidden Way Inn part-time.  Shortly into the shift, I was waiting tables in the dining room.  It was pretty crowded.  The lunch crowd seemed to be up that day.  I was wore out, tired from my other job.  Four o’clock came early, and I stayed until at least 9:00.  I had one six top that day with two four tops and a deuce.  Everything seemed to be going well.  I was taking orders coming and going, busing tables and welcoming new customers.  At the deuce table sat a young man, nice looking, clean cut, and sort of an executive type.  I took his order and served him.  He was nice and polite.  When I gave him the check, I noticed him get up and head to the cashier.  Then he disappeared down the hall.  As I went over to bus the table, I noticed fourteen shiny new pennies left laying on the table for a tip.  I thought I would go through the ceiling.
“Hey, girl,” I said to another waitress.  “Can you believe this jerk?”
She shook her head.  I reached down and grabbed up those fourteen shiny new pennies and took off down the hall.  I caught up with him waiting for the elevator.  As I approached him, he turned and faced me.
“Here, you take this.  You need it a whole lot worse than I do,” I cried.
I threw the pennies at him; he looked at me and his mouth dropped open.  The others standing around laughed, and I turned and walked off with my head thrown back.  I can’t believe that jerk, I thought. When I got back to the dining room, the other girls cheered me on.  
“Go Debbie, Go!,” they cheered.
Well, that shot the rest of the night.  But they say a good thing comes from a bad thing.  About three months later, I wrote a song entitled Fourteen Shiny New Pennies.  It turned out to be one of my better songs.  I felt good about it and started pitching it.  Weeks passed and not a day went by that I didn’t pitch the song.
Life went on as usual, working, trying to make ends meet.  Bonnie was slowly growing up.  I bought a 1960 Chevy Impala.  Things were good, better than it was when I first arrived in Nashville.  Jimmy Ray was still in prison.  
Then one day it happened.  It all began to come together.  The hard work and determination began to pay off.  It was in the spring of ’65 that I received a call from Hilltop Records.  They informed me that they were interested in recording my song Fourteen Shiny New Pennies.  They wanted me to come in and talk to them.  I had waited for years to hear someone tell me that, and I wondered what I would do if they did. I was at a loss for words.  It took my breath away for the first few minutes, and when I hung up the phone, I almost wet my pants.  I grabbed Bonnie and waltzed with her about the room, laughing and crying, twirling her around.  My first real break … thank you, Lord, bless you.  
The next day, I went over to Hilltop to talk to them and sign some papers.  As I pulled up in front of the building, I could barely breathe.  It was huge, with a lot of people coming in and out.  I didn’t know what to say.  I hoped I looked good.  I looked in my mirror and picked at my hair.  I ran a dab of fresh lipstick over my lips and hurried to the door.  I made my way up to the third floor and nervously raced down the hall, looking for suite 3120. I straightened my clothes, touched my hair, reached for the doorknob and stepped in.  I told the secretary why I was there.  She told me to take a seat.  Those few moments seemed like forever.  Then finally she told me I could go in.
“Come in, Mrs. Warren,” said the man behind the desk.  “Have a seat.”
“Thank you,” I replied.  
“My name is Paul Owens and I believe we want to record one of your songs,” said Mr. Owens.  “But before we get into that, I’ve got someone I want you to meet.”
I slowly looked around, and entering from another door was a young man who seemed familiar, but I couldn’t place him.  As the young man walked up to me, Mr. Owens introduced him.
“This is my son, Dennis Owens.”
I shook his hand and told him I was glad to meet him.  I carefully looked him over, and it struck me where I had seen him before.
“Yes,” he replied as he read the expression on my face.  “I’m the jerk that left the fourteen shiny new pennies.”
“Oh, my God,” I cried.  “I’m so sorry,” I apologized.  
“Oh, there’s no need to apologize,” said Mr. Owens.  “Dennis filled me in and I think you were right.”
Then we all broke out laughing.  Dennis apologized for it, I accepted, and we moved on to business.  
Mr. Owens seemed to have high hopes for the song.  I was really impressed with the professional handling and marketing of it.  They had an upcoming artist that they wanted to record the song.  It would be a great opportunity for us both.  
On the way home, I still couldn’t believe it.  I thought how proud Mama and Bessie Mae would have been.  As soon as I got home, I called Daddy and told him.  He was so glad.
“Debra, you deserve it,” he said.  “I’m glad it worked out.”
Daddy didn’t talk long.  He was in the last stages of emphysema.
A couple days later the phone rang.  It was Dennis at Hilltop Records.  I couldn’t believe it.  He asked me out for lunch.  From then on, Dennis and I started seeing each other.  He was a lot of fun.  We hit it off; Bonnie loved him.  They were still in the process of recording the song.  It would be released on a single in about three more months.  I was beginning to wonder which meant the most to me—the recording of my song or meeting Dennis.  
For the next few months, my world was on hold.  I stopped writing, quit my waitressing job, and lived each day as if it were my last.  I had seen people who looked so happy before, and I often wondered how it would be.  Now I knew.  We had even talked about marriage, but I wasn’t sure if I was ready for that.  
Then one day, suddenly, I started bleeding really bad.  I made my way over to the commode and sat down.  Luckily, in a few minutes, Aunt Betty Jean came by to pick up Bonnie.  When she found me, she helped me up and took me to bed and raised my legs with pillows to keep me from bleeding to death.  Bonnie was crying; there was blood everywhere.  Quickly, Betty Jean placed a towel under me and called the ambulance.  They rushed me to the hospital and stopped the bleeding.  Bonnie stayed with Aunt Betty Jean.  After running a series of tests, the doctor came in and told me what he had found.  It was cervical cancer.  My eyes filled with tears as I quickly looked away.  
He continued, “There’s nothing else we can do.  It has spread too far.”
I burst into tears, “Why, God, why now?”  
The only hope we have,” continued the doctor, “is chemo treatments.  That may give us some more time.”
He left the room; I had never felt so lost and helpless.  I wished Mama and Daddy were here, but they weren’t.  Why now, when everything in my life was so good for a change.  I didn’t understand.  About then, Dennis, Betty Jean, and Bonnie came in.  They hugged me and cried.  The doctor had talked to them also.  Bonnie was a big girl.  She understood I was really sick. Dennis held me tight.  I had never been held that tight before.  As we all cried for a moment, I rose up and addressed them all.  
“It’s not over with yet.  We have some time ahead, and we’re going to make the best of it one day at a time.”
I told Aunt Betty Jean not to say anything to Daddy.  He was dealing with enough already.  
It wasn’t long until they started my first treatment, and at the same time, my song hit the top twenties.  It was catching on all across the country.  Time passed with more treatment, and more DJ’s spinning my song.  I had to be strong for Bonnie’s sake, even though I had nearly given up.  I was frail, fragile, and afraid inside, not knowing when it would be over.  
Dennis took it hard.  He was afraid, too; you could see it in his face.  His worried eyes showed he was carrying a heavy burden.  
It had been almost a year since I found out about the cancer when the ambulance came to take me to the hospital.  They didn’t have to tell me; I knew it was a matter of time now.  Dennis, Aunt Betty Jean and Bonnie were there.  Bonnie was going to stay with Aunt Betty until Dennis got papers to adopt her.  She was as crazy about him as he was about her. 
Dennis took my box of songs.  He had looked at them and was very impressed.  He talked to his dad about the possibility of an album.  Daddy never knew.  Aunt Betty Jean would talk to him later.  Then suddenly, I started to hear the most beautiful music I had ever heard.  
“Shhh,” I said.  “Listen, do you hear it?”
***
“He fell silent as tears clouded our eyes,” said Dennis.  “Bonnie was the last word I heard Debra say.  Aunt Betty,” said Dennis.  “Maybe you need to take Bonnie out in the hallway.”
Dennis stepped up and took over telling the rest of Debra’s story.
About then the doctor came in, examined Debra’s body, looked up at me and shook his head.  I took her back home to the hills and hollows of East Tennessee to be buried.  At the gravesite of her mother, Bonnie stood a brave young girl.  She stood by her mother’s with me.  There was a fine mist of rain, drizzling.  Slowly, the rain started to bead up on top of the casket.  Carefully, Bonnie placed her hand on top of the coffin and ran it across the top.  The little droplets of rain beaded up between her fingers and quickly ran off the side.  In the quietness of the moment, a frail voice spoke out, “I remember Mama.”  
The long ride home was a quiet one.  I had received notice from the adoption agency.  I was approved to adopt Bonnie.  The following week at the 1969 Country Music Awards, Bonnie and I went forward together to accept Debra’s award.  “Fourteen Shiny New Pennies” won the Songwriter’s Achievement Award, and received a standing ovation.  In the roaring applause, eyes filled with tears.  The audience fell quiet, as a hush filled the room.  A little girl named Bonnie softly said, “I love you, Mommy.”

*****

Troubled Waters
A Table for Three
It was a long hot summer in 1963.  In the little town of Patterson, Arkansas, Bobby Joe and I sat on the hood of my red and white, two-door 1962 Chevy Impala.  I was 18 and Bobby Joe was 19.  As we looked back, we realized we had come a long way since the third grade.  
Bobby Joe moved here from Missouri to live with his grandmother, who lived down the road from me.  I lived with my mother and stepfather.  My dad was killed in a car wreck about five years before.  Bobby Joe and I were like brothers, the best of friends.
That day we sat parked above the cove, Lover’s Point, where all the teenagers went “parking.”  The cove was a special place to everyone around Patterson, young and old.  It was where the Mississippi River backwashed inland, causing the water to pool up into one of the best swimming holes.  The bluffs above circled around the water.  Embedded in the bluffs were giant timbers of pine, oak, and maple.  The cove was set deep within the bluffs and on the other side was a sand barge.  When the river rose, it filled the cove, and when the water receded the cove lay hollow and barren.
“We’ve come a long way, Bobby Joe,” I said as I scooted up on the hood of the car and leaned back on the windshield.  
“That’s right, Jimmy Allen, it seems like a lifetime.  A month ago we were in high school.  After summer I’ll be going off to college, and you’ll be going to Vietnam.  Are you afraid, Jimmy Allen?”
“In ways,” I replied.
“Why don’t you go to Canada?” asked Bobby Joe.  “I’ll go with you.  We could get us a place up there to live, work, and check out the girls.”
“I thought about it,” I replied.  “But it’s not me.”
“Yeah,” said Bobby Joe, “I agree.  It’s not you.”
Suddenly we heard a loud noise.
“Bobby Joe, did you fart?” I shouted.
Bobby Joe burst out laughing as he rolled off the fender of the car.
“Good grief,” I cried.
We both laughed as Bobby jumped back up on the hood of the car.  Then we wrestled like we always did.  
“You remember, Bobby Joe, when we were younger, and we went swimming in the cove and nearly got caught by the police?” I asked.
“Yeah,” he replied.  “Things were so simple then.  When did it get complicated?”
Suddenly, a strong wind blew and the trees above them waved back and forth.  
“It looks like it may blow up some rain, Jimmy,” warned Bobby.  “We spent a lot of nights in Grandma’s old cellar because of storms.”
“We sure did,” I replied.  “Your grandma was afraid of storms.”
“We use to get up in the middle of the night and run to the cellar.  I always hated that musty smell and the smell of coal oil burning,” said Bobby Joe.
“Well, it smelled better than that fart you let a minute ago,” I laughed.
 “You know what I’d like to do, Jimmy Allen, that we haven’t done in years?” asked Bobby Joe.
“What’s that?” I asked.
“I’d like to go limb fishing,” he replied.
“Limb fishing?  How on earth did you think of that?”
“I don’t know,” he replied.  “It would be fun.  It always was.”
“I don’t know if I would remember how,” I responded.  “It’s been a long time.”
Remember, Jimmy Allen, he explained when we used to line fish.  Right before dark we would tie fishing line with bells and bait onto tree limbs that hung out over the creek.  We would drop the line into the water, go back to camp for an hour, then go and check the lines.  When the fish went after the bait, the line would give which caused the bells to ring.  But, we had to be careful when checking the lines because there might not be a fish, but a turtle or snake on it.
“That was a lot of fun, wasn’t it?” I asked.  “Except when the snakes would fall out of the trees and into the boat, scaring us half to death.”
“Remember shining your flashlight up into the trees and seeing those tiny red snake eyes?” said Bobby Joe.
“But we caught a lot of good fish that way,” I replied.  “Bobby Joe, why did we ever stop?”
“Girls!” we both laughed.  
“We gave it all up for girls with hula hoops, dances, yo-yos, saddle oxfords, poodle skirts, and the skating rink.”
“It was 1958,” Bobby recalled.
“Yep, it was,” I replied.  “Mickey’s Malt Shop and Diner was on the corner of Lauderdale and Ray Street, remember?”
“Yes, I remember,” Bobby answered.  “Do you remember the jukebox?”
“No,” I stated.  “I think you got me on that one.”
“A 1947 Galaxy of the Stars with dual turntables and a streamline sound,” Bobby said.  
As we entered the malt shop, everyone greeted us.  The turntable of the jukebox spun the song ‘Earth Angel’.  I glanced back toward the back, in the corner, and there she was.  I punched Bobby on the arm, telling him to look.  
“Hey, that’s that new girl at school,” he said, “sitting at our table.”
“She can sit there all she wants,” I said in amazement.
Slowly we walked back toward her, wondering what we were going to say.  However, we were both dumbfounded when she spoke.
“Hi,” she said, “a table for three.”
We just looked at her.  
She looked back and asked, “Is anything wrong?”
“Oh, no, nothing,” we both jabbered.
 “My name is Becky Anne.”
Bobby and I instantly clicked with Becky Anne and the chemistry of love was in the air.  From that moment on, we bonded together until the end.  We sat down that day and began to talk.  As the time passed and we got more acquainted, the tension relaxed, and the laughter came.  
Becky was from Tupelo, Mississippi.  Her dad had been transferred here for work.
As she turned, I thought how pretty she was as she tugged on her earrings.  She reminded me of a movie star.  Then she slipped off her clip-on earrings and laid them on the table.  Bobby Joe was as fascinated with her as I.  She was different, but she had it all together.  We both tried to hold back our feelings for her.  I guess we acted like two love struck pups.  If she saw through us, she didn’t let on.  
Bobby Joe told her I liked football and basketball, and he liked cars.  He drove a 1957 Chevy Nomad.  From that point on, the trio was inseparable, and the love triangle began to grow.  
When Bobby and I were fourteen, we got this crazy idea to make some homemade wine. We went to the woods and found some possum grapes.  We took them home, mashed them up, and placed them in a small wide mouth jar.  We really thought we were doing something, and we still laugh about it today.  We stretched a condom over the mouth of the jar and as the grapes worked off, the condom inflated.  As time passed, the condom stretched bigger and bigger letting us know the grapes were fermented.  When the mash had time to work itself off the condom would deflate, letting us know the wine was ready.  We did it again for our science project in school.  The other kids had a field-day with it.  The teacher didn’t seem to think it was too funny.  
Time was so simple then.  It seemed like the older we got, the more complicated things were.  The things that seemed so simple then, grew to be such a big deal.  
Bobby and I worked in tobacco fields and hauled hay in the summer, and we cut wood in the winter.  We worked hard, but we also played hard.  From working on the farm to swimming, fishing, hunting, and frog gigging, we were always competitive, even in grade school.  We’d race through the tobacco patch, cutting it to see who could finish their row first, or who could handle more bales of hay.  It was a sight to see.  We both had our weaknesses and limitations, which we found out through Becky Anne.
Bobby Joe was a little hotheaded, and I was a little more laid back.  One day I was at Mickey’s waiting for Bobby Joe when Becky Anne came in and sat down beside me and started talking.  The jukebox spun and started playing ‘Smoke Gets in Your Eyes.’  She was dressed in saddle oxfords, a poodle skirt and blouse and bobby socks, with a scarf about her neck, and a sidebar barrette.  All of a sudden she reached over and kissed me lightly on the lips.
“I like you a lot, Jimmy Allen.”
I glanced up and saw Bobby Joe as he turned his back toward me.  I yelled at him, and he slowly turned back around and walked over.  He was dressed in penny loafers, jeans, white socks, and a t-shirt with his right sleeve rolled up.
“Hey, guys,” he said, “anything going on?”
She turned to reply but I interrupted, “No, what’s going on with you?”
“Ah, nothing much,” he said.
“Sit down, Bobby Joe,” she insisted.  “I’m hungry.”
We gave our orders to the waitress and I asked Bobby Joe what was up.  He replied that he was going over to the tattoo store on Junction 10 and he wanted me to go with him.
“Are you going to get a tattoo, Bobby Joe?” she asked.  “That’s great.  I love tattoos.”
“Yes, Becky Anne, I am.  I’m thinking about getting a rose with your name under it,” he said.  “Don’t you think that would be cool, Jimmy Allen?” he smirked.
“Oh, I do,” Becky said before I could answer.  “Nobody has ever done that before.”  
“’Mama’ would probably be better,” I answered.
Right about then a homeless man came into the shop.
“Look,” said Becky.  “Who is that?”
“That’s Hubcap,” I told her.  “He lives around Patterson and picks up bottles on the side of the road.”
“Why do they call him Hubcap?”
“When he was younger he’d steal hubcaps off people’s cars and sell them,” said Bobby Joe.
“He looks like he needs a bath,” she replied.
A couple of boys stood up and started to make fun of him.  Bobby Joe quickly stood to his feet and approached them.  
“Back off,” he warned.  “Let him be.”
 “Everything is cool,” they said.  “We don’t want any trouble, Bobby Joe.  We were just having a little fun.”
As they left, Bobby and I returned to our seats.  Becky looked at us and sighed.  
“So, Jimmy Allen, are you with me?” he asked.
“Sure,” I replied, “why not?”
“Me, too!” she cried.
After a quick bite, we were off to Junction 10.  Bobby got the rose with Becky’s name wrapped around the stem.  She asked if I wanted one.
I promptly replied, “No way.”
But, I do have to admit, it did look good after it healed.  
As time passed, tension between Bobby and me seemed to grow.  Becky didn’t seem to be able to make up her mind.  One minute it was me, the next minute she was going off with Bobby.  I guess that’s the way it is in a love triangle.  But one thing was for certain: someone would lose.  
One day at the diner when Bobby was not around, she told me that he had been sneaking over to her house to see her.  
“He tried to kiss me, but I pulled away.  Bobby can be a little forceful or pushy at times,” she explained.  “I pushed him away and he backed off, accusing me of being with you.  I never said a word.”  
Becky was intrigued with his wildness, yet she could see how quickly it could get out of hand.  
	Unexpectedly, a guy ran into the diner.  He was yelling that they’d found Hubcap dead.  He had been hit by a car as he picked up soda drink bottles beside the road late yesterday evening.  The police were looking for two boys to question.
“Oh, my God!” cried Becky.  “He was just in here the other day.  Do you think those two guys had something to do with it?”
“I don’t know,” I replied.  “There’s a lot of traffic along that highway.”
I never mentioned our little talk to Bobby.  I figured it would make things worse.
Everything between Bobby and me was not all bad.  We were still friends and hung out together.  We double dated a lot and met around our table at the malt shop.  We listened to the jukebox, ate ice cream at the dairy dip, and bought Becky Anne the latest hits from the record shop.  On weekends when we were not at the drive-in sneaking in, we were parked with our dates at the cove with the car radio playing great songs like ‘Why Must I Be a Teenager in Love’ and the song ‘Special Angel.’
One night at the cove, Becky told me, “I love you, Jimmy Allen.”
I asked her if she was sure, but she didn’t reply.  Then one night at the skating rink, Bobby Joe got into a fight with some guy from the next county.  The guy beat him up pretty bad and if it weren’t for me it could have been worse.  I picked Bobby up and took him to the hospital where they doctored his cuts.  His nose was broken.  His teeth were loose, but they said they would tighten back up.  He took a terrible beating.  Becky made such a fuss over him.  I could have gotten jealous if I wanted to, but that would only make matters worse.  The next day we took him to the doctor to have his nose set.  Becky and I sat in the lobby, and we could hear Bobby scream when the doctor set it.  He wore a band-aid across his nose and had two black eyes for a long time.
In the summer of ’61, Becky and I went on a picnic up in the meadows of Hidden Point.  It was beautiful, peaceful, and quiet.  The tall grass waved as the breeze blew through its blades.  The meadow was covered with wild flowers, and I picked one and placed it behind her ear.  She placed the food on the blanket, and we began to talk about things that we had avoided for so long.  After we ate, we lay back on the blanket and looked up into the sky; it was so blue.  We talked about life, us right now, and the future.  She asked me what if I had to go to Vietnam.  I told her I didn’t know.  I had two more years before I had to sign up for the draft.  The war may be over by then, but if I had to go how would she feel?  She quickly responded that she didn’t want to talk about it.  I asked her about Bobby going off to college after graduation; he could meet someone else and never come home.  She said if I went to war there were no guarantees that I would come home either.  
“Everything is so up in the air,” she said.  “Why do I have to make so many decisions right now?”  
I took her by the hand and stated, “One day you’ll have to decide.”
We kissed and made out under the blue sky.
The sixties turned my world upside down.  The demonstrations and protests about the war in Vietnam touched all our lives.  It was 1962; we were growing up in an uncertain world.  The space age, cold war, and the battle on drugs haunted every young person in some way or another.  
It was late one night; I was coming home when I saw something on the side of the road.  I looked twice, and noticed it was Bobby.  I immediately pulled over and stopped.  I got out and approached him.  He was drunk.  He had been at the Sugar Grove Bar and was trying to get home on foot.  I helped him over to the car and finally got him in.  He was fighting back and cussing.  I really don’t think he knew it was me.  I took him home with me so he could sleep it off.  The next day was the worst part.  I filled him with black coffee when I could.  He got sick with the dry heaves and puked his insides out.
“Oh, God,” he cried.  “I’ll never do this again.”
I had never seen anyone so sick.  By afternoon, he had recuperated except for the lingering headache.  
The following night, we attended a dance at the skating rink.  It appeared the evening would go well until Bobby came over to me and Becky as we danced and asked her to dance with him.  His pushing and shoving made it clear that he was looking for trouble.  Becky stepped back, and Bobby and I stood face to face.  He wanted to know why I had a problem with him wanting to dance with Becky.  She easily gave in because she didn’t want any trouble.  Unexpectedly, Bobby shoved my back.  As I charged forward, Becky stepped between us and I turned and walked away.  I stepped outside for a little fresh air.  Shortly, I saw Becky getting in his car.  As they drove off, I couldn’t help but wonder if she knew what she was doing.  It was time to call it a night, so I headed for home.
The next day, I found out from Becky that she and Bobby had been riding around and talking.  She was trying to explain to him that she liked me a lot, but also liked him too.  He told her they weren’t thirteen years old now, and she should know by now who she wanted.  It couldn’t be both of us, but he didn’t see where the problem was.  It was one or the other.  As she tried to explain her fickle ways of reasoning, he pulled up at the cove.  Slowly, he placed his hand over her mouth to stop her from talking.  
He hushed her and whispered, “Don’t say a word.”  
He told her all his heart.  As he reached over to kiss her, she pulled away.  He immediately grabbed and kissed her passionately.  She pulled back and slapped him on the cheek.  Then she grabbed him and returned the kiss as they both slipped down in the seat.  
The next day I saw Becky at the malt shop.  I asked her how it went and she told me they mainly talked.  But, I suspected more.
“He’s crazy about me,” she said.  “He doesn’t want to go off to college.  He wants to stay here with me.  I don’t know what’s gotten into him.  I’ve never seen him act so crazy.”  
“I’m going to stay away for a while.   Maybe if I’m out of the picture he’ll slow down some.”
“But, Jimmy Allen,” she said.  “I want to see you.  Can’t we all be friends like we use to be?” she begged.  “Why do people have to grow up and fall in love?  It was much simpler then.” 
“But that’s life,” I replied.  “I’ll see you around—bye.”
“But what about the prom?” she cried.
“Go with Bobby!” I yelled.
“But…but,” she stuttered.
After that day, for weeks, I hardly ever saw either of them.  It seemed like we were all trying to avoid each other.  Then one day in the parking lot at school, Becky saw Bobby.  He blew his horn at her and she went over to him.  
“Hey, girl, how’s it going?” he asked.
“Okay,” she replied.  “What about you?”
“Okay,” he said.  “I guess you are going to the prom with Jimmy Allen.”
“Nope,” she answered.
“You’re not going with Jimmy Allen?  Who are you going with?”
“I’m not going,” she said.
“Why?” he asked.
“I don’t have anyone to go with.”
“What about me?” he asked.
“What about you, Bobby Joe?  Are you asking me to the prom?”
“Yes,” he replied.  “Do you want to go?”
“Yes, I do,” she answered.
“Good, I’ll pick you up then,” he said.
He took off in his Nomad, squealing his tires.
“At least I get to go,” she mumbled under her breath.
It was only a couple of weeks until the prom.  Becky had tried to call me, but I didn’t take her call.  She came by the house a few times, but I was out.  I had seen her at school from time to time, but we didn’t have much to say.  I told her I thought it would be in our best interest not to hang around each other for a while. 
Finally, the big night came.  The class of ’63 prom had a display of wild hairdos, pony tails, bouffants, beehives, and the pixie look.  There was a big turnout.  I went by myself to party with my old classmates one last time.  There was a live band, decorations, and spiked punch.  The evening went great.  I danced with several of the young ladies.  Oh, yes, Bobby and Becky were there.  I tried to stay clear of them.  But Becky was determined not to leave it alone.  She walked over to me and asked me to dance.  I looked, and I didn’t see Bobby.  As we hit the dance floor, the band started playing ‘Hold Me, Thrill Me, Kiss Me.’  We talked while we danced.  It had been a long time since we had talked like that.  As I enjoyed the moment, I felt someone pull back on my shoulder.  When I turned, Bobby’s fist caught me in the eye.  Becky screamed and started crying.  I grabbed him by the collar.  He stood there and dared me to hit him.  I couldn’t, so I walked away.  We had been friends too long to destroy it.  Real friendship doesn’t come around in life too often.  As I made my way to the car, Bobby came out to me.  
“I’m sorry, Jimmy,” he said.  “I’m sorry about it all.  I guess I’ve really made a real butt hole out of myself.”
Becky walked up and she was still crying.
“Don’t worry about it, Bobby,” I said as I stuck out my hand to shake his, “friends.”
He reached for my hand and said, “The best of friends.”
“Hey,” I said, “let’s go eat, I’m buying.”
“Sounds good,” they replied.
We sat at our table for three until closing.  Bobby took Becky home, and I drove myself.  The last thing he told her was that he didn’t know if he could live without her.
Two weeks later we graduated from Patterson Sr. High.
A few days later, Bobby and I met at the cove.  We were sitting on the hood of my car talking about what we were going to do.  I had received a draft notice and was to appear for a physical in two weeks. I was headed for Vietnam.  This fall Bobby was going off to college.  We sat around a while, laughing and talking about growing up in Patterson.  Bobby and I laid down the swords, grew up, and quit wasting our time on something that really didn’t matter.  
Bobby offered me a ride in his car.  He had done some work on it, and he wanted me to see how good it ran.  
We hopped in his old ’57 Nomad.  He cranked it up and ripped the engine.  
“Sounds great,” I told him.
We took off down the road.  Bobby reached over and turned the music up.  They were playing the song ‘Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow.’  About three miles down the road we met a police car coming our way.  As he closed in on us, Bobby pushed the ’57 Nomad to its limits. The officer watched as the car went out of control and flipped over.  The high speed of the car shot it sailing over the embankment and into the river.  The swift current carried the car away.  
A mile down the river, the officers found the car and their bodies.  They were both dead at the scene.  The car behind them said it looked like they were fighting, passing licks, and lost control.  The policeman believed they were horsing around and lost control.  They will probably never know.
Back at Mickey’s, Becky was waiting at their table.  She had finally, after all this time, made up her mind of who she wanted to spend her life with.  She was going to tell them when they arrived.  Suddenly, a guy rushed through the door of the malt shop with the news.
“Jimmy Allen and Bobby Joe just had a wreck up around Hidden Woods Road.”
You could hear a pin drop.  Everyone held their breath.
“Are they alright?” asked Becky Anne.
The guy dropped his head.  “I’m sorry, Becky.”
She broke down and went into hysterics.  They had to hold her down.
“No, no, no, God,” she cried.  “Oh, please, no.”
They were buried there in Patterson.  Not long after the funeral, Becky and her dad moved back to Tupelo.  She bore a child about nine months after they were killed.  She lived there and raised her son; she never married.

*****

Troubled Waters
The Audrey Moore Scandal
The kiss of spring had enchanted the departure of winter.  The trees were adorned in their lavish gowns of flowers and fragrance.  A warm gentle breeze moved through the grass, as a touch of leftover winter still bit the air.  
But, make no mistake about it, it was spring.  It was 1945 in St. Blaise Parish at the close of the war in the South Pacific.  Everyone was excited the men were coming home.  The war was over.  Their long hard work had paid off with victory.  That was the talk everywhere, with everyone.  
Outside of Baton Rouge, at the Neel’s Lane home of Phillip Moore, another celebration was going on.  Phillip was a good man in his own way.  He had friends in high places, and he knew how to use them to get the job done.  His political clout had helped influence many state and federal decisions.  His word was honor among many, respected by others.  Today, he was turning 68 years old and his daughter, Audrey, was throwing a big shindig for him.  He loved his daughter more than anything.  She was just like him.  Some say she was a more influential politician than her daddy.  But according to her, he would always be the greatest.  
Audrey had lost her mother at birth.  Her daddy never remarried; it had always been him and her.  He taught her all the tricks of the trade, the ins and outs.  There was no doubt he had passed his master trade on to his daughter.
All the important people were there:  politicians, lawyers, judges, and police, even the governor.  It was a big celebration and a time to lie back, enjoy, have fun, and party.  It was also a time for some political small talk among the crowd.
The Moore estate roamed across nearly 150 acres with lavish gardens and ponds.  There were horses for riding, croquet, and a golf course.  There were beautiful gardens that dressed the fields with spring colors and waterfalls.  Fountains and stone walkways were embedded years ago.  Many times discussions were held while walking through the gardens.
While growing up, politics was all that she knew.  Audrey knew the “who” and the “who not” in the innermost circles, and there were three that set the mark as high rollers.  They were Audrey Moore, Kenneth Shields, an attorney, and Richard Ryan-Rogers, an attorney who was up for a position as a state Supreme Court judge.  
Audrey ran with the best of them.  She had the pull.  Audrey helped get major laws passed; her work on the two new amendments to the constitution of the state of Louisiana was outstanding.  She also saw through the legislation of numerous bills, which were influential powerhouses and high rollers on Capitol Hill.  Growing up outside Baton Rouge, Audrey, Kenneth, and Richard were inseparable.  Little did they know the bond they had for each other would someday be put to the test.  
“Oh, Richard,” said one lady.  “I’m so glad to hear you are up for state Supreme Court judge.  I bet Shara is so proud of you.”
“I know she is, I would be,” replied another, “if I was his wife.”
“Well, ladies, I haven’t gotten it yet,” warned Richard.  “I have only been nominated.”
“Phooey, Richard,” one lady replied.  “You know you have it in the bag.”
“Psst, psst, Richard, over here,” cried a voice.
Quickly, Richard turned to see who it was.  It was Audrey.  Suddenly she grabbed his hand and led him back through the garden to a remote spot.
“I need to talk to you,” she said.
“I told you, Audrey, we don’t need to be seen together.  Shara has been asking a lot of questions.  Besides I can’t take the chance of messing up my nomination for judge.”
“Listen to me, Richard, will you just take a minute and listen.”  
“What is it?” he yelled.  
“I’m pregnant,” she replied.
“Pregnant,” he loudly whispered.  “Are you sure?” he asked.
“I’m sure,” she replied.
“Sure about what?” spoke up Shara as she walked up with Kenneth.  “Is there something here I need to interpret?” Shara asked.
“Oh, no,” said Richard nervously.  
“Shall we go back to the party?” suggested Shara.
Richard slowly turned and took Shara by the hand and escorted her back to the party.  Kenneth stepped up and took a deep breath and slowly let it out, “Did you tell him?” he asked.
“Yes,” she replied.
“What did he say?” questioned Kenneth.
“Nothing,” she replied.
“Nothing?” he asked.  
“Shara interrupted before we could talk,” replied Audrey.
“What are you going to do?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” she replied as she started to cry.  
Slowly, he pulled her into his arms and lightly kissed her on the forehead.  “Don’t worry, Audrey, we’ll think of something.  How far along are you?” he asked.
“About one month.”
“You know this scandal will ruin you and may lose Richard the judgeship.”
“I know,” she answered, “but I love him.  I never knew it was going to turn out like this.  He doesn’t love Shara.  All she is after is money and fame.  I can hear her now, ‘my husband’s a state Supreme Court Judge, whoopee!’  He needs to leave his wife and help raise our child, together.”
“It’s not quite that simple,” replied Kenneth.  “Listen, give me some time.  I know some people who might be able to help.  Let me talk to them.  That will give you some time to talk to Richard about the baby.”
As they headed back toward the party they noticed Richard and Shara leaving.  Audrey stared; Richard looked back, paused, and turned his head toward the door to fade out of sight.  There came a voice approaching her, “Is everything alright my dear?” spoke up her daddy.
“Yes, Daddy,” she replied.  “Everything will be alright.”
“Well, Kenneth, it’s good to have you back in my home again,” said Phillip.
“It’s good to be here,” he replied.  “How’s the firm?” asked Phillip.  “Are you working on some important cases?”
“Yes, sir,” Kenneth replied, “a few.”
“That is good news about Richard,” he said bragging.  “I think he’s doing a fine job, don’t you?”
“Yes, sir, I do,” spoke up Kenneth.  “He’s doing well, sir.”
“Come on, son, and let’s get a drink,” coughed Phillip.
“Audrey, I’ll get back with you,” said Kenneth.
“Okay,” she said, and then she disappeared into the crowd.
A few days later Audrey received a phone call from Richard.  He told her he was sorry he hadn’t called, but he had been busy.  He told her they had to talk, and he would be over later on that evening.  As the time slipped by she wondered what he would say.  Would he give up Shara and be with her?  She didn’t want to face losing him.  She wasn’t sure she could take it.  She peered out the window of the giant house as tears ran down her face.  A light mist of rain had begun to fall as she wiped her breath from the glass.  Suddenly, he appeared at the gazebo.  She paused for a moment, and in seconds, she stepped into the gazebo into his arms.  As they sat down, she began to cry.
“Don’t cry, Audrey,” he said as he took his handkerchief and patted softly under her eyes.  “I’m sorry,” he started to say.  Then she stopped him from speaking by placing her finger over his lips.
“Richard, what are we going to do?”
“I don’t know,” he replied as he gently released her from his arms.
“Will you leave her?” she asked hopefully.
“Now, Audrey,” he spoke up.  “You know I can’t.  I have told you and told you I’m not going to leave her.”
“Why, Richard?  Why can’t you leave her?  What good is she to you?” she cried.  “I was the one who got you where you are, not her!  Daddy and I created you through political favors, friendships, and under the table secret deals.  I’m the one for you.  Can’t you see that?  I love you, she doesn’t.  She loves what you are.  I love you for who you are.”
“Oh, come on, Audrey,” he replied.  “Let’s not go into all this again.”
“It’s not about you and me anymore!” she cried.  “It’s about our baby.”
Silence fell upon them as they looked at each other.  Her tearful eyes said not a word, but spoke of the hurt in her heart.  He glanced away for a moment, then slightly turned half way back and stopped.  “Do what you have to do.”  Then he stepped off the gazebo into the misty rain.
“Richard, don’t leave me!” she cried.
She fell to the floor, crying.  In the background Kenneth stood listening.  He had heard it all.  That day would be a turning point, not only in Audrey’s life, but in the lives around her.
It was weeks later when illness fell upon Audrey.  She couldn’t eat, and she had trouble staying awake.  She was so depressed; it was as if she had given up on life.  Richard hadn’t called.  She had not heard a word from him and, to be honest, deep down she knew she wouldn’t.  
Her family had a long dark history of mental illness.  After Audrey was born, her mother was placed in a mental hospital and, a year later, she died of a toxic dose of medicine from the treatment.  But the records showed her mother died at childbirth.  
Little was known of Audrey’s childhood.  Her daddy was very protective of her.  But there was an incident that happened when she was a teenager.  She had gotten pregnant by a boyfriend who dumped her, and her daddy made her get an abortion.  The trauma of it all caused her to have a mental breakdown.  She spent six months in a mental hospital.  After she was released, she was never the same girl.  There were others in the family down through the years, uncles and aunts.  Audrey’s two marriages and two divorces paved the black roads of her long entangled sickness.  One minute she was as high as a Georgia pine.  The next minute she was bottomed out, confined to bed for weeks at a time.  She was put on lithium, a mood stabilizer.
Suspicion had already begun to surface about town.  Rumors spoke loudly as lies covered the truth.  Gossip of Audrey’s possible baby spread like wildfire.  But, the daddy of the baby weighed heavily in the balance of the truth.  Talk was it was Richard Rogers, but no lips dared to say.  But Audrey, no matter what was said, never exposed the father of her child.  
Then one day Kenneth came by to see her.  She was piled up in bed covered from head to toe, and it was 80˚ outside.  He eventually got her up and talking.  He discussed a plan to help her back on her feet, but she had to agree one hundred percent that she would not go back on it.  Once the deal was made, he explained it to her.  She agreed.  
“I want you to get ready; take just a few things.  I’m going to take you to meet Helen and Russell Rut.  She will take you in and help you.  Audrey, you are going to have to trust me and do what she says.  When it’s all over, things will be all right.”
Hurriedly, they got ready, and the two took off.  She left her daddy a note that she would be out of town for a while.  Of course rumors spread like wildfire–where she probably went, who she was with, and who the daddy of the bastard child was.  Kenneth and Audrey knew this would happen.  
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“To Shreveport,” he replied.  “You need some time for yourself, a getaway.  Time to think,” he said.
“But, I’m so tired and so sleepy,” she mumbled.
“I know, Audrey,” he agreed.  “I know.”
After several hours, they finally made it to Mrs. Helen in Shreveport.  “All the arrangements have been made,” he said.  “Mrs. Helen is going to take good care of you.  Trust me, Audrey.”
“Okay, Kenneth,” she agreed, “I trust you.”
“Call me if you need me,” he replied.  “I’ll be checking in on you from time to time.”
“Okay,” she said.  “I’ll be fine.”
As Kenneth drove off, Audrey began to cry.  “Don’t leave me, Kenneth.  Don’t leave me.”
Mrs. Helen took her into her arms and led her toward the house.  As Kenneth drove off tears filled his eyes, forcing him to pull over.  He couldn’t see well enough to drive.  Then he broke down.  He wanted to go back for her, but he couldn’t.  It’s for the best, he thought.  Then he drove off back toward Baton Rouge.  
It was a good while before he saw her again.  She had finally talked to her daddy and explained to him what was going on.  He scolded her, shamed her, and told her never to come back again.  This hurt her and caused a major setback.  Her mental state worsened.  She tried to cut her wrist twice, and would have taken an overdose but couldn’t keep the pills down.  Kenneth had been called in three or four different times to help with her.  She was out of control.  
They moved her to the state mental hospital for treatment.  Finally, after six months and a couple of series of shock treatments she began to settle down.  
She moved back to Mrs. Helen’s.  About a year and a half later, Audrey left Shreveport, and Kenneth moved her to New Orleans.  Richard had gotten the state Supreme Court judgeship.  Kenneth had told her, but she had already read it in the paper.  
She took a few minutes and thought back to a few years ago when Richard was a young lawyer.  Richard and Shara had married not long after he finished college.  About five years later, Richard started sleeping with Audrey.  She had coached him, pushing him to his limit in law school.  She was so proud of him when he graduated law school with six top law honors, the highest in his class, class valedictorian, and top of his class on the bar exam.  He didn’t know it, but she had gotten him a job with one of the best law firms in the country, Nickels and Kelly Law Firm, in Baton Rouge.
Meanwhile, Kenneth had seen Richard around the courthouse.  They had talked a little, but not much.  Richard had asked about Audrey.  Kenneth always replied she was doing fine.  
Back in New Orleans, after Audrey reappeared alone she tried to move back into the inner social crowd, but many of her so-called “friends” had little to do with her.  But Audrey brushed it off.  Kenneth came down on weekends, and they did things together.  They indulged in the Cajun life and food, dined about the French Quarter, and danced at the jazzy bars of Bourbon Street.  After the baby was born, she gave him up for adoption.  Talk of Audrey and her baby soon passed.  But, it would flare up from time to time in small talk.  She would always ask Kenneth about her daddy.  All he knew to tell her was that no one had seen him.  
As the months went by, Audrey sort of got back into the swing of things, but not much into politics.  She got a job and went to work.  There were moments when she would sit and stare out the window for hours at a time.  It seemed like a part of her was missing or gone.  Kenneth tried to fill the void, but it wouldn’t go away.  Other than her solitude moments, she seemed her old self, crazier than ever.  She was always a mischievous girl, flirting to get her way, and dominating to keep it her way until she broke down and gave up.
Life was good for Audrey in New Orleans at that time.  She had already received a promotion at work.  Richard had stopped asking about her and she had stopped asking about him.  It was in the later months of summer, that year after 1949, when she heard her daddy had died.  As soon as Kenneth heard, he rushed to her to bring her back home to Baton Rouge.  The death of her father took a toll on her.  That was all she needed now—a relapse.  But surprisingly, she was strong and held her own.  The treatments and the medicine seemed to help a lot.  At the funeral she saw Richard and his wife.  They spoke in passing and moved on.  	
After the death of her dad, Audrey decided to move back home to stay.  Gossip, whispers, and accusations spread.  
Audrey made arrangements to move back home to Baton Rouge.  She seemed to change a lot after her daddy’s death.  She became more withdrawn, stayed to herself a lot.  She stayed shut in and rarely mingled with people or friends.  Kenneth came by regularly to check on her and see if she needed anything.  
Then one day Richard came by to see her.  They briefly talked.  He asked how had she been and about the baby.  She gave him no answer.  All that she would say was, “It’s all in God’s hands now.” As he went out the door he stopped, turned to say something, shook his head, and disappeared out the door.  Then she turned and whispered to herself, “You don’t have to worry, Richard, your secret is safe with me.”
Little by little, each day she slipped away.  From that point on, she went downhill.  In 1951, she bought a riverboat and lived in it on the swamp near Baton Rouge.  For the rest of her life she lived in the swampy marsh of the Louisiana bayou.  It became her life.  People from all around called her Swamp Lady.  
As the years passed, no one knew the swamp better than she.  She sold swamp medicine, which she made from roots, berries, and bark from around the swamp.  People laughed at her homemade remedies.  But the same people would come out late in the evening for them.  They worked!  
She caught baby alligators, snakes, and other swamp critters, moving them to other unpopulated areas of the bayou.  She took people on swamp tours in her airboat.  
She was once the queen of the political scene, a high roller.  The high class polished world of high society, turning favors for favors, and playing political games were over for her.  The swamp had come to be her new home and life.  Sometimes when she ran into some of her long ago so-called friends, they turned up their noses at her.  They were often surprised to wake up with a baby alligator in their swimming pool.  Things like that were known to happen.  
But Audrey was happy. She got lonely at times, but she was coping with it.  She saw it as a choice of spending the rest of her life in a mental hospital or living her life on the bayou.  She liked the fresh open air, the smell of the Spanish moss in the spring, and the murky swamp water which forever held a surprise.
Richard was still a judge, and Kenneth had been promoted to District Attorney.  Audrey didn’t see much of him anymore.  He was so busy in court, but when he could he would drop by.  
Then one day, Kenneth got a call from Helen and Russell Rut, old friends of the family.  He had handled an adoption for her several years ago.  She told him that her son had run away from home.  The last account she had was he had been living on the street.  He had started rebelling and running around with a bunch of other boys.  She said she had lost control of him, and he had gotten way out of hand.  He asked if she had any idea where he may be.  She said, “No.”  Then he told her that he would check into it for her.  It may take some time, but he would find him.  
After he hung up the phone, he called a private detective, Charles Edward.  He was also a good friend who had done work for him before.  They made arrangements to meet and discuss the boy.  Two weeks had passed and Kenneth hadn’t heard a word from Charles.  
Meanwhile, Audrey was living it up on the swamp.  She seemed to be happier now than she had been in years.  Then one day there was a knock at her door.  Opening it slowly, she saw a young man dressed in rags and looking homeless.  He asked, “Miss Audrey Moore?”
“Yes,” she answered, “that’s me.  Can I help you?”
He looked at her with a quivering lip. “Mama, its Patrick, your son.”
Audrey froze in the doorway as her eyes flooded with tears.  “Patrick,” she replied, “my son.”
Her arms quickly opened and he fell into them, tired and wore out.  His search had finally come to an end.  In the meanwhile, the detective was finally getting ready to move in when he talked to Kenneth.  He told him that he had traced the boy back to Baton Rouge.  Kenneth then knew where he was.  He thanked the detective and told him he would handle it from here.  
Hurriedly, Kenneth took off to Audrey, only to find the boy with his mother.  They all sat down and talked, filling in the gaps, and putting together the missing pieces of time from the past.  Audrey was so happy.  Kenneth had not seen that sparkle in her eyes in years.  
The boy who was almost eighteen was a nice good-looking man, very proper and loving, but had a dark side.  There was a lot of anger and rebellion in him, especially toward his dad.  The Ruts had been abusive.  They were very hard and overbearing.  That’s why he ran away.  He had taken all the verbal abuse he could take.  
They all spent the evening together.  Kenneth didn’t have a whole lot to say.  He listened mainly, but there were legal matters to also attend too.  Not only was he a runaway, Patrick had a serious robbery charge against him, according to the detective.  He had one misdemeanor, a theft of a man’s billfold, and a felony of an armed robbery charge.
“Patrick,” spoke up Kenneth, “you get a good night’s sleep here with your mom, and I want Audrey to bring you by the office tomorrow.”
“Why?” she asked.
“There are some things we need to work on,” he said.  “It won’t take long.”
It was early the next morning when Audrey and Patrick entered Kenneth’s office.  He sat the young man down and explained to him the seriousness of the crimes.  He was willing to help him if he could.  He would try to work things out for him to stay with his mother.  Patrick agreed and said he would cooperate as long as he didn’t have to go back to the Ruts’ house.  
Then Kenneth asked for his side of the story of the armed robbery.  Patrick began:  “I had been up all night wandering the streets.  I had found out that my girlfriend was pregnant, and I was upset.  When I came to this market, I decided to go in and spend some of the money I had gotten off the stolen wallet.  I was starved.  To beat it all, as I entered the market, three other boys came in at the same time and began to look around, like me.  Then one of them pulled a gun out and yelled out, ‘Give me all your money.’  The other boys began to grab things, throwing them and waving their guns in people’s faces.  Then the boy at the counter yelled for everyone to hit the floor and don’t look up.  As I started to lie down the other boy grabbed me and pulled me outside into the car.  He forced me to drive at gunpoint.  Luckily, down the road, I escaped, and I’ve been wandering since.  The wallet I had stolen fell out of my pocket and was kicked up under the counter.  The police found it and took my prints and tied me in on the robbery.  They had found my prints on a shoplifting charge from a few months back.  The wallet had been reported earlier.  The owner’s money, licenses, and photo ID were still intact.”  
“So what you’re saying is you were at the wrong place at the wrong time?” asked Kenneth.
“Yes, sir,” he replied.
“Okay, Patrick, let me see what I can do,” said Kenneth.  “You can stay with Audrey for the time being.”
He called Charles and put him back on the case.  After filling him in on Patrick’s side of the story, he called Helen and Russell Rut.  He explained to her that he had found Patrick, and that he was doing fine.  But when he made mention of the abuse and the armed robbery, they changed their story.  
“Patrick will be eighteen next month,” she said.  “Maybe it’s time for us to let him go.  We don’t want any trouble.  There’s no need for you to even call back.”
“That was easy enough,” he giggled.
For the next few weeks Audrey and Patrick were inseparable.  She showed him the bayou, began to teach him the ways of the bayou, and for the first time in a long time, she had a reason to live, something to get out of the bed for each day, something to hold, to love, and to take care of—her son.  Kenneth came by every day to see them.  They went on picnics together and horseback riding.  Things were finally looking up.  
About two weeks later, Charles contacted Kenneth with an update.  According to Charles the same three boys had attempted another armed robbery that went bad.  Two of the boys were killed in a shootout, and the other boy was killed in a high-speed chase.  Patrick’s story about the first robbery was looking good, until witnesses said they had seen Patrick hanging out with the boys before the robbery.
“What about his girlfriend?” asked Kenneth.
“No one has seen her,” replied Charles.  “Some say she left town, possibly to get an abortion.  She’s only fifteen.”
“Thanks, Charles,” said Kenneth.  “I’ll take it from here.”
It was time he needed a favor, and it was one of the hardest things he had to do.  He had to get Audrey to talk to Richard about pulling some strings for Patrick, to get him cleared of all charges.  When he told her at first, she held back, but she changed her mind when she remembered all Patrick had already been through.  
“Go ahead and make me an appointment,” she told Kenneth, “and you can go with me.”
A couple of days later they went to Richard’s office.  As Audrey began to explain the whole story about Patrick, the judge’s eyes began to water as he listed to both of them.  Richard sat a few moments in silence and, as he leaned forward, he assured them that things would be taken care of for Patrick.  As they were leaving, Audrey paused, and told Richard if he wanted to come by and see Patrick he could at any time.  He looked at her and said, “Thanks, but I’d better not.”  
A week later, Patrick and Kenneth stood before a judge from the lower court.  Patrick was put on probation community service for one year and was put into Audrey’s custody.  
Things were good for a while.  Spring had passed over into summer.  Audrey, Kenneth and Patrick were on a picnic out in the country, skimming stones across the creek and being lazy in the meadow.  You could barely see the top of Audrey’s head when she sat down in the field of waving reddish yellow sagebrush.  As the warm breeze kissed the top of the sage, it sent out an echo wave throughout the field.  Kenneth and Patrick were casting stones across the creek.  “One, two, three, four skips,” counted Kenneth.
“Hey, you’re pretty good at that.”
“You’re not bad yourself,” replied Patrick.  “One, two, three, four—five skips.”
“There has been something I wanted to tell you for a long time,” said Kenneth.
Suddenly, one of Kenneth’s friends from the office pulled up.
“Kenneth, Kenneth!” he yelled as he raced across the field.  
“What is it?” cried Kenneth.
“It’s Richard!  He’s had a massive stroke!”
“Oh my, God!” cried Audrey.
Kenneth raced over to her.  Immediately, they went back to town.  By the time they got there, Richard was in intensive care.  He was paralyzed on his left side and his right leg.  Kenneth and Audrey didn’t know what to do.  He was pitiful and so helpless.  A few years ago he had been in the prime of his life.  Once full of vigor and life, now he was no more than a friend’s broken vessel.  Kenneth and Audrey couldn’t believe it.  They didn’t want to believe, but they had no choice.  
Shara stood by his bedside as Kenneth and Audrey came in.  She popped out a few slurs at Audrey, and then told her she could have him now.  Then she laughed.  Kenneth took Audrey from the room.  As Audrey began to cry, she said, “Take me home, Kenneth,” she said, “please.”  
Eventually, Richard went home where his wife took care of him.  They never had any children.  Politics was always the important part of their family.  For health reasons, he gave up his judgeship and his political career, and lived in solitude the rest of his life.  Shara finally moved out, and Richard was taken care of by a nurse.  
Kenneth and Audrey came by from time to time.  Patrick came some.  He would help Richard with his physical therapy and keep him company.  Toward the end, they became very close.  The bond between them grew strong.  Richard saw in Patrick the son he never knew, and Patrick looked up to him as a father figure he had so longed for.  Richard told Audrey he thought it best to leave things as they were.  “I can’t change a mistake I made in the past.”
A few weeks later, Richard took an unexpected turn for the worse and passed.  His loved ones, friends, political buddies, judges, and lawyers paraded the streets of Baton Rouge with his funeral procession.  After all was said and done, only a few things had been mentioned.  He was survived by his wife.  He had no children.  
That Indian summer that Richard died would be remembered for a long time in the hearts of Kenneth and Audrey.  His grave held a lot of secrets that it may never let go.  It holds true to this day, the key to the life of a young man name Patrick holds the hearts of three.  When Richard and Audrey had broken up after one of their many fights, they had a one night stand after drinking at a bar.  Kenneth and Audrey’s love for Richard and a child would bind the three together for times to come.  Audrey never tried to find out who the daddy was.  She could only speculate.

*****

Discover other titles by Bobby A. Troutt at Smashwords.com
A Cry in the Wind
Beyond the Truth
Thistles and Thorns
Dead Limbs and Leaves
To read other works by Bobby A. Troutt, visit bobbybooks.8m.com