CHAPTER 19
Enid sat at the desk in her room and Googled the Central Mississippi Correctional Facility and found a phone number. After being transferred a few times, she talked to someone who could help her. Enid explained that Wynona was her husband’s aunt, and she was helping him locate her. “Her name is Wynona Garrett. She was convicted of murder. Can you confirm if she’s still incarcerated there?”
“Hold while I check.” In less than a minute, the woman came back to the phone. “She was here, but not anymore.”
“Do you mean she was released?”
“No. She died while incarcerated, in 2008.”
“Thanks,” said Enid before ending the call. She then texted a message to Jack”
Enid: Wynona can’t help us. She died in prison. After Rosie killed.
Jack: Sad. Another tragedy.
CHAPTER 20
Enid was surprised when Cassie told her Jack was downstairs to see her. When she went down to see him, he was standing by the front door twirling his car keys in his hand. “Come, let’s go,” he said.
“What are you doing here? Where are we going?”
“Thought this might be a good time for you to check out the dump site.”
“Dump site?”
“You know, where they found Rosie.” Jack dropped his head. “Look, I don’t mean to be insensitive. I guess it’s the newspaper reporter coming out in me. Sometimes I forget Rosie was family to you, or at least she was Cade’s family.”
“It’s okay. I’ll just be a minute.” Enid went up to get her bag.
* * *
In late summer, the trees were still green but showed signs of summer fatigue. Soon the leaves would die and fall to earth, and the cycle of life would continue, just as it did a decade earlier when Rosie was killed.
Jack turned to Enid. “Do you want to get out? We don’t have to, you know.”
Enid opened the passenger door. “I’d like to look around.” She got out and walked a short distance to the edge of the woods. She looked around and then reached into her tote bag and pulled out the file folder containing copies of the crime scene photos. She held up one of the photos to see if she could determine the exact spot where Rosie’s body had been found. “It hasn’t changed much. A few of the big trees are gone, and there’s more undergrowth.”
Jack took one of the photos from her and then walked over to a dense thicket of undergrowth beneath a cluster of tall trees. “It was there.” He pointed to the spot. “That’s where they found her.”
Enid walked over to the thicket where Jack had pointed. She kneeled down and touched the ground, picked up a handful of dirt and smelled its earthy fragrance. Still holding onto the dirt in one hand, she pointed overhead. Jack looked up at the green canopy.
“It’s a cathedral of trees,” said Enid. “Rosie found the peace here that she lacked in her life.” Enid dropped the dirt and wiped her hand. “I can feel it too.”
“Maybe we should just let her rest in peace,” said Jack.
“Or maybe she’s at peace because she knows she’s not forgotten any longer.”
Jack kicked at a wild mushroom growing at the base of one of the trees. “I’m worried that you’re getting too close to this story—maybe identifying too much with her. I don’t have to tell you how important it is as a journalist to keep your distance.”
Enid nodded. “I know.”
“But you’re right about Rosie finding some comfort here. Maybe not the kind of peace you had in mind, though. This used to be a spot where kids bought drugs from the bikers.”
Enid looked around the area. “It’s far enough off the main road. I guess it’s a good a place as any for that kind of thing.”
“Like I said, it was well-known . . . and overlooked, if you know what I mean.”
“You mean the Madden police knew about this place?”
“Sure they did. After Rosie’s murder, the bikers moved the meeting spot with their buyers over to the woods behind Pinewood Cemetery,” said Jack. “Too much attention here, I guess.”
“Well, that explains why they weren’t too happy to see me poking around in there.”
“Far as I know, the bikers have quit selling to local kids. Not enough profit. Besides, the bikers aren’t independent sellers now. They work for a bigger distribution network and mostly transport to other dealers instead of selling directly to users.”
“Even if Chief Jensen and his police department turn their heads, what about the feds? It’s interstate trafficking. Surely they know what’s going on,” said Enid. A yellow jacket buzzed around Enid’s face, and she brushed it away.
“They’re attracted to your perfume,” said Jack. “They probably think you’re just a big flower.”
She swatted at another one with the file folder in her hand.
“Even if Chief Jensen wanted to stop the drug trafficking, it’s bigger than his department,” said Jack. “Hell, it’s bigger than South Carolina. Our lovely state has become a major pipeline for transporting drugs throughout the country.”
“Why is that?”
“The interstate highway system is great for moving up and down the coast. I-95 is the longest north-south-running interstate in the United States. It’s the main expressway for the eastern portion of the nation, running from Maine’s Canadian border to Miami.”
“I just read where they did a drug bust on I-77. From the description in the news, it sounded pretty close to Madden.”
“Both I-77 and I-85 have also become drug corridors. And the seaport in Charleston has always been an international gateway, and I mean for more than just cheap imports,” he said.
Enid looked again at spot where Rosie’s had been found. “Do you think the bikers killed Rosie?” Before Jack could reply, she added, “Why would they kill her if she was just a customer? That doesn’t make any sense.”
Jack swiped a trickle of sweat from the back of his neck. “The-bikers-did-it version is the one that sells,” he said. “The good folks in Madden feel safer believing that it was something that happens only to ‘bad’ kids, like Rosie. At least that’s how my editor wanted me to spin it. He always wanted me to insinuate that it was out-of-town drug dealers that were probably to blame. I did a lot of research on the national drug epidemic to shift the focus from Rosie’s murder being a local crime.”
“But I want to know what you think,” said Enid.
“I think we’d better get out of here before one of those bees drives a stinger into your arm,” said Jack. “Man, those suckers hurt when they sting, and we’ve got lots of them around here. If you do get stung, pull the stinger out and put a little dab of wet tobacco on the area. You know, like a poultice. It’ll take the pain and swelling right out.” He placed his hand on her elbow to guide her back to the car, but Enid pulled back and looked at Jack.
“Why didn’t you push back and pursue the story?” she asked.
Jack sighed and put his hands in his pocket. “You think I sold out.” He glanced at spot where Rosie was found. “Maybe I did. At the time, it was just another story. My boss told me to back off, and I needed to keep my job and benefits. That was my world at the time, not some seventeen-year-old drug user who fell in with the wrong crowd and got killed.” Jack started walking back to the car and called to Enid over his shoulder. “You coming?”
Enid followed Jack back to the car. He got in and started the air conditioning and adjusted the vents so the cool air would blow directly on his face. “I’ve been here almost fifteen years and still haven’t adjusted to this heat.” Enid stared out the passenger window in silence. Jack checked for traffic and then pulled out onto the main road.
After driving a few miles, Enid said, “This isn’t the way back to inn. Where are we going?”
CHAPTER 21
Enid and Jack rode in silence until he pulled into a parking lot in front of a small brick church. “Come on,” said Jack, “there’s someone I want you to meet.”
Enid got out and followed Jac
k through a narrow wrought iron gate. The hinges were rusty, and Jack had to shove it open. He walked over to a simple, but elegant black granite headstone engraved with the name “Matilda Johnson.”
Jack waved his arm toward the grave. “Enid, meet my wife, Mattie.”
“I know you miss her, and I’m very sorry for your loss.” Enid put her hand on Jack’s arm. “But, why did you bring me here?”
Jack focused his gaze on a patch of wilted grass at the base of the headstone. “When Mattie got sick, my world came to a screeching halt. Nothing made sense any more. She was my foundation. And then she was gone.” Jack cleared his throat. “At the time Rosie was killed, Mattie was dying. We had medical bills piling up, and I couldn’t afford to get fired.” He kicked at a rock with his foot. “Rosie was just another story.” Jack looked back toward the grave. “You sold out, left journalism, and went to work for the bank to make more money. Does that make you a bad person or just a good daughter?”
“You’re right. I’m sorry for judging you earlier.” Enid turned and started walking back to the car.
Jack followed her and called out, “I shouldn’t have lashed out at you.”
Enid wiped a tear from her eye before turning around to face Jack. “We both put our families ahead of our work. I guess that makes us both pretty decent people, but bad journalists.” She slapped at a mosquito sucking on her forearm. “I’ve got a lot on my mind right now, and I’m not being very sensitive to what you’ve been through. I’m sorry.”
Jack motioned to a shady path near the edge of the neatly manicured cemetery. “Come on, let’s walk down here a little way. It’s shady and bit cooler.” They walked into the wooded area on the dirt path, the earth hard as stone. The air smelled musky and slightly sweet. Jack kneeled down to pick a small flower in the midst of some weeds. “Even in nature, things find a way to go on,” he said.
Enid took a deep breath. “I’m sorry to have reopened old wounds for you. Rosie was just an assignment and you had other things to worry about. I shouldn’t have pulled you into all of this.”
Jack smiled. “I got pissed because you pulled the scab off an old wound. Every journalist I know has that one story that got away. You know, unresolved.” He paused. “Rosie was mine. After Mattie died, I decided to leave the paper. I traveled a while and then came back here to Madden. I never forgot Rosie, but I did move on.”
“Why do you think your editor pulled you off the story?” asked Enid.
“You ever live in a small town?”
“No, at least not one as small as Madden,” she said.
“There’s a lot of good things about its small-town ways. People know and help each other. There’s a closeness here, like family.”
When he didn’t continue, Enid asked, “But?”
“But, it’s also incestuous.”
“How do you mean?” she asked.
“Everybody and everything are connected somehow, so every action has a ripple effect.”
“Like the butterfly flapping its wings and causing a hurricane on the other side of the world?” she said laughing.
Jack nodded. “Something like that.”
“But how is this related to Rosie?” she asked.
“You wanted to know why I got pulled off the story. The editor of the Madden Gazette is part of the Jensen family. Chief Jensen made it clear he wanted this story buried alongside Rosie, and so it was.
“What exactly are you saying then?”
“It bothered me then, and still bothers me, that Rosie’s murder was the paper’s biggest headline in a quarter century. So why was the story killed? What newspaper wouldn’t milk that?” Not waiting for an answer, Jack turned and started back to the car. “Ready to leave this place? I could use a big glass of Cassie’s sweet tea right about now.”
On the drive back to the inn, they road in silence for a few miles. Enid was jotting a few notes in her research folder. “I want to talk to the coroner,” she said.
“Then we should have dropped in on him while we were at the church.”
“You mean he’s dead?” asked Enid.
“About five years ago.” He paused. “What are you looking for in the report?”
“I don’t know exactly. Just anything that might help us.”
“There’s no telling where the coroner’s files are now. South Carolina coroners are often part-time people who serve several counties. A coroner might be the local vet or a retired accountant. Their files are usually kept in a county coroner’s office. When a coroner dies, his files are supposed to be sent to a county courthouse or another county office for safekeeping. But sometimes, files just disappear. At any rate, since this is an open case, even if we find the report, they’re not going to hand you a complete copy of the file, only what’s public information.” Jack looked in the rearview mirror and then slowed to pull off on the road.
“Why are you stopping?” asked Enid.
Jack turned slightly in his seat so he could face Enid. “Go home.”
“What?”
“You need to drop this story,” said Jack.
“I don’t understand.”
“You told me you wanted to write about Rosie and how she was a lost soul looking for something she never got. You think her family and everyone else let her down.”
“And?” asked Enid.
“Now don’t go getting mad at me, but I think you’re trying to pay penance for all three of us by writing this story.”
“I don’t understand. Who are the three?” asked Enid.
“Me, for bowing to pressure and dropping the story. And Cade, because Rosie was his family and he let his mother talk him out of digging into it.”
“And the third person?”
Jack pointed his finger at Enid. “It’s you. You need to move on,” said Jack. “Either it’s as simple as a young girl getting killed for her drug stash or for stiffing a dealer. Or … it’s bigger than you want to know.” Jack started the car and continued up the road. “Either way, you’re putting too much on the line for this story. Your marriage, your relationship with your mother-in-law. And worse, you may be putting yourself in danger.”
“You think Chief Jensen is involved, don’t you?” asked Enid.
“I don’t know, but he killed the story for a reason. And I have to assume that he wants it to stay dead.”
“I’ll think about it.”
A few minutes later, they pulled into the inn’s parking lot and stopped beside a black car. Enid read the white lettering on the door: “Madden Police Chief.” She looked at Jack. “Can I put my notes in your trunk for now? I have a feeling Chief Jensen isn’t here to join us for a glass of Cassie’s tea.”
CHAPTER 22
When Enid walked into the inn’s entrance foyer, Chief Jensen was sitting in the living room with Cassie. He was tapping his heel and playing with the edge of his wide-brimmed police hat. Cassie was sitting in a chair across from him and stood up when Enid came into the room.
“Chief Jensen is here to see you,” said Cassie. “I was just keeping him company until you returned.”
Jensen rose halfway from his seat and bowed slightly. “Ms. Blackwell, I’d like to have a word with you.”
Cassie looked at Enid and motioned toward a chair. “You can sit here.” Cassie looked at Jensen. “Unless you need me, I’ll just be in the office taking care of some paperwork.”
“Always a pleasure to see you, Cassie,” he said.
After Cassie left the room, Enid looked at Jensen. “How can I help you?”
“I was under the impression Jack Johnson was with you.”
“He just dropped me off.”
“Well, I’ll catch him later.” Jensen laid his hat on the sofa and put his hands together, interlacing his fingers. “Ms. Blackwell, I thought we discussed the fact that Rose Marie Garrett’s murder is an open case.”
“Yes, Chief, you told me. Is there a problem?” Someone must have told Jensen about their visit to the dump site.
“I just want to make sure we don’t have any problems,” he said.
“I’m afraid I don’t understand what you’re implying.”
“Actually, I think you know exactly what I’m saying, with all due respect.” Enid noticed his left heel was tapping the floor again. Jensen waited for her to reply, but Enid sat with her hands in her lap. “I’ve been getting reports that you’re going around town asking a lot of questions and digging into things that don’t concern you.”
“With all due respect to you, Chief, I told you I’m doing research for a story on Rosie’s life and her death. She was my husband’s cousin, and I have both a journalist and a familial interest in learning more about her life. How can I gather the information I need without asking a lot of questions? Besides, don’t you want to close this case? I might find out something helpful to you.”
Jensen’s leg stopped tapping the floor. “You being new around here, I can understand why you might have misunderstood our earlier conversation. But I felt sure Jack and I had a clear understanding, so I’m surprised he’s involved in all this.” Enid started to speak but he held up his hand. “No need for you to speak for Jack. We’ll have a little chit-chat later. You know, man to man.”
Enid weighed her options and decided on the most efficient, but most provocative, path. “I assume you’re referring to the fact that you, or at least your family, made him drop the story ten years ago,” she said.
Jensen stared at Enid, and she could see the muscle in his jaw twitch slightly.
“How well did you know Rosie?” he asked.
“I didn’t, and I thought I made it clear that I was to learn more about her.”
“You know, Ms. Blackwell, Madden is a great little town. My family has lived here for generations. And the whole town, well, we’re like family. We take care of each other.”
“And Rosie didn’t fit into your little picture-perfect town, is that what you’re telling me?”
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