by Abigail Keam
I’ve killed two birds with one stone, I thought to myself.
What a lucky day at the grocery store!
22
Once I had gotten home and helped Eunice put away the groceries, I sat down at my office desk and began to make a list of people in Dwight’s life, starting with those closest to him.
Ginny/Mother – Had the motive of the insurance money, but I just wrote her off as a suspect. It was too creepy to think she had something to do with her son’s death.
Daughter – Too young.
Selena/Wife – Maybe, but I didn’t think so. No discernable motive.
Farley Webb/Partner – Maybe, but no discernable motive.
Business Clients – No motive.
Unknown – Unforeseeable, like a robbery.
Psycho – Statistics were against it.
Maybe Goetz was right. Maybe Dwight was buried in some shallow grave because he stumbled across a marijuana patch or because someone wanted his truck.
Still, we had to rule out the obvious first. Although I didn’t think Selena and Farley had anything to do with Dwight’s disappearance, I needed to prove it. They had to be ruled out first, before the hunt for Dwight’s killer . . . if there was one . . . continued in another direction.
I scratched my head and then licked the pencil lead. A nervous habit since my accident. I began to write a long list of questions that needed to be answered. After finishing three legal pages of questions, I looked at the clock and saw it was after midnight.
“Oh, dear,” I said. “I’m late.” Quickly I went to my bedroom.
There stood Baby waiting at the glass door that led to the patio. He gave me an irritated look.
“I know. I know. Time just got away from me.” I opened the door to let in Baby’s pet cats, which spent the day in the barn and came to the house every night to sleep with Baby. They had been born in my closet. Last, but not least, straggled in Mama Cat, who would not even lower herself to cast a glance in my direction.
“You’re welcome,” I chided.
The next half hour was spent keeping cats out of my bed, away from my toothbrush and hand soap, off the window drapes and my vanity.
“Come on, guys. Settle down,” I begged. “I have to get up early and see Ginny.”
Didn’t these animals understand that? Apparently not, as they kept me up for another hour.
I hope Baby was satisfied.
23
“You got any of Dwight’s hair?”
“I have some locks from when he was a child. Why?”
“Give me some.”
“How much?”
“Can you give me an entire lock? That should be enough.”
Ginny seemed undecided. It was hard to give away your baby’s hair when that was all you had left of the baby.
“It seems that we didn’t ask enough from the testing lab. They found some hair on the chocolate and it’s human. I think we should compare it to Dwight’s. You in or out?”
Ginny gave me a smile that would light up the darkest cave. “That’s the Jo I know. I’m in. What next?”
“Give me a check.” I told her how much it would cost.
Her smile fell. “I’ll have to take out a loan. Can it wait a few days until I get things settled?”
“Sure. There’s no hurry. You can still back out.” I gave Ginny a moment. “Are you sure you really want to pursue this?”
“I don’t trust the cops to look for my boy anymore, Jo. They have other cases and they think Dwight ran off. I’ve got to see this through.”
I didn’t relate that Detective Goetz thought he was dead and buried under a pile of leaves in the Daniel Boone National Forest. Some things one should keep to oneself. “Okay. I understand. Ginny, is there any reason Dwight would always go to the Cumberland area to fish? Why not Herrington Lake, which is closer?”
“My people are from that area. Dwight usually goes to the old homestead and checks on the family cemetery. I used to take him there as a child.”
“Oh, I wasn’t aware of that. Do you still have kin in there?”
“Everyone’s gone now, but Dwight’s familiar with the area and has happy memories. You know my family was originally from Tennessee but moved up to the Cumberland. I’m a relative of Julia Marcum, being a direct descendant of her daddy. Marcum’s my maiden name.”
“I didn’t know that. I’ve heard of her but don’t really know her story.”
“As I said, my family lived in Tennessee, but we were Union sympathizers. We didn’t hold with slavery.
“When Julia was sixteen, Confederate soldiers came looking for her daddy. After interrogating Julia, they left . . . all but one soldier.
“A life and death struggle broke out between Julia and the soldier.
“Perhaps the soldier was trying to make Julia talk or maybe he was going to rape her. Who knows why the fight started, but he stabbed Julia in the eye with his bayonet.
“Wounded, she struck him with an ax. Still alive, the soldier managed to shoot one of her fingers off.
“It was then her father rushed in and killed the soldier. The family fled to Kentucky, where Julia lived out her life and died in Whitley County at the age of ninety-one in 1936. She was one of the few women who received a pension from the United States for having fought in the Civil War.”
I pointed to Ginny’s glass eye. “Sight issues for the women folk seem to run in your family.”
Ginny’s hand glanced over her bad eye. “I never connected the two since I lost my eye in a boating accident, but you’re right. It’s the same eye.”
“Interesting.”
“Anything else?”
“I think it’s time to visit Cumberland Falls.”
24
The Cumberland River was called Wasioto by Native Americans and Riviere Des Chaouanons (River of the Shawnee) by French traders.
In 1750, it was renamed by Dr. Thomas Walker for Prince William, Duke of Cumberland.
The Cumberland River is six hundred eighty-eight miles long, beginning in eastern Kentucky, dipping into Tennessee to Nashville and then snaking back through Kentucky to merge with the Ohio River near Paducah, just a few miles away from the great Mississippi River.
Its great claim to fame is the Cumberland Falls, which has the only Moonbeam Rainbow in the western hemisphere.
Cumberland Falls straddles both Whitley and McCreary Counties with a 125-foot curtain and falls 68 feet with the average flow of 3,600 cubic feet per second.
Much of the park is in Whitley County, which is named after William Whitley, a renowned frontiersman and Indian fighter, though he never lived in Whitley County. He is considered a war hero from the Battle of the Thames, a decisive battle of the War of 1812.
He built the first brick house in Kentucky and altered how horse racing was (and still is) run in America. He built a racecourse that had the horses run counter-clockwise, which was a snub at how the English raced theirs . . . clockwise.
He first came to Kentucky in 1775. He and his family journeyed through the Cumberland Gap to the current town of Stanford where Whitley planted ten acres of corn to stake his land claim.
That being done, Whitley moved his family to the safety of Fort Harrod in Harrodsburg, Kentucky. It was during this time that Whitley beheld a horrible sight, which twisted his mind for the remainder of his life.
He saw the body of William Ray, who had been mutilated by Native Americans, most probably the Shawnee. It was the first time that Whitley had seen a man scalped.
Unlike frontiersmen Daniel Boone and Simon Kenton, who respected the Indians, Whitley thought they were savages and spent a great deal of his life fighting them and removing their scalps as trophies.
He became so enamored of this bizarre custom that he requested of General William Henry Harrison that if Whitley should die under his command, Harrison was to return his scalp to his wife, Esther, along with his horse, Emperor.
Whitley led the charge against Tecumseh and was reported by
many eyewitnesses to be the man who actually slew the great Shawnee chief rather than Richard Johnson, later the ninth Vice President of the United States, who took the credit.
It is not known who struck down Whitley during the battle. He was sixty-four years old.
Emperor had lost one eye and two teeth during the battle’s charge and was returned to Whitley’s family, along with Whitley’s powder horn, strap and rifle.
Most folks know little about the Battle of the Thames, which took place near Chatham, Ontario on October 5, 1813.
Simon Kenton claimed that he was asked to identify Tecumseh’s body but lied, as he didn’t want the great chief’s body to be mutilated by the whites. As he leaned over the body of Tecumseh, he muttered, “There be cowards here.” He pointed to another Native American’s body as that of the Shawnee chief.
Of the 3,500 infantry and cavalry commanded by Harrison, five brigades were Kentuckians led by Isaac Shelby, Kentucky’s first governor, as well as a 1,000 Kentucky volunteer cavalry under Richard Johnson from Georgetown, Kentucky.
But Ginny and I weren’t concerned with the history of the Cumberland River as we stared at the tumultuous pool below the river’s most fantastic site – the thundering Cumberland Falls.
Ginny’s face twisted into grief as she grabbed my arm. “You don’t think my boy’s down there in that mess, do you?”
I looked down sixty-eight feet to the turbulent pool where the Falls collided with the river again. “No, Ginny, they’ve already dragged the pool. He’s not there.”
“Yes, that’s right. I would hate to think of Dwight under all that water.”
“Are you going to be all right with this? I can come back by myself.” I knew I had made a mistake bringing her. Ginny was just too tender yet.
“I won’t get in the way, promise. In fact, I’ll go sit at the Lodge until you’re finished, Jo.”
“I think that would be best. People might be hesitant to speak in front of you . . . being the mother and all.”
“I understand. I won’t be difficult, I promise. I’ve got my cell phone. Call if you need me.”
Leaving Ginny to rest at Dupont Lodge, I headed out of the park onto US 25 and then on the Bee Creek Road for the Grove Marina on Laurel River Lake.
Laurel River Lake is a reservoir built in 1977 by the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers on the Laurel River.
Once inside the Daniel Boone National Forest, I opened the car windows. The temperature was definitely cooler and the air seemed dank and musty. I drove slowly, taking in the dense, deep green forest on both sides of the road.
Goetz was right. Someone could be buried in the forest and no one would find the body for years, if at all.
I shook that notion out of my head. One had to be positive. Goodness, what was I thinking? I didn’t want Dwight’s body to be found at all. I wanted him to be alive and trying to get back to his family.
Still, Ginny needed to know for sure.
I pulled into the nicely landscaped Marina’s parking lot and parked in the Handicapped section. Using my ebony cane, which Franklin had purchased for me in Key West, I managed my way down the long plank to the General Store. I stepped up my pace when two fishermen in wheelchairs, dragging a huge ice chest, whizzed past me and onto a fishing boat.
After having yelled at me good naturedly to get out of the way when passing, they then beckoned to me to come join them on the boat. I don’t think they had fishing in mind.
Grinning, I waved goodbye and hurried into the General Store. At the front counter, I asked for Billy Klotter, the person who had found Dwight’s rented boat adrift on the lake.
“Billy!” yelled a disheveled bosomy woman at the front counter. “Someone here to see ya.” She then motioned for me to stand out of the way so she could wait on customers.
A man about my age, with salt and pepper hair, shuffled out of the back room. He must have had arthritis, as his movements were stiff and slow. “Yep?” he said, looking around the store.
I waved to him and stepped behind the counter. The bosomy woman gave me an irritated look and was about to say something when I rushed some words out. “Mr. Klotter, I am Josiah Reynolds. I called earlier about Dwight Wheelwright. Can we step into your office? Great. Thank you,” I proposed as I stepped around Mr. Klotter and marched into his sanctuary.
There was no way I was going to discuss this around a bunch of nosey locals who were straining their necks to get a look at me.
Mr. Klotter had no choice but to follow me.
I took possession of a ratty duct-taped recliner and waited for Mr. Klotter to ease himself into a chair behind his desk cluttered with fishing paraphernalia and paperwork.
Opening a folder, I took out a picture of Dwight and handed it to Mr. Klotter. “Mr. Klotter, is this the man you rented a boat to on July third of this year?”
Mr. Klotter took the photo in hand and fished out a battered folder on his desk. He compared the picture to something in the folder. “To the best of my recollection, yes. This is the same man.”
“May I ask what you are looking at?”
Billy Klotter handed back the photo and a stained 8x10 sheet of paper. On it was a photocopy of Dwight’s driver’s license.
“According to our records, the man in this photograph rented that boat.”
“May I have a copy please?”
“No problem. Yep.”
“But can you identify just from the photograph that I handed you that this was the same man who rented the boat and then went missing on the third?”
Billy Klotter shook his head. “No ma’am. No one who worked on that day can do that. When we rent out a boat, we ask for a credit card deposit and make a copy of their driving and fishing license. That’s for our protection. As you can see, here is his credit card slip. I’ll make a copy of that for you too. Maybe you can have his handwriting analyzed, but as far as we are concerned that man in your photo rented a fishing boat on July third. We would never claim to identify him from a photo. We can’t, due to the sheer number of people we serve. After awhile, everyone looks the same. You see?”
I was disappointed. I was hoping that Mr. Klotter would point to the photograph and state, “Why – that is not the man who rented the boat!”
“Can you tell me what happened on the third?”
Klotter peered at his paperwork. “Mr. Wheelwright rented the boat around 9 am and should have been back at 6 pm. Around 7 pm, I went out looking for him. It’s not unusual for people to become lost or run out of gas.
“I found the boat forty minutes later. It was empty but contained his wallet. It was lying on the floor of the boat. The gas tank was almost full. I called the local authorities, who called the state cops.” Mr. Klotter shrugged. “And that was that.”
“Wait a minute,” I said looking at my notes. “You said his wallet was in the boat. The police report says that his wallet was found in his pickup’s glove compartment.”
Billy shook his head again. “I found the man’s wallet on the floor of that boat in a puddle of dirty water. That’s how I confirmed whose boat it was.”
“What happened to the wallet?”
“I gave it to the local boys.”
“Do they still have it?”
“Couldn’t say,” Billy shrugged.
I made a note to check about the wallet.
“And was the lake dragged?”
“Parts of it. Even scuba divers went down but nothing was found.”
“Just parts? Why not the entire lake? After all, a man was missing.”
“The entire shoreline was searched but lady, this lake is nineteen miles in length with an average depth of sixty-five feet with the maximum depth being two hundred and eighty feet. The total shore length itself is two hundred and six miles long. We did all we could, considering.”
“I see. What happens when someone drowns and you can’t find them?”
“Don’t mean to be indelicate, but they usually pop up sooner or later.”
&nb
sp; “Billy, need your help out here!” yelled the bosomy woman.
“Coming,” rejoined Billy, rising from his desk. “Ma’am, we’re awful busy.”
“Just a few more questions, please. You seem like an observant man. What did you observe?”
Mr. Klotter thought for a moment.
“Billy!!!!”
“Hold your horses, woman! Coming.” Mr. Klotter turned toward me.
“I thought it odd that the man’s wallet was lying loose in the boat. Most fishermen are afraid of losing their wallets, so they put them up in one of the containers or storage areas provided on the boat.
“And his fishin’ pole was gone. I found it tangled in some weeds later. That was to be expected if he had fallen into the water, but the funny thing was, there was no fish on the boat. Nary a one. He must have fallen in very early in the morning before he caught anything.”
“Was there any sign of violence or blood? Was the boat damaged in any way?” I inquired.
“You should ask one of the State boys on that, but I didn’t see anything. No, nothing comes to mind.”
“BILLY!!!!!!!!”
Mr. Klotter shot a sympathic look at me.
“Just one more question, please. How long does it take for a body to surface?”
“Usually a couple of weeks, but it has been known to happen a month or two later, but then it’s just parts. The fish get to them. You know what I mean. Sorry to be so graphic, but it is what it is and you seem like a plain-speaking woman.”
I nodded in concurrence. “And nothing has been found of the man in your folder?” I stated, pointing to Mr. Klotter’s file.
“Not that I’m aware of. It would seem that if he was in the lake, something would have been found of him by now.”
“Mr. Klotter, do you think Mr. Wheelwright is in Laurel Lake?”
“Billy!!!!!!!!!!!!!”
Mr. Klotter gave me a steely look. “No ma’am. I do not!”
And with that pronouncement, Mr. Klotter showed me the door.
