by Ron Fisher
“No, I was going to head to the Clarion soon, and thought I’d grab a bite on the way.”
“Don’t leave yet, we’re coming there. Mackenzie is with me. I let her play hooky from school today, and she’s been at the paper helping me organize some of the regular content that runs each week. We decided to take a lunch break and come see Kelly. We’ll need to eat too, so why don’t we stop by the Clock Drive-in for some pick-up food—we’re going right by there. If I had time, I’d cook us something, but this will still be better than that hospital cafeteria food. I just can’t take that. Tell me what you want, and we’ll bring you something. We can eat in the waiting room.”
I said, “Okay, sounds good.” I’d been to the Clock Drive-in so many times in my younger days, I knew the menu by heart. “Bring me two chili dogs, mustard and onions, with a coke and fries.”
#
Forty-five minutes later, Eloise and Mackenzie walked into Kelly’s room, Eloise carried a large paper bag and Mackenzie had a cardboard container holding three soft drinks.
“Great, let’s take the food into the waiting room, I’m starving,” I said.
“Hold your horses, J.D.,” Eloise said. “First, we need to say hello to Kelly.”
The two of them went to the bed and took turns kissing Kelly on the cheek. Then Eloise and Mackenzie took Kelly’s hand, and they bowed their heads. Eloise said a short prayer, her voice too low for me to hear the words. It was a touching scene. I wasn’t the only Bragg who cared a great deal for this woman. Eloise placed Kelly’s hand gently back by her side and then turned to me.
“Now we can eat,” she said, wiping a tear from an eye. With Mackenzie and me following she headed out the door. We found the waiting room empty and had our pick of the chairs and sofas. We settled in a corner away from the TV to give us a quiet spot to eat and talk.
When we were all settled and munching away, I looked at Eloise. “I’ve got something important to tell you. It’s about the Clarion.”
“You haven’t changed your mind about helping me, have you?” she asked, alarmed.
“Oh no, in fact, it’s just the opposite. I know that our biggest worry at the moment is about Kelly’s condition, and hoping she’ll soon be as good as new. But we shouldn’t feel guilty if we worry about other things too, like what’s going to happen to the Clarion if she takes longer than we expect to get back on her feet.”
Neither Eloise nor Mackenzie spoke. I could tell from Eloise’s expression that I’d hit the nail on the head. Her worries about continuing to publish the Clarion made her feel selfish.
I told them, “So, I’ve decided to take an extended leave of absence from SportsWord and help out with the Clarion until Kelly can get back on her feet. That is if you’ll have me.”
“Oh, John David,” Eloise said. “You already know I’d love that, but I don’t want you changing your whole life and giving up your job at SportsWord for it. We'll figure out a way to manage.”
Eloise was always a terrible liar, and I could see by the hopeful look she gave me how desperately she wanted me to come. She loved Kelly, but she was worried about supporting herself and a daughter.
Mackenzie was downright grinning from ear-to-ear, the first time I’d seen that beautiful smile since I’d arrived. So she had been worried about this too.
“It’s a done deal,” I said. “I’ve already arranged it.” I looked at Mackenzie. “But you’ll have to teach me the ropes.”
Mackenzie said, “Okay, it’s a deal. If you’ll teach me right back.”
Eloise was smiling now. “Are you going to stay with us, or at Kelly’s?”
“With you, at least for now. I don’t think I want to be in Kelly’s house yet.”
Her blood is still on the carpet. I saw that they understood.
“By the way,” I said to Eloise. “Was Kelly planning to do a follow-up on that editorial she wrote on opioids and the death of that Pickens County woman? I was reading that. Sounded interesting.”
She gave me a blank look. “Not that I know of. She didn’t mention anything to me about it.”
Kelly wouldn’t tell her. As Eloise has already explained, that was the way Kelly worked when she was on to something. She would shroud her investigation in secrecy until she had a valid story. I needed to do some follow-up myself.
April Cheney appeared to be the place to start.
We went back and sat with Kelly for a while. I think all three of us felt the same sense of utter helplessness. There was just nothing we could do. I moved over and held Kelly’s hand and kissed her cheek numerous times, but if she felt it, or even knew we were there, she never showed it.
Doctor Mathis and a nurse came in, and he was still positive. Everything that could be done for Kelly was being done, and now it was just a waiting game. When he left, I kissed Kelly again, then followed Eloise and Mackenzie back to the Clarion to start a new chapter in my career. How long it would last was another uncertainty in my life.
And while I told my sister that I took my leave of absence from SportsWord to help keep the Clarion running on all cylinders without Kelly, which was the truth, there was another reason I was going to stay. I couldn't carry on my life as usual and just let what happened to Kelly go unpunished.
#
As I drove from Greenville back to the town of Pickens and the Clarion, I got a call on my cell phone from Sheriff Bagwell.
“I’ve got some news about this Dixie Demon Hound-dog character,” he said. “He’s got an alibi. Hound Dog, or Larry Dean Atkins as the records show his real name to be, was on a road trip with the rest of his gang up to the North Carolina mountains at the time Ms. Mayfield was attacked.”
“And he can prove it?” I asked.
“Sort of. He’s got seven witnesses. I say sort of because they’re all his brother Dixie Demons, so I don’t know if they’re telling the truth or lying to protect him, which wouldn’t be
out of character for that bunch. I’d feel better if we had somebody a little more credible to back them up before we close the door on Mr. Atkins.
“They say they were doing a recon for a ride they plan to have when the whole gang gets here in August. Their route was a round trip up to Highlands, over to Cashiers, then back here by way of Whitewater Falls. Last Friday they made a dinner stop at a place in Cashiers called the Ugly Dog Pub for beers and burgers, stayed late, and then they all checked into the Cashiers Village Inn for the night. Didn’t get back here until Saturday morning.
“I’ve got a deputy up in Cashiers right now with Atkins’ mug shot to show around to see if anybody there remembers him. So far, nobody has. But I got to tell you, I’ve seen this Doughboy in person and this picture doesn’t look much like him. It’s old, he doesn’t have a beard or long hair, and was thinner back then.
“The desk clerk at the motel says only one of them came in to register and pay for the rooms, and that’s all he saw. They rented four rooms at double rate. The waitress who served them at the Ugly Dog didn’t remember seeing him. But she really didn’t look at any of them all that closely. They made her nervous. The teenagers from the golf course took a look at the photo, but they couldn’t identify him either. They both said they didn’t see the guy well enough to do it. So, it looks like a dead-end all around on this road trip unless somebody unexpected comes forward.”
“Mug shot,” I said. “Does that mean you have Hound-dog’s criminal records?”
“Yeah, but it’s mostly minor stuff. Drugs, alcohol, traffic charges. And that was quite a while ago. No sexual offenses or assault and battery charges at all. Nothing even close to what somebody did to Ms. Mayfield.”
“So, you’re letting him go?”
“Never had him,” Bagwell said. “We didn’t have enough to make an arrest, and there’s even less now. We can’t stop him, or any of them, from leaving. These guys have their own lawyer, so we can’t even talk to them. But we won’t stop looking at him, Mr. Bragg. Maybe
something will turn up. He’s
got a home address in Rocky Mount, North Carolina, so we know where to find him if we need him.”
I thanked Sheriff Bagwell, knowing that he didn’t have to tell me all this, and it probably stuck in his craw to do it. His cooperation was because of his fondness for my sister. So, I actually had her to thank for it. I drove the rest of the way to the Clarion, thinking about where all of this left me. Hound-dog’s alibi was suspect. I didn’t believe a word of anything the Dixie Demons said. I needed absolute proof—or disproof—of Hound-dog’s alibi. I couldn’t leave him a dangling loose end. I needed to know for sure if he could be the guy or not. If not, then I’d forget him and get on with finding the son-of-a-bitch who was. If Bagwell and his people couldn’t find that out, I would try to do it myself, somehow.
I still had the bartender at the Tiger’s Tail who knew something that she wasn’t telling, and whatever it was, scared her. Was it about Hound-dog? The Dixie Demons? I could at least try to find that out.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Eloise’s car was out front of the Clarion in her personal parking space. Superstition kept me from taking the spot next to it, designated for Kelly, as if it might jinx her recovery. Anyone who’s ever played sports on a high level has superstitions: the baseball player who snaps and unsnaps his batting glove a certain number of times; the basketball player on a scoring streak who won’t shave for fear of breaking it. My ritual used to be eating the same meal before every game. I would load up on carbs. A giant baked potato with butter and sour cream.
As I went inside, Mrs. Mozingo came from around her desk and hugged me.
“I can’t believe this has happened to Kelly,” she said, the tears on her face wetting my shoulder. “God will take care of her, you’ll see. Some of us went to see her Saturday, and I took her some flowers. Poor thing didn’t know we were there. Will she be alright? I love that girl, and I know your grandfather did too.”
I said, “The Doctors have high hopes. The coma is medically induced because she needs time for the swelling in her brain to go down, which they say will happen, soon, and I hope they’re right.”
“What are we going to do around here until then, John David? I don’t know how we can get along without her.”
“We’re going to have a staff meeting in a little while, and Eloise and I will tell everybody how we plan to do that.” I held her at arm’s length and looked at her. “Everything will be fine, Mrs. Mozingo, I promise.”
I hoped I wasn’t lying to her.
Her hair had gone from salt and pepper to completely gray over the past few years, and she wasn’t one to dye it, so an attractive aging lady had become an attractive elderly lady. Mrs. Mozingo, long rumored to be Grandfather’s paramour, was still the closest thing to a mother I’d had since Eloise and I came to live here. Mrs. Mozingo still treated me like a little boy at times, and I loved it.
Eloise came out and I asked her, “Where do you want me, sis?”
“You’re the publisher of this newspaper, John David, you get the big office.”
“Grandfather’s office?”
“It’s Kelly’s now, but neithe r one of them will mind. Besides, there’s nowhere else to sit without buying some new furniture and adding phone and computer lines.”
My superstition pinged again, thinking of taking Kelly’s desk. I had no choice. I opened the frosted-glass paneled door near Mrs. Mozingo’s desk and went in. Eloise followed me. I sat down in the chair and found a picture of me staring back. I turned it face-down.
“I refuse to sit here looking at that guy,” I said.
Eloise chuckled and grabbed the picture. “I’ll put this handsome devil on my desk. I like looking at it.”
“You’re still refusing to wear your glasses, I see.”
“I think we should gather the staff and tell them what’s going on sooner than later,” Eloise said. “They need to know about Kelly’s condition and how we’re going to run the paper in her absence.”
“I agree, they need to know as much as we do. Kelly will be our front-page story this week, and I’ll need some help writing it.”
“You already know most of the staff, but we have a new employee you should meet, maybe before the staff meeting. Vickie Sayers, our new reporter.”
I saw her name when I went through the Clarion’s back issues at the hospital. I'd just assumed she was one of the freelancers that the Clarion often used, and not a regular employee. I remembered thinking that her basics were good. She had the 6 W’s of journalism down, the who-what-where-when-why and how, and without a lot of superfluous words. She had presented the heart of the story with a human touch that many with far more experience often failed to achieve. Her writing reminded me of Kelly’s.
Eloise was saying, “Vickie graduated last year from Furman University with a journalism degree. Kelly saw some of her school work and was extremely impressed. Her daddy was a newspaperman somewhere, but I’ve never met him.”
“Got it in her blood then. She should fit in around here.”
“Well, maybe not. She’s good, but maybe too good. She’s very ambitious. We’ve got her handling community news; City Council and Chamber of Commerce stuff, new business openings and the like, but I doubt that we'll keep her doing that for very long. Kelly and I both think she’s destined for bigger things. She has a lot more capacity for work, and I think she’s already getting bored. She’s taken Mackenzie under her wing to teach and already has her performing at a college level.”
“Sounds like somebody we need to keep, especially now. What’s the budget like? Can we afford to give her a raise? And maybe boost her assignments a bit?”
Eloise smiled. “I’m for it, and I think I can speak for Kelly too.”
“Can you get her in here?”
Eloise left for a couple of minutes and came back leading Vickie Sayers into the room.
What struck me first was how young Vickie Sayers looked. If she were a year out of college, I’d be surprised—she looked almost as young as Mackenzie. Then I looked into her eyes and she suddenly became older There was an intelligence and confidence that belied her youthful looks. She was short in stature—and cute, I guess most would say. She wore glasses with heavy black frames that gave her an earnest look.
Eloise introduced us, and Sayers stood examining me like she was placing my image into some permanent file in her head. This was a girl who wouldn’t miss much, I suspected.
She said, “You’re the mystery publisher on our masthead. So you do exist. What’s up?”
She spoke frankly and wasn’t overwhelmed with meeting me.
“I want to give you a raise.”
She looked from me to Eloise, and back to me like we were pranking her.
I told her, “I’m going to take over the Clarion until Kelly comes back, and I want you to take on more responsibility. I hear you’re up to it. I thought it deserved a pay raise.”
“Hard news?” she asked, her voice somewhere between disbelief and excited anticipation.
“You can’t give up all of what you’ve been covering, but you’ll certainly have more chances to make the front page now.
“Thank you.” She grinned from ear-to-ear, which showed her real age. She wasn’t talking about the raise, but the new choice of assignments. Maybe now the Clarion would keep her a little longer before she headed for bigger and greener pastures.
“Gather up the staff, Vickie. Eloise and I will come out and fill everybody in on Kelly’s condition and how we’re going to run this place for a while without her.”
As soon as she left, I turned to Eloise. “Let’s give our other reporter a raise too, and send an occasional good assignment her way. She won’t set the world afire as Vickie Sayers might, but she’s been here a long time faithfully doing her job and deserves it. We can give her more city hall, police reports, whatever. We’ll keep the freelancers doing the sports, let’s not rock that boat. We’ll officially make Mackenzie a reporter—no more cub reporter—and have her answer to Vickie, who can
continue to serve as Mackenzie’s editor and mentor. We’ll all probably need to wear several hats if we don’t want the paper to slip. We’re filling some big shoes here. Kelly will be hard to replace.”
Eloise said, “We’re already wearing multiple hats, so that won’t come as a change. And remember, little brother, just because I handle the business and advertising end, it doesn’t mean I don’t create content too. After all, I was a journalism major just like you, albeit from a community college. I handle the obits, classifieds, and deal with several outside sources of my own who freely contribute community and church news on a constant basis.”
“Good, maybe we can keep the Clarion upright after all.”
Eloise called in the Clarion’s other reporter, Joanne McKinney, and asked her to come in. Joanne, a middle-aged woman married with two grown kids, had been at the Clarion since before Grandfather died. I knew her as a hard, dependable worker who seemed to enjoy her work regardless of the mundane subject matter she covered for the paper. She blushed when I gave her the raise, and differed from Vickie Sayers in that she appeared more excited by the increase in salary, the prospect of getting to cover more exciting news.
I caught my sister looking at me, a slight smile on her face.
“What?” I said.
“You haven’t mentioned yourself, and what you bring to us. Kelly is very good at what she does, but so are you. You’re already proving you make a good managing editor, with what you’re suggesting we do, and taking charge like this. And as an investigative journalist and writer, John David, you’re famous.”
“I’m only famous to you,” I said. “You’re my sister. To everyone else, I’m just a pain in the ass who’s been lucky enough to chase down a few good stories.”
I studied her for a moment, then said, “Look Eloise, I’ll try to stay on top of any big news that comes along, and maybe even write an editorial or two, but mostly I’ll be managing editor for the other reporters, guiding them and helping them carry the major load of what appears in the Clarion. I want to tell you this upfront. My main news interest will be tracking down who assaulted Kelly, and why, and nailing their asses to the wall. That’s the story I want to write.”
