Close to the Broken Hearted

by Michael Hiebert

  CHAPTER 18

  The property report Leah requested from the Mobile public records office finally arrived. Strangely, Abe had gotten the mail that day and had it sitting waiting for her on the kitchen table when she got home from work. For the past few days, Abe had been getting the mail every day. She was surprised at this new interest for him. Until now, he’d never paid much attention to the mail. Leah found his sudden concern over it weird, given that he didn’t get any mail himself.

  Oh, well, she thought, opening the manila envelope. Kids go through phases. Be happy it’s just mail he’s interested in, Leah, and not something like setting fire to the house.

  She pulled the report from the envelope. There wasn’t much there, just seven photocopied pages. One was a recent property assessment notice. The next five pages matched the survey maps she found in the Alvin records office exactly, right down to having “Unlisted” as the owner. She was starting to get very frustrated until she came to the final sheet.

  This one was different. It wasn’t a map. It was a page of information and history about the property, showing all the buying, selling, and any liens that were against it over the past thirty years.

  Thirty years ago, the property was listed as vacant, which, the clerk at the records office had told Leah, is the usual way of saying it simply belonged to the county. “So there goes your poppa’s claim ’bout ownin’ it, Eli,” Leah said quietly.

  Then on July 8, 1963, the property was sold to Tom Carson for nine thousand dollars, which exactly matched what both Eli Brown and Tom Carson had reported to the police during their interviews after Caleb was killed.

  For all Tom Carson’s financial problems, the report showed no liens against the property the entire time it was in his possession. In fact, the report was strangely quiet until January 25, 1981. The ranch was then sold at auction by the Alvin First National Bank and purchased by a Mr. Argo Atkinson for $34,000 even.

  Leah flipped back to the survey maps and checked the little box in the lower right corner. “Not a bad price for a ranch that would be assessed at one hundred and twenty thousand dollars barely a month later, Mr. Atkinson,” she said. “Whoever you are.”

  How did he manage to buy it so low? Had nobody else been interested in it? Maybe the two strange back-to-back deaths of Sylvie’s folks had everyone spooked about the place. People could be weird that way. Leah bet the bank was a bit peeved. They wouldn’t have gotten back near the money Tom Carson had owed them from that sale.

  She’d never heard the name Atkinson before, but a question still hung in Leah’s mind. Why had he bought the place? Was it as an investment? Had he just planned to sit on it? He was paying tax every year on that land—at the appraised cost—and yet it just sat there. Nothing had been done to it in the eight years since Tom Carson died. Other than the ravages of time and storms, everything was exactly as it had been that day. Or at least it was last time Leah checked.

  Surely this Argo Atkinson had some plan for the property when he initially bought it. Could his plans have somehow gone wrong?

  She found the last value that the property was appraised at:

  405 Bogpine Way, Alvin, AL 36573

  $240,000.00

  320 Acre Property (Cattle Ranch)

  Owner: Mr. Argo Atkinson.

  Mon. 4 Jan. 1988 08:00:00

  It was the same parcel of land. Three hundred and twenty acres. It hadn’t been broken up at all. And Argo Atkinson had made near on a quarter of a million dollars on his investment in eight years. That wasn’t too bad, in Leah’s eyes. So maybe it was just an investment.

  But it had been a while since she’d been out to the ranch, so maybe things had changed since she was there last. Perhaps it was time for Leah to make another visit to 405 Bogpine Way. In the meantime, she was going to have Chris try to figure out who this Atkinson fellow was. She decided she’d radio him on her way out, and ask him to search the Alvin directory for anyone with that name. She doubted an outsider would be much interested in a ranch here in a small town like Alvin. Especially one, as her son had so eloquently put it, so close to a bog full o’ stinky old toads.

  The Carson Cattle Ranch (as it used to be known) was pretty much exactly as Leah expected to find it. At least it appeared that way from where she parked on the dirt drive leading up to the old farmhouse. Wildflowers and grass had taken over all of it that they could, but otherwise the place was just the way Tom Carson left it.

  The steel gate at the street that ran between two wooden fence posts had broken from its hasp, so it was easy enough to swing out of the way so she could drive inside. The gate was flaked with dark red rust and squeaked as she pushed it open. Leah drove inside and parked at the end of the drive, staying close to Bogpine Way.

  It had continued raining the past two days, although not nearly as hard as it had on that first day after the period of all the sunshine. Today there was a slight drizzle in the air and the cloud layer floated high in the sky, giving everything above the horizon a gunmetal-gray backdrop. The wind Leah had trudged through the other day when she drove out to Sylvie’s was gone. Now it just felt wet and muggy with a slight mist that hung along the sloping ground.

  Getting out of the car, Leah pulled the hood of her sweatshirt up and walked to the farmhouse.

  The first thing she noticed was the smell. It was wafting down from Beemer’s Bog like sulfuric acid. It was the sort of thing she doubted she could ever get used to. The second thing she noticed was the sounds of the toads. It wasn’t even late spring when you expected a lot of toads. Beemer’s Bog had to be a quarter mile from where she was and still all she could hear was them toads croaking. She couldn’t imagine what the stench and sounds must be like if you went to the end of the property line where it came right up against the edge of the bog itself.

  She was starting to see why there might not have been a lot of interest in purchasing this place at auction way back when this Argo Atkinson fellow basically stole it.

  The farmhouse was built from timber that had weathered over time. It was gray, but then it had been gray even in Tom Carson’s time—it had never been painted. She tried the front door and found it unlocked.

  Stepping inside, she pulled off her hood as she came in through the living room, the same way Eli Brown must’ve entered on that fateful evening when everything changed for the Carson family. Leah could only imagine what it must’ve felt like sitting up at that kitchen table (which had long since been replaced by a new one, now covered with a layer of dust) while that old man trudged across the floor in his muddy boots with that gun in his hand.

  Leah came up the short bank of stairs to the kitchen. Even though there was no blood left in that room, the shadows of death still remained. They ran through the cracks in the floorboards like Caleb’s blood had that day Eli Brown had come. In Leah’s head, his gunshot rang out, echoing through the kitchen, filling the darkened halls and winding its way up the stairs to the lonely bedrooms.

  She saw the chair—not the same chair, mind you—but a chair in the same place Tom Carson had sat with his son in his lap when that bullet had left Eli’s gun. She knew the scene by heart. She knew Sylvie had been seated to Tom’s right, facing the doorway. She knew that Mother had been across the table from her husband, unable to do anything but look on in horror as her baby was taken away from her much too early.

  Too many people knew about what had happened and, once again, Leah was beginning to see why Mr. Argo Atkinson got such a deal on this place. Who would buy a property with a farmhouse still full of the stench of death and its wicked memory? It lay everywhere she looked even though there were no physical signs of it at all. You could just feel it somehow. Something about the place wasn’t right.

  She suddenly wasn’t sure she wanted to meet this Mr. Atkinson after all. She also wasn’t sure she wanted to continue on through the rest of this house.

  Strengthening her resolve, Leah stayed inside and began exploring the different rooms. The dust that had covered th
e kitchen table and countertops continued on, covering everything. She could taste it in the air. Corners were tangled with cobwebs. The farmhouse now belonged to nature and to its own past. It didn’t feel like it had any place in time anymore.

  At the top of a narrow staircase that led to the upper floor, Leah discovered Sylvie’s room. It was exactly as Sylvie had left it when they’d found her pa hanged from the oak and put her into foster care. Most of Sylvie’s things were still here. Her closet even had clothes hanging in it, unused for years. Little girls’ clothes. Sundresses and pink and yellow things that were never to be worn again.

  Leah found it all very sad. Something about the room just cried out loneliness. It was as though it was lost in its own shadows and engulfed in its own memories. Leah couldn’t stay any longer in it and moved on through the house.

  Next, she came upon the Carsons’ bedroom and found it very stark and cold. It was a room that didn’t feel like it could contain any love. She wondered if it ever had.

  Caleb’s room was a different story altogether. Like Sylvie’s it still contained pieces of a childhood lost. There were toys in a toy box that would never again be played with. There were clothes in a chest that would never again be worn. But Caleb had died nine years before Tom Carson hanged himself.

  So what did that mean?

  This room had been kept as a living memory to a son the Carsons could never get back. They hadn’t been able to let Caleb go, and now Leah wondered how much of this room was currently taking up Sylvie Carson’s mind. Surely it couldn’t have been easy living with this constant reminder of what had happened right beside where she slept every night. It had to take its toll. Sometimes, the best of intentions turn out to do the most damage. This was something Leah was learning all too well.

  On top of the chest of drawers were dusty old photos of little Caleb in frames. Some of him playing with Sylvie, some of him out on the farm. In each one, he had a great big smile on his face.

  Leah had noticed no such pictures in either of the other two bedrooms.

  After seeing Caleb’s room, Leah decided she’d been through enough of the farmhouse and went back outside. Deciding the rain had pretty much gone away, she opted to leave the hood of her sweatshirt down. The air still felt wet and, along with the scent of the bog, the gentle wind carried the smell of the woods.

  She walked to the barn. She knew this area well. She had been called in when Tom Carson’s wife was found dead in a horse stall. The stalls still looked the same to Leah as they had that day, only now there were no flies. There was nothing. Just a stillness. The hay still lay scattered across the wooden slatted floor. The white boards of the stalls still stood with marks where the horses’ tack had run ridges into them. But no horses had been here for eight years.

  She left the barn and walked out through the fields. First the horse field then on into the cattle field. Both fields and the entire property were surrounded by a white wooden fence made from three horizontal boards running between fence posts. The fence still stood, but much of it had fallen. Eight years of being ravaged by storms had taken its toll. In places, just individual boards were missing. In other places, entire sections had blown down, leaving gaps like missing teeth. Leah took advantage of these spaces to avoid any climbing. She kept going until she came to the woods on the other side of the cattle field.

  And soon, there it was. The oak tree Tom Carson was found hanging from.

  She remembered coming to the crime scene that day not really knowing what to expect and nearly getting sick at the sight of what awaited her. She could still see marks around the bough where the rope had been looped overtop. Some marks never go away.

  The clouds overhead broke apart, revealing a watery afternoon sun. Leah stared at that oak for some time, not knowing what compelled her to keep looking at it. But it wasn’t until the sun began dropping that she started back for her car. The whole time she’d been standing at that tree, she’d been lost in thoughts of things that hadn’t crossed her mind for some time. Thoughts of her dead husband, Billy. Thoughts of her children. Thoughts of Sylvie and the baby. Thoughts of her own pa.

  And strangely, while she had stood there, she had forgotten all about the terrible smell of the bog and hadn’t heard the incessant croaking of toads.

  Getting back into her car, she pulled out onto Bogpine Way and headed home. The road obviously got its name from the bog and the fact that tall, spindly pines lined either side of it. It was a curvy road that ran right up and out of Alvin if one kept going north past the Carson Cattle Ranch. But now she was headed south, back down toward town. Back toward life.

  Her radio crackled. It was Chris. He was reporting back about his attempts to find this Argo Atkinson.

  “Hey, Chris,” Leah said. “Give me some good news.”

  “Afraid I can’t. There’s no Argo Atkinson living in Alvin or no Atkinson of any variety that I can find.”

  “What about other cities nearby? Can you try them?”

  “Already have. Satsuma’s a bust, and so is Atmore. I checked all the smaller directories. They came up blank. Conecuh County, though, they got Atkinsons, let me tell you. Got a Thelma Atkinson out in Castleberry, but I called her and she doesn’t have any recollection of bein’ related to nobody by the name of Argo. Same goes for Gus Atkinson in Evergreen. Ditto for Art Atkinson in McKenzie and Daisy Luanne Atkinson in Repton. No Argos. No relatives named Argo. Same story with Cliff—”

  “Okay, Chris, I get your point.”

  “Ah, good. So, yeah, nothing on Argo Atkinson.”

  “All right, thanks for tryin’ at least.”

  Leah hung up her radio wondering what her next move should be. Could someone be using the name Argo Atkinson as a pseudonym? Argo was a very uncommon name. You’d think somebody trying to disguise themselves would go for a more everyday-type name. The question she really should be asking herself was: Who would want the land? The obvious choice was a conclusion she didn’t want to jump to, because it was too easy—and that was Preacher Eli.

  Leah didn’t want to automatically assume the worst of the man. Yet, Sylvie Carson thought Eli Brown was doing something sneaky and even Leah’s own son thought the man was up to no good. Could Leah’s gut feeling be wrong this time? Eli Brown had been in prison when Tom Carson died and the ranch was auctioned. Was it possible for the finger of someone like Eli Brown, who once had the power of an entire congregation on his side, to reach beyond the bars of his cell?

  Leah Teal was starting to do something she didn’t like much at all: She was starting to second guess herself and mistrust her gut.

  One thing was certain: This wasn’t a good sign.

  CHAPTER 19

  Leah had just pulled into her driveway back home when her radio went off again. Of course, it was Chris. He was the only one whoever called her on her radio, other than Police Chief Montgomery the odd time.

  “Yeah, Chris? What is it? Please tell me you’ve uncovered Argo Atkinson.”

  “Nope. But I got another call from Sylvie Carson. This one actually sounded serious.”

  This got Leah’s attention. Outside the car window on her way home, dark, pregnant clouds had rolled in beneath the high ones. The sunset apparently brought them along with it. Dusk looked foreboding, as though the sky was preparing for thundershowers. “What? What did she say?”

  “That someone’s been in her house.”

  “Inside it?” Sylvie asked. “Are you sure she said inside?”

  Chris chuckled, but it was a grave chuckle. “Oh, I’m sure, all right. She must’ve said it ten times in the two-minute phone call. Said somethin’ ’bout a shotgun bein’ monkeyed with or somethin’. As usual, she was too frantic for me to catch most of it.”

  The shotgun. The last thing Leah wanted to hear about was that shotgun. She pictured it in her mind, leaning up against the back door, loaded and ready to shoot.

  “Okay, I’m on my way,” she said.

  Leah considered using the siren this ti
me, but traffic wasn’t bad at all so there was really no point. Even so, she broke most of the posted speed limits and made it to Sylvie’s in what was probably record time. When she pulled up in front she got out of her car and looked up at the sky. The clouds were literally roiling right above her. Black, thick clouds that looked like harbingers of evil.

  She hoped they didn’t portend that anything horrible was going to be found inside Sylvie’s house. Leah still had no idea really what was going on. Just that it had to do with the shotgun and somebody being inside. “Oh dear God,” she said quietly. “Please don’t let her have shot someone.”

  The first flash of lightning lit up the western sky somewhere over the ranches on the other side of Alvin just as Leah reached the porch steps. Leah knocked on Sylvie’s door. “Sylvie!” she called out. “It’s me! Leah! Open up!”

  She hadn’t bothered with all the formalities this time. She hadn’t even thought to bother with them. She was too concerned about that shotgun and what might’ve happened. And she was concerned about that baby. Obviously, Sylvie was okay. Or, okay enough to make the call into the station, at least.

  The door swung open without Sylvie checking through the latch first. “That was quick,” she said. Her face had a forced-calm yet panicked look to it that Leah hadn’t quite seen before.

  “What’s happened?” Leah asked. Just as she did, the low rumble of thunder swept across the sky. It sounded quite a ways off.

  Lightning flashed across the sky three times.