Secrets in the Lowcountry--The River

by Janet Cooper

  For Jeff, the clock stood still for an eternity. Eventually, she sat back. He mentally breathed a small sigh of relief when he examined her face. Rivers of tears still flowed, but no noise came from her.

  “Jeff, can you take her outside?” Doc asked.

  “No.” She straightened her shoulders, grabbed a tissue from the end table and blew hard. “I must know everything.”

  Martin kept his arm around her. “Are you sure? I can get the information and tell you later.”

  Needing to find another topic for her to center on, Jeff asked, “Sheriff, why are you here?”

  Sheriff Leroy Trotz turned his head slowly. He held each person’s eyes for an instant. “My department will head up the investigation from here on.”

  “Investigation?” Jeff and Doc asked, in a shocked tone.

  Taylor chimed in, “What investigation, Sheriff Trotz?” Her face filled with confusion.

  “When someone goes missing …”

  Taylor flinched. “He’s only been gone three days.”

  “Law requires us to step in when a person goes missing. I joined Larry to tell y’all. We’ll pursue this situation and find an answer.” His short, no-nonsense statements expressed his strong sentiments.

  “Thanks, Sheriff. We all require answers,” Doc said.

  “And I’m not giving up hope.” Taylor’s eyes glistened with tears. Jeff heard a steadfastness that had been absent during most of the meeting.

  “Any questions, call me. Taylor, Dr. Harris, Jeff.” The tall, lean, black man shook each hand in turn before heading for the door.

  “I have to get back to work,” said Larry. “Taylor, I promised to find him for you and I’m sorry that I’ve broken my word.”

  “We’ll find him, Mr. Larry.”

  Doc took Larry’s hand. “Thank you for coming and for everything that you and your people have done.” Martin walked him to the door. They stood for a few minutes talking softly then they walked outside together.

  Taylor continued sitting. Jeff awkwardly remained in the chair next to hers–waiting. After what seemed like forever, she rose to her feet. “I’m going to change my clothes and visit the barn. My horses always help to center me.” She fled the room. Jeff watched her go. He ached inside for her and for himself.

  * ~ *

  Friday finally arrived. Taylor hoped with her mother’s internment, she could close at least one swing door. She stood in her closet surveying her clothes. The black sheath glared at her. She had not as yet given it away. With heavy arms, she reached for the outfit and slipped it on. After today, the dress would definitely find another home.

  Her father drove them to the church’s cemetery. Taylor rode ‘shotgun’. Why she should think of that name after so many years puzzled her. Aunt Bertha sat perched in the rear seat murmuring her prayers and occasionally humming a hymn. As they alighted from the car, her aunt firmly grabbed Martin’s hand with one of hers. In the other, she held a cane, Taylor suddenly realized. Aunt Bertha never used one before. She surveyed her great-aunt from the corner of her eye. How old she’s gotten in the last few days. Perhaps, she should have help at home. She always insisted having a ‘girl’ one day a week was enough. Seeing her, Taylor doubted the wisdom of that. I must talk to Dad.

  They slowly made their way to their family crypt, matching their steps with Great-aunt Bertha. As they drew near, Taylor focused on the dirt path leading to the site, avoiding the family mausoleum. Instead, she concentrated on the light dust settling on her black pumps.

  “Trey and Jeff have come, as well as Mary,” her father said.

  Taylor raised her head, seeing them standing directly in front of the relatively modest brick and tabby structure. She managed a smile at the sight of them. How thoughtful of the Benjamins’. They, like Mary, were part of her extended family. Eventually, she noticed Father Mike, always a rock for everyone. Beside him Mr. White, the undertaker, stood holding the urn. He gave a slight smile and nodded his head to acknowledge their arrival.

  The small group formed a half-circle before the wrought-iron door that for the present remained open. Father Mike handed everyone a Prayer Book from a pile he had placed on a small table to the right of the crypt. After giving the page, he started the short service. Taylor duly turned to the correct section, but instead of reading the words, she stared at the opening to the mausoleum. She sensed long gone Harrises surrounding them and shivered, whether from fear or comfort, she didn’t know.

  A moment later, she felt Jeff’s arm go around her waist. Although grateful for his support, she couldn’t shake the sensation that had come over her when she originally took her place. The tomb still called her.

  Brick and tabby covered three sides of the building. More brick and tabby formed the frame that secured the wrought-iron door. Inside, on the right side, a few small spaces remained empty as if waiting for the next person. At the back, two large stone sarcophagi occupied the entire section, one on the top shelf and the other directly below. These belonged to the first members of the family that settled in the Beaufort area. The left side held only marble shelves. Her mother’s urn would rest there, alone. She and her father had discussed the reason, but for the moment, Taylor didn’t remember why. A shivered raced up and down her spine. Jeff tightened his hold. She leaned against him, grateful for his support.

  If he’d died, would Rod’s body soon join her mother’s? Or would his parents… Oh, my gosh! Taylor hadn’t contacted them. Did she have their address? Since they’d left town, she’d neither heard from them nor seen them. Actually, she hadn’t said good-bye before they departed. She’d asked him several times what had caused the split. He refused to answer, finally saying talking about the problem made the hurt worse. When she asked about inviting them to the wedding, he’d sworn at her for the first and last time. Immediately, he apologized, took her in his arms, and… She shook her head chasing away the memory. Regardless of the reason, they must be called. As soon as she returned home, she would find their phone number. Did she have it? She couldn’t remember ever getting one. Father Mike’s voice brought her back and she pushed her concerns aside. Right now, she must concentrate on her mother’s funeral.

  Thoughts of Julia Ann filled her. For the first time since her mother’s passing, she recalled some of the happy times they’d had together. She refused to dwell on the others. Over the years, her mother had stayed sober for many months at a time then fallen off. This past year, she’d beaten all previous records. Might the two of them have had a chance to reconnect? Would they have developed a strong relationship? She didn’t know. But she decided to believe in a positive outcome. Taylor had loved her mother and standing here experienced that love returning. Tears formed in her eyes. A sarcastic idea hit her. If she didn’t stop crying, perhaps she could rent herself out as a professional mourner.

  Taylor looked up at Jeff and gave him a warm smile. A sense of peace filled her; she turned her attention to the Prayer Book. Jeff showed her the spot. She joined the others and spoke the correct responses. As she did, the serenity of the service washed over her. She stood straighter and squared her shoulders.

  Her mind jarred her as a picture of Rod filled her brain. Guilt and unfaithfulness rained down on her. Perhaps sensing a change in her sentiments toward him, Jeff eyed her strangely and dropped his arm to his side. An awareness of loss filled her. She hadn’t wanted that. She craved him right next to her, enfolding her, sustaining her, being there for her. Yet, her mind warred with her emotions. Rod’s face continued to invade her mind. She eased further away from Jeff and closer to her father, who supported her aunt. She sensed Jeff regarding her but she remained attentive to the Prayer Book. Inside her, all her joy washed away.

  Chapter Nine

  As Taylor strolled to her house, late that same day, she experienced a sense of calm that always flowed through her when she’d spent time with her horses. No one had returned to the house after the internment. Jeff and she had bid a strange, even terse good-bye, at the
crypt. Once through the gate at Harmony, her aunt requested they leave her at her cottage. Upon arriving at home, her father had stated his desire for privacy and shut the door to his office. Left with her thoughts and unsettling memories, she’d sought her piece of heaven on earth, the barn, her salvation for most of her life. Hastily changing her clothes, she’d almost run out of the house.

  Now with the distance growing between ‘her happy place’ and reality, her mood darkened. Jeff’s face and that of Rod’s bombarded her. Shame showered her soul. Yes, she loved Rod. She’d agreed to marry him, hadn’t she? Jeff, Jeff, her friend, her almost brother, her companion forever, she loved him, too, but in a different way. She respected him, trusted him, taken his counsel, used him as her rock, counted on his strength. Why did she have a guilty conscience for that? If she’d lost Jeff, too, how would she endure? She must call him, but what would she say? How did she apologize for her strange behavior? She shook her head violently, hoping to jar lose an answer.

  The sound of tires striking the stone roadway interrupted her brooding. Glancing around, she recognized the Sheriff’s car.

  He stopped and rolled down the window. “Want a lift?”

  Any diversion was welcome. She climbed in the passenger seat. “What’s the news?”

  “Let’s wait ’til I tell everyone.”

  Taylor’s mind raced. Ideas gushed around and through her head. However, Sheriff Trotz retained his silence. Gratefully, the drive ended a few minutes later.

  As they walked into the hallway, her father, Mary, and Jeff greeted them. Everyone exchanged helloes then stood awkwardly, waiting. Each showed their tension.

  “Where’s Aunt Bertha?” Taylor asked.

  “I thought I’d spare her the Sheriff’s report and talk to her privately later.”

  Her father’s words made sense. Her aunt had aged tremendously in the past few days. Taylor, again, wondered if Aunt Bertha would agree to a companion or at least part-time help.

  Martin broke the silence that had settled on the group. “Shall we go in the living room?”

  They followed him at various speeds, the uneasiness and concern building.

  Taylor maneuvered Jeff close to her. “Sorry about my behavior…”

  He smiled. “With everything that’s been happening in your life, an apology isn’t necessary.”

  “Thanks.” She managed a smile. He always understood and demanded so little. What a relief to have such a true friend.

  “Why don’t we sit down,” the Sheriff instructed.

  Going to the green and gold striped couch which occupied one section of the room, Taylor indicated that her father should take one side and Jeff the other. Mary eased into the gold, wing-back chair which stood at a right angle to the sofa. The Sheriff selected the straight-back cane one and placed it directly opposite the others. He laid the papers on the coffee table making a divider between him and Taylor’s group.

  “State autopsied the ‘gators.”

  Grabbing her companions’ hands, she leaned forward, eager to learn but afraid of the results.

  “DNA isn’t Rod’s.”

  She allowed herself to breathe and a sense of relief washed over her. He still might be safe.

  “Currently, victim’s unknown. Local and state sources turned up negative. Sent the info to the Feds. Can’t tell when we’ll hear from them.”

  Sheriff Trotz clipped sentences always surprised people and fooled many. The man held a B.S in Criminal Justice and a Master’s in Law Enforcement. He once told Taylor he saw no need to draw out the bad news. She believed he played ‘Bubba’ to keep folks off guard. “Sheriff?”

  He stared at Taylor, his countenance betraying nothing.

  “Rod’s parents, they should be contacted and told about…their son. I don’t have their phone number or address. With everything that’s happened, I’m embarrassed to say, I’d forgotten them.” She felt her cheeks redden.

  Mary broke in. “As soon as we learned about his… accident, I tried to find their phone number or their address.” She peeked at Taylor. “You and your dad had enough on your plates. I made a few calls to people in the Beaufort area, but no one had any information. I even did an internet search, still nothing. Perhaps, Sheriff, your office will handle this?”

  “We’ll check. Got a search warrant for his house. Searched it. Didn’t find his cell. Found an address book and a computer that looks old. Don’t recall if his parents’ names were listed. Seems strange not to have that.” He shook his head, but his short buzz cut prevented any hair from moving.

  “Rod’s estranged from his parents. They left Beaufort twelve years ago. I’m not sure if he’s heard from them since they moved.” Taylor stopped, before adding, “He never mentions them. In fact, won’t discuss them.”

  Sheriff Trotz scrunched his lips. “Interesting.” He glanced from one to the other. “Need to ask questions about Rod’s business.” He wavered. “Doc, Taylor, if time allowed I’d do this another day, but we’ve received phone calls from Rod’s investors. Being local folks, they heard gossip. They’re concerned about the money they lent or invested with him. Told y’all we didn’t find much. Even on his computer. Peers like his passwords are encrypted. Sent the laptop to the State. Taylor, who’s his lawyer? And his partner?”

  She released her hold on her father. “No partner that I’m aware of.” Her voice sounded steadier than moments before. “Rod maintained sole control of his company. I believe his lawyers are Thomson and Thomson. That’s all I really know. He didn’t talk with me about the legal side of the project, just the designs and the buildings.” She took a deep breath.

  “Thanks. We’ll call. See if they can help. It’s early days. Might claim client privilege.” Sheriff Trotz shifted his attention from Taylor and gazed at each one for a moment or two.

  An uncomfortable, blanket of silence settled over the room.

  “Sheriff,” Martin said, “Please keep us in the loop.”

  Sheriff Trotz tipped his hat. “Will do.”

  After he left, Taylor spoke, “What do we do next?”

  Her dad and Mary sadly shook their heads.

  “Wait,” replied Jeff.

  *~*

  Taylor blinked her eyes, as the sunshine awakened her. She stretched languidly in her bed enjoying the beautiful blue sky and bright sun-filled sky. Then reality stuck her. A week ago, she’d been getting ready for her wedding. Instead of happiness, her entire life vomited on her. Nothing resolved itself. Her life remained in limbo and full of unanswered questions. Forcing herself to rise, she washed, threw on old jeans and a faded shirt. In the deserted kitchen she grabbed a peach and a power bar before heading to the barn.

  The sound of laughter greeted her as she approached the riding ring. For a moment, she watched Jean and another volunteer, whom Taylor did not recognize, as they helped Amanda, a cerebral, palsy child, settle on a Canadian-style saddle. The giggles came from the girl and her assistants. A smile started and soon encompassed Taylor’s face. This is my life.

  The two women, one on each side, walked beside the rider, keeping her safe. They entered the ring and started their slow promenade around the circle. The titters of joy continued to flow from the trio.

  “There you are!” A woman shouted in her loudest voice.

  Taylor turned. Oh, no. Her attention flipped back to the child, her two guides, and the horse. Gratefully, Windy, the twenty year-old Appaloosa, continued her gentle stroll, ignoring everything except her job. With a sigh of relief, Taylor faced her next hurdle.

  A badly streaked blonde, with garish makeup, heavy black eyeliner, a very revealing sundress and white platform shoes, stopped right beside Taylor. “I checked the internet and discovered the Horseback Heroes program occurred every Saturday morning, plus some afternoons. So, here we are.” Ella Mae pointed to her daughter, who stood behind her. “Hannah can’t wait to start.” Her mother grabbed the girl’s arm and pulled her forward. “See we purchased jodhpurs. Now spin around and show M
iss Taylor…”

  A girl, less than five feet tall, with straight black hair, almost black eyes, and beautiful translucent skin slowly started a turn. Seeing the boot-cast on her foot, Taylor quickly grabbed Hannah’s shoulders to stop the child. “Mrs. Lee, we book our schedule a month in advance. Each child has a specific time to arrive. We sit down with the parents or care-givers and lay out the day and hour they should come. Many of our riders attend school, whether regular classes or special, and most of the parents work Monday through Friday which means Saturday classes fill almost immediately. You and Hannah are welcome to sit on the benches and watch, but she can’t ride.”

  Placing her hands on her hips, Ella Mae shot arrows of anger at Taylor. “My daughter’s career in gymnastics ended the day your mother hit her. Your family owes us big time.” Swinging her arms around and pointing here and there with her fingers, she continued, “This place reeks of money. You will take my daughter on as a student. She will stay with you until she’s a champion rider. My child will have a successful career. You and your father will make that happen.” With each sentence Ella Mae Lee’s volume increased.

  Observing other people watching the scene, Taylor recognized she must maintain her temper and get the cause of the scene away quickly. “Ms. Lee, Hannah, please come with me to the barn’s office, where we can discuss this.”

  The woman hesitated then agreed.

  As they strolled slowly toward her small workplace, going at a pace that Hannah could handle, guilt filled Taylor. Her mother had caused the girl’s problem. Am I responsible to fix the situation she had created?

  Why hadn’t the Muellers called to tell her Ms. Lee would come? Had Ella Mae’s lawyers suggested she just arrive, unannounced? Once they started talking, Taylor would discover the whole story.

  Taylor switched her attention to the woman and her child, noting the relationship between them. The teenager appeared embarrassed by the fuss her mother had made and sought to distance herself from the source. Every time the child edged away, her mother dragged her closer, refusing to allow the girl to escape.