by Jeremy Tyler
There was, however, one detail that Gerald did hold back. He did not mention his conversation with Sam Posey. He couldn’t really explain why he felt it important to hide this particular fact, but he was compelled to keep it a secret.
Fortunately, it apparently did not occur to either of his questioners that Arnold would have even wanted Gerald to go with him, so there was no need to explain his absence.
Eventually, the questions did stop, and Gerald was ordered to stay at the house until they returned.
At first, Gerald was relieved. There would be plenty of household chores that could occupy his time and keep his mind off of the terrible events, and Miss Wilhelmina would certainly not hesitate to put him to work.
It wasn’t until after Dan and John left that Gerald realized the terrible truth. He had been left there as a punishment.
“Gerald? Gerald, can you come here a moment?” Wilhelmina asked. It had been the fifth such request today. Gerald slumped his shoulders and marched dutifully into the sitting room where she had set up camp.
“Yes, Ma’am. What can I do for ya’, Miss Wilhelmina?”
“I just wanted ta’ see if you had received any word yet?”
It was the same each time. Every few minutes, Wilhelmina Rivers would ask if anyone had heard from Arnold. Everyone had given up on trying to remind her of the truth. The simple fact of it was that no one wanted to have to sit through the harrowing screams and ear-shattering wails that accompanied each revelation, especially since she would just decide to forget all over again, and then ask where Arnold had gone.
After a while, Gerald decided to present a truth she could deal with. He told her that Arnold had left to take care of some business in Atlanta—which was true enough, so long as he didn’t mention what had happened on his way there. It seemed to satisfy Wilhelmina, however, and now she was content to pester Gerald about when he thought Arnold would be coming back.
“No, Ma’am, I ain’t heard a thing, yet. But, ya’ know, these things can take a awful long time.”
“I suppose you’re right, Gerald. Thank you. You…you will tell me just as soon as you hear something.”
“The moment I hear from Mr. Arnold, I’ll let you know.”
“Thank you…oh, and Gerald?”
“Yes, Ma’am?”
“I haven’t heard from Roy today. He usually stops in ta’ say hello. I do hope nothin’ has happened to him today.”
“I’m sure he’s fine, Miss Wilhelmina. He probably jest has his hands full with…” and at that point he wondered how much of Wilhelmina’s reality had been taken over by her delusion.
“He’s probably just busy keepin’ ever’body in Coweta County safe.”
It seemed to satisfy her. The vacant smile returned to her face.
“Yes, you’re probably right. I really must talk with him over dinner tonight. I am deathly afraid that he is runnin’ himself much too hard. It’s fine that he wants to be sheriff, and it’s all right and good that he takes it all so seriously—but he just doesn’t seem to know where his priorities lie.”
“Priorities, Miss Wilhelmina?”
“Why, Gerald, you surely should know. Family. Family should come before anything. Ya’ start puttin’ things like career, friends, or romance before y’er fam’ly, and there is just nothin’ but disaster.” Her voice had drifted down to barely more than a murmur. “You’d a thought Roy would’a learned that by now…”
Gerald couldn’t understand the rest. He waited a few more minutes, but he knew that his audience with the woman was done for now. He walked away to find some bit of busywork to occupy him until she called again.
Chapter 9
“Ya’ll wanna tell me again why ya’ jest now got ta’ pullin’ me out’ta that cell?” Arthur Stovall asked from the back of Dan’s squad car.
“It was for your own good, Arthur. There was a whole lotta folks here in town that was pretty well convinced that you were a cold-blooded murderer,” Dan said.
“Well, havin’ the sheriff haul me outta my own home and throw me behind bars prob’ly had a lot ta’ do with that perception.”
“Well Arthur, stop and think a moment,” John said. “How do you think it would have gone if we had let you out of jail before word got around that the killer was still on the loose? For that matter, how do you think you would have reacted if someone you knew were named as a multiple murderer, and you had every reason to believe it was true, and then you saw them walking past your door?”
Arthur got very quiet as he considered this thought.
“I s’pose I’d a’ had my shotgun loaded an’ ready real quick.”
“So would a lot o’ people. That’s why we waited until ever’one was good an’ convinced that you was innocent before we let ya’ loose,” Dan chimed in.
“So, I guess a good ol’ ‘thank you’ would be in order here. Almost takes the sting out’ta bein’ accused in the first place. Still falls short on makin’ up for the way I was treated once I was arrested and stamped as a murderer, but I guess that’s a bit much ta’ ask,” Arthur said sarcastically. It was said to no one in particular, but John knew that it was really aimed for him. Arthur may not find it easy to forgive the interrogation, or the painful truths John had forced out of him.
“You think I was too rough on you, Arthur? Then think about the look on the sheriff’s face when he arrested you. Think about what he was thinking when he got there and found me sitting with you in your kitchen. If I had let up on you—even a little bit—he would’ve kicked me out of the sheriff’s office and started in on you himself. How do you think THAT would have gone?”
Arthur didn’t answer, and John didn’t feel like turning around to see what kind of look he had on his face. He had been rough on him at the interrogation. There were answers he needed, and it was the only opportunity he had to get them. Even then, John had known that Arthur was innocent, but he still had the information John wanted.
“Still, those questions you asked…”
“Believe me, I know. If someone that I considered a friend had done that to me, I’d probably never forgive them. If you want to hold that against me, you have every right. But I’m going to ask that you hold off on hating me for just a little bit, because I need a favor.”
“And what would that be?” Arthur asked.
“I’m still convinced that Emma Lou’s death is tied up in all of this somehow. Unfortunately, I’m fast running out of people I can ask about what really happened back then. So, if I’m going to find anything out, I’m going to have to ask Annie Ruth.”
“You gonna talk ta’ her like you did me?” Arthur asked. His voice has hard when he spoke, and John could only imagine what his face looked like at that moment.
“No, sir. I’m just going to ask her what she remembers about Emma Lou’s death, then I’ll just shut up and listen.”
“’Cause, if you so much as say one thing ta’ upset her…”
“Arthur, I promise. If you want, you can stand behind me with a loaded shotgun and open fire the moment I say anything of the sort.”
“Hey, now,” Dan interjected, “I gotta problem with that!”
“Why? You want to be the one pulling the trigger?” John quipped.
“Partly,” Dan said with a half-smirk. “But mostly, I jest let this fella’ out a’ my jail, and I’m not in mind to put him inta’ any kind a’ tem’tation that would force me ta’ put ’im back in!”
“Won’t happen, Dan. I can promise you that,” John offered.
Dan sighed, as though he were forced to make some concession he was loathe to.
“Arthur, you have my word on it. Mr. Webb here will be on his best behavior.”
Apparently, that was enough for Arthur.
“Thank you, Arthur. I hope someday I can do something to show you how very sorry I am to put you through all of that,” John said finally. His response was a very genuine chuckle from the backseat.
“Dear Gawd, John, you sure don’t know no
thin’ about Southern folks, now do ya’?”
John wasn’t really sure what that meant, but it must have been true, because Dan was joining in the laughter. They were still laughing when they pulled up to the Stovalls’ home.
The thing that John had not considered, however, was that Arthur was a lot more forgiving than his wife. Annie Ruth was not moved by John’s professions of remorse, nor did she seem to be impressed by his explanations of why Arthur had been held in jail for the better part of the day. From the moment John set foot on the Stovalls’ front porch, he was the recipient of the world’s most life-threatening glare.
If Arthur noticed, he didn’t show it. He simply walked up to the door, where Annie Ruth was standing with a frying pan in hand, and gave her a quick peck on the cheek.
“Hey there, Darlin’. Mr. Webb wants to have a chat with ya’, an’ I told ’im it’s fine with me…if y’er willin’,” he said lightly, then looked back at John and grinned his toothiest smile. “Good luck.”
Then he disappeared from view as he entered the house. John could hear the excited squeals of children from inside.
“Annie Ruth, I just wanted to say that…”
“You’re not seriously thinkin’ about talkin’ ta’ me like we was still drinkin’ ice tea in my kitchen, are ya’? ’Cause you might r’member that that didn’t work out so well for my fam’ly.”
John looked through his life experience to try and find something useful to this particular situation, and came up empty.
“You’re right. The chance for me to act like a friend is gone. I blew that. So, I won’t bother with the pretense. We’re this close to naming our killer. And I think that you might have the last clues I need. So, I guess your decision is simply whether you would rather talk to me, or hit me over the head with the frying pan.”
She thought about it. And judging by the look in her eye, neither John nor Dan would have cared to guess how close she actually came to choosing the frying pan. Eventually, however, she moved aside to allow them entry into her home.
Once again, John found himself seated at the Stovalls’ kitchen table. It was a little different, this time. There wasn’t any laughter or smiles. Arthur wasn’t there, either. He was out in the yard with the children, listening with rapt attention to the hundred little things that they wanted to tell him about what had transpired in their lives since he had to go ‘visit a friend’ in town.
“Alright, then. Y’er here. I’m here. Ask y’er questions,” a very hostile Annie Ruth said.
“Annie Ruth…” John began, then rethought his opening when he got a murderous look from the woman across from him, “Mrs. Stovall, we’ve gotten some evidence that just might tie our murders together. Maybe even lead us to the killer. And I believe that you have the missing piece to this whole puzzle.”
“Ya’ think I know who did this?”
“No. At least, not directly,” Dan chimed in.
“I think that Uncle Carl was killed because he knew something…something about your sister,” John announced.
“Ophie? What could she possibly have ta’ do with any o’ this? She ain’t even been in town in four months…”
“Not Ophelia. And not your sister Oneida, either.”
At this, Annie Ruth was clearly getting nervous.
“Well, I’m afraid you’re out o’ luck, then—’cause I’m fresh out of sisters.”
John paused for a moment as he ran through the best way to proceed.
“I need you to tell me everything about Emma Lou.”
“How did…”
“I can’t get into all the aspects of our investigation, Annie Ruth, but I need you to trust me a little bit. Somehow, Carl’s death—and afterward, George, Opal, and Arnold—they’re all connected with what happened to Emma Lou.”
It was a hard pill for Annie Ruth to take, and she struggled with it for some time. But as difficult as it was to accept, she eventually was convinced that John was genuinely trying to discover the truth about what really happened. As Dan watched, she and John began a journey through time, to a moment that Annie Ruth would much prefer to forget.
As the story unfolded, Dan could understand why:
Although Annie Ruth was just a child, she still remembered the events with startling clarity. Being only four years old, her parents tried to shield her from what was happening. But, as all children can tell you, there is very little that happens in a home that small ears do not hear and small eyes do not see. While she didn’t know why Emma Lou suddenly got so sick, she knew that it was far more serious than any other time before.
It was a confusing time for Annie Ruth. Emma Lou had just moved away to live with her new husband, Roy, and his family only a few weeks before. And now, with hardly any warning, it seemed that she was to be taken from them forever. Once, while she and her parents were visiting, Annie Ruth took the opportunity to slip into her older sister’s bedroom and hide behind the dressing screen, next to the rocking chair piled high with blankets. From that vantage point, she heard the doctor whisper to her parents when Emma Lou was too delirious to comprehend what was happening around her. Much of the conversation was beyond her, but she still remembered hearing him declare that there was no hope for her—or the child.
At firs, she was terrified by this, because she believed the doctor was referring to her. But as the doctor continued, it became clear that he was referring to another child. Emma Lou was pregnant. Mind you, Annie Ruth had no greater knowledge about pregnancy and related matters than any other four-year-old. It seemed perfectly logical that Emma Lou should be pregnant, because, as far as she knew from her wealth of experience, it was something that happened a lot when people got married. But the idea that someone could actually get so sick strictly because they were pregnant was a revelation.
The doctor and her parents talked for a little while more, then left the room to let Emma Lou rest. She didn’t seem to be resting to Annie Ruth, however. She tossed and turned fitfully, and moaned and cried as though she were in the most horrible pain imaginable. It was more than Annie Ruth could bear to see her sister go through, and since she had no medicine or medical knowledge, Annie Ruth did the only thing she could think of to comfort her sister. She emerged from her hiding spot, walked to Emma Lou’s bed, and crawled in beside her.
It must have had some benefit. Emma Lou broke from her delirium long enough to recognize her baby sister and, with tears in her eyes, she held her tightly.
“Emma Lou?” Annie Ruth asked, “If bein’ preg’nt hurts ya’ so much, then I’d think ev’erbody ’d be all right if ya’ di’nt wanna be. I don’t want you ta’ be preg’nt if it hurts ya’.”
Emma Lou squeezed her tight and whispered in her ear.
“It ain’t the baby what’s hurtin’ me, Annie Ruth. What’s hurtin’ me, it’s hurtin’ the baby, too. An’ that just breaks my heart.”
“What’s hurtin’ ya’, then? I’ll tell ’em, an’ we can git ya’ some med’cine fer it.”
Emma Lou smiled at the genuine concern.
“Ain’t no medicine for it, Annie Ruth. An’ the doctor already knows what’s wrong, so they’s no need to be tellin’ him.”
“Then why’d he say it was the baby?” Annie Ruth asked innocently.
“Doc thinks I done somethin’ bad, an’ he don’t wanna say it in front o’ momma and daddy. But I want you ta’ know somethin’, an’ I need you ta’ believe me: I didn’t do nothin’ ta’ hurt this baby. Nothin’. Don’t let anybody ever tell you diff’ernt.” Emma said these words with tears in her eyes. “I wanted ta’ make Roy proud. He’d a’ been a real good daddy. I know he would.”
Emma Lou began to shake again, and Annie did not know whether it was from the crying or the pain.
“You best go, now, Annie Ruth. You’ll get in sore trouble if they find you here.”
Reluctantly, Annie Ruth got up from the bed and tiptoed to the door. She opened it just a crack to be sure no one was watching, then started to leave. Before s
he could go, however, she had to ask one more question.
“Emma Lou? Are you gonna die now?”
There was a heavy silence before her sister answered.
“Yes, Annie Ruth, I am.”
Annie Ruth didn’t know what to say in response, so she simply blew her sister a kiss, then closed the door behind her.
Annie Ruth told this story with a face that only barely hid her feelings, and when she was done, she looked boldly at John and asked him directly:
“So, detective, ya’ get any missin’ puzzle pieces out o’ that?”
“Annie Ruth, I know that Emma Lou died from poisoning. Supposedly she drank turpentine, either by accident, or…”
“It wasn’t by accident—and it weren’t the other thing y’er thinkin’, neither. Emma Lou was killed on purpose.”
Though this came as a genuine surprise to Dan, it didn’t seem to faze John too much.
“And how do you know that?”
“Because Reverend Rivers told me.”
John blinked.
“And when was this?” Dan asked.
Annie Ruth acted a little nervous at that. They were clearly getting into an area that made her uneasy.
“Annie Ruth?” John asked, “when did you speak with Reverend Rivers?”
“The day before he went missin’,” she said quietly.
“What?!” Dan asked, incredulously.
“Why didn’t you mention this earlier?” asked John.
“Didn’t seem important. I didn’t know that Emma Lou had anythin’ ta’ do with all these killin’s, and it weren’t no surprise him stoppin’ by. The rev’rend paid calls to half the folks in this county.”
“But it wasn’t just a ‘pastoral visit,’ was it, Annie Ruth?”
