“He’s down there in the woods around the creek,” T. J. told her. “Better him than me. He’s shot one water moccasin already.”
“Thanks for cheering me up,” Hunter said.
After a hectic day of working with Mallory to pull stories together about the shooting victims, Hunter watched the media event again on television at six that evening.
She was collapsed their big comfortable sofa with her 12-year-old stepdaughter, Bethie Bailey, cuddled at her side.
They shared the sofa with two of their cats – Tuxedo and Marmalade—and their big German Shepherd, Flannery. The third cat, Katie Calico, was in her usual place on the back of Sam’s recliner, keeping an eye on all of them.
“Miss Taneesha looked really sad,” Bethie said, scratching Flannery behind her ear. “But she looked pretty, too. I love her hair when she has those curls.”
“You need to do your homework,” Hunter said to Bethie as she turned off the news.
“At school, they were saying it was probably somebody crazy,” Bethie said. “And he might do it again. They said that if he came to our school we’d have to have a lock-down.”
“Well, let’s just hope that he gets caught soon,” Hunter said.
There was a knock on the back door. Flannery leaped off the sofa and ran to the door barking. Bethie ran to open it, and Hunter surprised herself by suddenly yelling, “Don’t you open that door until we know who it is.”
It was Mallory with a backpack.
“I thought you were at the City Council meeting,” Hunter said.
“They adjourned after a half hour,” Mallory said. “They tabled a bunch of stuff because it was from Jim Jordan’s department. I did get some good comments about him, and”, she paused for dramatic effect. “The Sheriff of Magnolia County had his secretary text me and make an official request that I spend the night here in case he can’t make it home or has to leave during the night. Do you want to see what I texted back?”
Hunter smiled and nodded.
“Here it is,” Mallory said, looking at her phone. “Advise Sheriff assignment accepted, have watched ‘Call the Midwife,’ can deliver B.B.”
Hunter and Bethie laughed. B.B. was the short version of Baby Bailey.
“Well, I’m not planning to have the baby tonight, but I’m glad you’re here,” Hunter said. “I hope you don’t mind sleeping in the nursery. We’ve still got the bed in there, but it’s full of baby stuff.”
They went upstairs and Mallory took one look and laughed.
“Has B.B. got enough stuffed animals and mobiles?” she asked, tossing her backpack onto the bed that had been moved to one corner and covered with a bright hand-made quilt.
“Well, I think that’s what comes of not being willing to tell people whether it’s a boy or girl,” Hunter said. “People don’t know whether to get pink or blue, so they go for toys.”
Bethie said, “They won’t even tell me. I’m hoping it’s a girl.”
“No point in hoping,” Hunter said to her. “Baby Bailey’s already one or the other, and you just have to wait and find out. Hey! I hear the timer. Mallory, you’re faster on the steps than I am. Would you go and get the pineapple-upside-down cake out of the oven?”
“I wondered what smelled so good,” Mallory said.
“Did you get photos of China Carson and Jim Jordan?” Hunter asked later as Mallory set up her laptop computer on the coffee table.
“Yep. Like you said, they both had photos in their personnel files – the ones they used on their IDs. Jim Jordan’s is okay, but I’ve got to find something else for China. Her Board of Ed picture was taken back when she first started working there. Since then she’s lost about 50 pounds and gotten really fit. I guess the bike riding was part of that. Anyway, the last time I saw her, she looked beautiful and had her hair cut shorter and streaked. I just don’t think it would be right to use one of her old pictures if we can find a newer one.”
“I agree,” Hunter said, “So where are you looking?”
“On Facebook,” Mallory said. “One of her cousins is on my friends list.”
Two hours later, part of the pineapple-upside-down cake had been devoured, and Bethie was reading herself to sleep. Hunter and Mallory finished up their plans for the next day’s deadline and settled into a rambling conversation.
Mallory told Hunter that her twice-widowed father, Jack Bremmer, was going to marry Sue-Ellen Larson. Hunter ventured that Sue-Ellen was a nice woman and Mallory agreed and said, “She wants him to buy another house.”
Hunter considered the fact that Jack Bremmer’s first two wives had died in the house, and said tactfully, “I can see somebody wanting to start fresh. I really would love to have more room and so would Sam, but he is so picky about the quality he wants and how much land he wants.”
Hunter’s phone rang. Miss Rose Tyndale wanted to know if Mallory was with her, because she hadn’t come home to her apartment, and Hunter winked at Mallory and assured Miss Rose that Mallory was safe.
“Well, I suppose I could have just called her,” Miss Rose said, “But I don’t want to be too grandmotherly, and I did want to ask you about what happened today.”
They talked briefly about the shooting on the bridge.
Then Miss Rose said, “I heard Annie Chapman’s Andy wouldn’t let his sister into the house when she got here, which is ridiculous. It was their mother’s house, and they certainly can’t have read the will yet. The way it happened was that four or five ladies from First Baptist had come with food, and he told them just to put the food in the kitchen, and didn’t say so much as thank you.
“So while they were still putting things into the refrigerator, Sunshine got there from Macon, and he just stood in the door and told her she couldn’t come in. The ladies tried to persuade him to let her in, but Sunshine told them not to worry about it, and she left. Anyway, she’s staying at Hilliard House.”
“Sunshine’s her real name?” Hunter asked.
“Oh, yes,” Miss Rose said. “Sunshine Elizabeth, if I remember correctly. She was in the last class I taught at the high school. Sweet girl. Her brother – well, he’s an odd one. Always has been. Smart as a whip, but odd.”
“Did Miss Rose keep up with you when she was your landlady?” Mallory asked after Hunter got off the phone and relayed the information about Annie Chapman’s son and daughter.
“Not so much as she does with you,” Hunter said. “Once I started going out with Sam I guess she assumed I was being looked after. And then when Taneesha lived there, she had Jeremy around there all the time.”
“So I need to get a boyfriend,” Mallory said, laughing.
“And then she’ll start worrying about when he’s going to propose,” Hunter said.
“All things considered,” Mallory said. “It was sweet of her to call. We do have a crazy shooter out there.”
Flannery’s ears suddenly pricked up. She let out a little whining sound and was up and running toward the back door.
“That’s got to be Sam,” Hunter said, smiling and pushing herself up to a standing position. “Flannery knows the sounds of our cars.”
The Sheriff of Magnolia County was tired and frustrated. He had seen dead bodies and bicycles scattered on a bridge, put up with the posturing of a publicity-hungry district attorney, and sent his second-in-command to try to deal with a young husband who had kicked furniture and swung at people. He had shot a water moccasin that slithered into the crime scene area below the bridge and made it through the day on adrenalin and junk food. He had overseen a search that turned up nothing except two empty black plastic trash bags.
Finally, he had only been able to give his community reasonable assurance that it was safe to drive on Sumter Road and that the people who lived along that road could come back to their homes. His shoes were covered with red clay and his head hurt.
But now he was home. His dog was trying very hard not to jump for joy, his wife hadn’t gone into labor while he was gone, and there was most
of a pineapple upside-down cake on the kitchen table.
He tried smiling and discovered that he still could.
Hunter’s phone and Sam’s rang simultaneously later that evening. It was a recorded message from the Magnolia County Board of Education announcing that all schools would be closed on Wednesday due to parental concern over the shooting on Sumter Road.
Sam called Superintendent of Schools Rob Tucker at home and learned that board members and principals had been flooded with calls about school security.
Some of them thought the schools should have gone into lockdown as soon as the crime was discovered, and some parents were offering to come and guard the schools with their guns.
“Of course,” Tucker said. “The other 90 percent are probably going to think we’re over-reacting, and even the ones who agree are going to complain that we didn’t notify them soon enough.”
“It’s not a problem,” Hunter said when Sam was off the phone. “Bethie can come to work with me.”
“No, let me call Mom,” he said. “She’ll be glad to have Bethie, and you’re going to be busy. We need to keep things simple.”
“How long are they going to keep the schools closed if this guy just disappears?” Hunter asked, “I mean if he had wanted to shoot up a school, why wouldn’t he have done that instead of creeping up on a bunch of people on bicycles?”
Hunter realized that she knew something Sam didn’t. She approached the subject cautiously.
“You know they were practicing,” she said. “Getting ready for that big Cycle Georgia event that’s coming through in a few weeks?”
“Yes,” Sam said, “Aaron Twitchell said he’d seen them before.”
“Did you know that the gym’s website has the route and the schedule posted,” she said. “Anybody could have known they were going to be crossing that bridge at that time this morning.”
“I didn’t know that,” Sam said. “That could be useful. Do you know anything else I don’t know?”
“Annie Chapman’s son is weird,” Hunter said.
“Everybody knows Andy Chapman is weird,” Sam said.
“When his sister got here,” Hunter said. “He refused to let her come into the house, so she’s staying at Hilliard House.”
Sam’s eyes were closed.
“Let me guess,” he said. “Robin Hilliard called you.”
“No,” she said. “It was Miss Rose, but no doubt she heard it from Robin. Now, I’m going to make sure Mallory’s got everything she needs, and then we both need to go to sleep.”
CHAPTER 2
Bethie Bailey was ecstatic in the morning!
“No school! Can I go back to bed?”
“You still have to get dressed,” Hunter said. “You’re going to your Grandma Mary’s for the day.”
Sam had left before daybreak but had taken time to feed all four animals and to give Flannery a quick walk. Mallory was in pajamas, clutching a mug of black coffee, and staring into space.
“I hope you didn’t stay up too late,” Hunter said.
“I did,” Mallory said. “I needed to polish my stories. But I’ll survive.”
Sam’s first order of business was meeting with Aaron Twitchell, who had cleaned himself up in a dress shirt and slacks and had a fresh shave.
“I’m going to let Taneesha get your full statement,” Sam said. “I’ve got money in my budget for a part-time deputy if you’re interested.”
“In uniform?” Aaron asked.
“No,” Sam said, “Plain clothes and undercover. I need for you just to be yourself and go around talking to people – see what you can find out.”
“Like what?”
“Like who goes hunting out of season, who knows their way around Foxtail Creek and that whole swamp area. Like who’s gun crazy or whatever anybody’s got to say about any of the victims or their families.”
“Folks talk a lot of trash,” Aaron said. “You know that.”
“I do,” Sam said. “and sometimes there’s some truth in it. I think people will tell you things they might not tell me, and we can sort the truth out from the trash.”
“Where do I start?” Aaron asked.
“Well, you started yesterday when you told me about the snakes,” Sam said. “That was good advice. Now I need for you to see what other snakes I need to watch out for. Shellie’s going to do your paperwork with you and set you up with a digital recorder. It’s a little one you can keep in your pocket.”
“If it’s undercover, can I tell Nancy?”
“I guess you have to,” Sam said. “But tell her she’ll be breaking the law if she tells anybody.”
“Is that true?”
“No,” Sam said. “Tell her I’ll fire you if it gets back to me that she’s telling people.”
“That’ll work better,” Aaron said.
An hour later, Hunter and Mallory were already hard at work when Novena arrived with the morning’s mail.
“I don’t have time to sort this,” she said, “I’ve got an appointment with Robin and Colin at Hilliard House. They’re going to do a series of ads for the Antiques Show they’re planning. You know they’re going to want a feature story and pictures, too. Can I tell them you’ll do it?”
“Depends on when they want it done,” Hunter said. “Tell them I can’t promise anything after this week, because of the baby, but one of us will do it, and while you’re over there, see if Annie Chapman’s daughter is still staying there and ask her if she’s willing to talk to me a little about her mother.”
She told Novena what Miss Rose had said about Andy Chapman’s not letting his sister in the house, and Novena nodded and said, “Andy’s weird. I don’t know how he keeps a job. If I know Sunshine, she’d probably rather not be in that house with him anyway.”
After Novena had left, Mallory sorted the mail, put the bulk into the file for Tyler Bankston or back on Novena’s desk, and handed Hunter an envelope.
“This is for you and it’s creepy looking,” she said.
Hunter studied the oversized and crooked hand-lettering. It was addressed to Hunter Jones, Managing Editor. The name of the paper, the town, state and zip code took up most of the front of the plain white envelope.
She flipped it over. No return address.
“Probably a wacky letter to the editor,” Mallory said.
Hunter opened it and was relieved to see that the letter was printed from a computer. Then her mouth fell open, and Mallory moved around to read it over her shoulder.
To the Media:
Regarding the shooting at the bridge, I will absolutely strike again if I am offended by you’re morally wicked ways & somewhere along another rode I will suddenly rise from hiding I will strike violently & brutally against you who have offended me then I will swiftly return to my hiding place, leaving no trace. You will be utterly helpless against my rain of terror. This grim warning should be given immediately as possible to all people who may fear my wrath & fury.
Abomination
“Could it be a joke?” Mallory asked. “I mean a practical joke. I can see some nerdy teenaged boy doing something like that. Really.”
“It could be,” Hunter said, picking up her phone, “But it mentions the bridge shooting, so it’s also evidence. Here, make a copy for us. I’m going to call Sam and give him the original.”
T.J. Jackson, the lead investigator for the District Attorney’s office, and Sheriff Sam Bailey were on their way across the street from the courthouse to the newspaper office in a matter of minutes.
“I think it’s a joke,” T.J. said after they had both read it, and he had sealed the letter and envelope in a clear plastic bag.
“Either that,” Sam said, “or our guy is bothered that everybody’s talking about the shooting, and he’s not getting any credit.”
He turned to Hunter.
“When was the last time you picked up your mail. I mean before this?”
“Novena picks it up on her way in every morning,” Hunter said. “B
ut Sam, notice that it says To the Media, not To the Editor. I’m wondering if one went to the radio station, too. Will Roy might just read it on the air.”
It turned out that Will Roy Johnston at the radio station had an identical letter that he had not opened since he hadn’t looked through his mail. He put up a bit of an argument about letting Sam have it and insisted on opening it and reading it first.
“Is the Messenger going to run this?” he asked in a suspicious tone.
“Of course not,” Sam said. “They don’t run anonymous letters.”
“Yeah, but they might run it as news,” Will Roy said.
“Not a chance,” Sam said. “This happens lots of times when there’s a big crime. People want to get in on the excitement.”
“Did you tell her not to run it?” Will Roy asked.
“I don’t tell Hunter what to run in the paper,” Sam said. “She opened it and called and asked us to come and get it. I’m not telling you what to do, either. I’m asking for your cooperation in the investigation of a crime.”
“Yeah, and they could have typed the whole thing into the computer before you got there,” Will Roy said.
“Well, I sure wouldn’t want to put it on the air, if I were you,” T.J. said, “We’ve got to waste time checking it out, but it’s probably going to turn out that some teenagers did it as a practical joke. They’ll be laughing for days if it goes on the air. That’s just what they want.”
“You’re right,” Will Roy said after a moment’s thought. He handed it over to T.J., who dropped it into a clear plastic bag. “I probably would have dropped it in the trash anyway. I can’t see somebody shooting up a bunch of people and then running home and writing up some flowery mess like this and mailing it, but if somebody’s trying to make a fool of me, I’d sure like to see you find them.”
“That’s exactly what we’re going to do,” T.J. said.
Over Troubled Water: A Hunter Jones Mystery Page 2
