THE SECRETS OF TAYLOR CREEK
Copyright © Michael Merson
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, nor translated into a machine language, without the written permission of the publisher.
Condition of sale
This book was sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it was published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
The moral right of the author had been asserted.
This was a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events and organizations was purely coincidental.
Edited and Proofread by Jenna Benson
Cover Art and Formatting by Rebecca Garcia
Acknowledgments
I would like to thank my beautiful wife Stefanie, and my two wonderful daughters, Michaela and Mackenzie. This book would not have been possible without your positive encouragement. It was your belief in me, as a good storyteller, that kept me moving forward to the end.
From the back cover
FBI Agent Jaxson Locke is sent to Beaufort, North Carolina, to recover a rare car that belonged to another agent who disappeared in 1965. All that Agent Locke knows before his arrival to Beaufort is that Agent Nathan Emerson went there over fifty years ago to conduct an unauthorized investigation. An investigation into the mysterious deaths of three young women.
Agent Locke learns that during Agent Emerson’s investigation, innocent people were killed, and Agent Emerson is still currently wanted for those murders.
Agent Locke interviews the only two witnesses that are still alive that know anything about Agent Emerson, but they tell him nothing new. When Agent Locke searches Agent Emerson’s car, he finds a journal that reveals that the two witnesses know more than they lead Agent Locke to believe. Agent Locke goes back to the witnesses wanting the truth, and they finally share with him the Secrets of Taylor Creek.
Warning
Thank you for picking up your copy of Secrets of Taylor Creek.
This book is set in 1965, when racism in the United States was still prevalent. This book does contain racism to stay as accurate to the times as possible and highlight the cultural differences in that day.
Prologue
Sunday April 18, 1965
It was a cool evening. The loud music and laughter from the invited guests, the ‘whos-who,’ and ‘well-to-do’ of North Carolina, could be heard in the distance. Delia Snipes looked back once at the old plantation home that bordered Taylor Creek. She was tired, intoxicated, and ready for bed. Her red high heel shoes made her feet ache, and the flower print, form-fitting dress Delia wore was way too tight. Delia felt more comfortable in a pair of jeans and a loose shirt, but the man who requested her presence this evening required that she dress how he wanted.
Ben Arrington made all the girls, who were of mixed race, dress how he desired. The lights from the mansion were but a small glimmer from the long, dark driveway that led to the main road. The shadowy figures of the drunk politicians, businessmen, and party ‘treats’ like Delia Snipes danced passed the windows to the beat of the Rolling Stones.
The mansion belonged to the Arrington family of Beaufort, North Carolina. To visitors of the area, the mansion was described as an Antebellum early American plantation home. It was white, with tall pillars that supported the roof that extended over a large ground level balcony. To folks living in the area, especially black folks, it was known as the Old Klan House on Taylor Creek.
Delia had made an early exit from the Gentlemen’s Social through the servant entrance in the back. She was satisfied with the hundred dollars she had earned servicing the wealthy white men who were attending the Social. Delia never gave much thought to the things she did for the men nor to their special requests at these parties. She was not paid to ask questions. After all, she believed it was a necessary means to an end. After tonight she had enough money to move herself, her sister, and her mother to Virginia Beach where she hoped they could all find work and a different life. Maybe they would head further away to Pennsylvania where her aunt could help her get a job in a factory. Either way, she and her family would be leaving Beaufort just as quickly as she had left the Social tonight.
Delia allowed her intoxicated mind to drift towards thoughts of Virginia and Pennsylvania as she slowly staggered down the driveway in the direction of the main road. The driveway was long and dark. It was best described as more of a tunnel of Spanish Moss that hung overhead from the rows of magnolia trees that lined both sides of the gravel driveway. The further Delia walked from the house, the darker it was. She always felt uneasy about the area. Delia was still more comfortable on the main road. From there she hoped to catch a ride with the workers heading to the docks.
Suddenly the feeling of someone watching her caused her to stop. She stood motionless and listened for a moment. She squinted her eyes as she peered between the trees into the dark brush on both sides of the drive.
There ain’t nothin’ or nobody out here but you and God! Stop imagining things. You just drunk! Slowly, she began to walk once more while singing Shirley Ellis’ new hit song, The Name Game.
“Shirley, Shirley, Shirley Bo-ber-ley, bo-na-na fanna… Who dat?” Delia screamed. She turned around quickly. She looked for who or what had ruffled the bushes behind the trees off to her left.
“I know somebody there! Is that you Charlie White? I’m done for the night and I ain’t giving you no special attention. I’m goin’ go home! Besides, you ain’t never got money,” Delia screamed out loud.
She was afraid, and she stood quietly, as the waves from Taylor Creek lapped against the shoreline. Still frightened, Delia turned and slowly began to walk once more.
“Shirley, Shirley, Shirley Bo-ber-ley…” was all Delia could say before being struck in the head from behind by a heavy object. She didn’t remember falling to the ground, but soon she realized that she was lying on the ground looking through a small opening in the Spanish Moss at the moon. Warm streams of blood trickled down her cheek and into her eyes, and the moon faded away as the darkness overtook the light.
PART I: THE SECRET DISCOVERED
Chapter 1
Friday, May 31,
The Present
Agent Locke entered the town of Beaufort, North Carolina shortly before five o’clock in the afternoon and quickly found the Sheriff’s Office. He parked in the visitors’ parking lot and made his way inside. He wasn’t sure if he would find anyone in the office so late in the day on a Friday. Once inside, Agent Locke was greeted by a tall, thin, young man in his twenties with a strong Southern accent.
“May I help you?” He asked.
“I’m here to see Sheriff Maggie Turner. I believe that she’s expecting me.”
“I’ll go see if she’s ready for you.”
Agent Locke waited in the lobby where he saw a wall dedicated to the deputies that were killed in the line of duty. At the top was Sheriff Dwight Carter. Agent Locke recognized the name from the one in the file that he carried. He was reading the circumstances surrounding Carter’s death when the side door next to the lobby opened.
“Sheriff Turner will see you now,” the young man said as he held the door open.
Locke followed the man down a short hallway to the office at the end. When he entered the office, Sheriff Turner was sitting at her desk. Upon seeing Agent Locke, she stood, walked around from behind her desk, and ap
proached him while extending her hand.
“I’m Sheriff Turner,” she said as she shook Locke’s hand.
“I’m Agent Locke with the FBI,” he said while displaying his credentials.
“Please have a seat,” she said as she gestured to the chair on the other side of her desk.
“I’m here to recover a car...” Locke started to say.
“Yes, I know. The very popular and very collectible 1965 Shelby Mustang GT 350 that belonged to Agent Nathan Emerson that we now have in our impound lot,” she said interrupting.
“Right. I was hoping to look at it this evening,” Locke added.
“That won’t be possible. My guys have already gone home for the evening, but you’re more than welcome to look at it tomorrow. I have already scheduled one of the fellas to be there for you in the morning.”
“Well, okay then. I guess I’ll find a place to stay the night and…”
“I booked you a room at the Beaufort Bed and Breakfast. It’s at 231 Ann Street. The Sheriff’s Office is picking up the tab for your stay this evening.” Sheriff Turner stated.
“All right. Do you know where I can find…”
“Mrs. Josephine Arrington and Mr. William Turner?” She said interrupting once more.
“Yes,” he answered with a confused look on his face.
“Josephine goes by Stormie, and William Turner, my father, would rather be called Will,” she stated and stood up.
“They’re both over at Mrs. Stormie’s home on Taylor Creek. You can follow me over there,” she explained as she led him out the door.
“Do you have any questions so far?” She asked as they walked out to the parking lot.
“Do you know where I can find Agent Nathan Emerson?” He asked, comically.
“No, but maybe you’ll find him before you leave,” she remarked as she got in her car.
“Now, just follow me.”
Agent Locke did as he was instructed, and after a short drive behind the Beaufort County Sheriff’s car, he found himself pulling into a long driveway that led to a beautiful home on the water. As he got closer, he saw two people sitting on the porch. Agent Locke parked beside Sheriff Turner. He then got out of the car, followed her up the steps, and onto the porch.
“Hi, Mrs. Stormie, Daddy,” she said to the two of them.
“This is Agent Jaxson Locke with the FBI, and he wanted to come and speak to the two of you.”
Agent Locke reached out his hand and greeted the two of them. Mr. Turner was an elderly black man in his sixties who was well dressed and spoke with a deep voice. Mrs. Stormie was older and based on the information in the file, Agent Locke knew that she was eighty-three years old.
“Please have a seat,” Stormie said and gestured for him to sit in the empty chair across from them.
“I’m here to…”
“To recover Agent Emerson’s car that the department of transportation road crew found on Wednesday over where they’re putting in the new highway,” Will responded interrupting Agent Locke.
Like father, like daughter. At least she comes by it naturally, Locke thought to himself.
“Yes, sir, I am,” he answered.
“What can we help you with Agent Locke?” Stormie asked.
“Is there anything you can tell me that’s not in this file?” Locke asked as he held up the thick folder.
“No, I don’t think there is,” Stormie answered and then slowly looked over at Will.
“I agree. I don’t think we left anything out when we spoke to the other agents that were here questioning everyone in 1965,” Will added.
“I just thought maybe you could tell me why Agent Emerson he left his car here, in the woods, instead of taking it with him,” Locke stated.
“I have no idea. He did leave in a hurry.” Stormie said and then slowly turned away and looked out toward the water.
“He came here to look into the deaths of those young girls, and the next thing we know everything was turned upside down, and he got out of town as quickly as he could,” Will added when he noticed Stormie looking away.
“Well, unless you have any further questions, I don’t think they have anything to add Agent Locke, but after you look at the car tomorrow and you find that you have other questions, then just reach out. We’ll see if we can help,” Sheriff Turner said as she stood up, hinting to Agent Locke that it was time for them to leave.
“No. I can’t think of anything right now,” Agent Locke said as he stood.
He thanked the two of them for their time and followed Sheriff Turner back to the cars. She gave him directions to the Beaufort Bed and Breakfast and to the County Impound lot where he could find the car. He thanked her for her time and then headed for the B&B. Jaxson found the directions easy to follow, and before long, he was pulling into the parking lot of the converted Victorian-style home and checking in with the owner.
After unpacking and cleaning up, he began reading over the file once more. Jaxson asked his supervisor before leaving Charlotte as to why he was being sent to recover a car that belonged to an FBI agent who disappeared in 1965. Jaxson’s caseload usually involved unsolvable cases, cases where there were no leads, and cases that involved serial killers. Jaxson, unlike others, had a sense about him that most investigators did not. He had the natural ability to notice things that were out of place or that other people simply overlooked.
Jaxson knew that Agent Emerson was wanted for the murder of two, maybe three people. The car that the road crew found belonged to Agent Emerson who had come to Beaufort on his own accord and conducted an unauthorized investigation into the deaths of three young girls of color in 1965. The current media attention surrounding the case has been centered on the discovery of his personal car, an original 1965 Shelby Mustang GT 350. Car collectors had reached out to the FBI concerning the rare automobile. They wanted to know what was to become of the car once the FBI was finished with it. The town was full of media personnel waiting to get a photo of the rare vehicle.
Jaxson ordered a pizza from a local pizzeria and sat at the small table in his room reading over the file concerning Agent Emerson. He learned that Agent Emerson went to the University of Oklahoma and played in the Orange Bowl in 1958. After graduation, he went to law school at Duke.
Interesting, Agent Emerson grew up in North Carolina, went to the University of Oklahoma, played in the Orange Bowl against Duke University, but then came back to Duke to go to law school, Jaxson thought to himself.
He also learned that Agent Emerson was involved in some highly publicized civil rights cases in the 60s. Jaxson sat back in the chair and started thinking. The things Emerson was accused of and the things he was a part of in his short career weren’t adding up. He then focused on reading the reports from the investigating FBI agents, the sheriff, and the coroner. Once more, things didn’t add up. They were also very brief. They contained little information about the deaths of the girls, the people Emerson had supposedly killed, and the disappearance of Agent Emerson. One thing that the FBI agents’ and the sheriff’s reports had in common was the guilt of one person; Agent Nathan Emerson, who suddenly disappeared into thin air. Leaving an expensive car in the woods.
Jaxson finally moved onto the few photos that were available and had not been destroyed or misplaced in the past fifty-plus years. He reviewed autopsy photos, crime scene photos, and victim photos from the hospital. There were photos of young Stormie and Benjamin Arrington in the hospital, recovering from their extensive injuries. At about twelve-thirty, Jaxson finally decided to go to bed. After laying there for about thirty minutes thinking about the case, he eventually fell asleep.
Chapter 2
Saturday, June 1,
The Present
Jaxson woke up at about seven and quickly got in the shower. It was there where he was still trying to wake up when suddenly he saw it. He quickly turned off the water and ran toward the table with the files on it. He shuffled through the photos and finally found the right one. There it was
, right out in front for everyone to see, but no one ever did…until now!
Jaxson made it down to the impound lot and met with the man Sheriff Turner said would be there. His name was Tim, and he was overly helpful and slightly hard to understand when he spoke. Jaxson had found him in the office sitting over a large portion of biscuits and gravy. Outside, along the fence, were news vans and media people waiting to get a glimpse and a photo of the car. Tim led Jaxson through a door into the garage bay where Jaxson got his first look at the 1965 Shelby GT 350.
“I towed the car inside the shop out of view of the cameras until you got a chance to look it over,” Tim explained.
“Thank you. Did you have a look inside it?” Jaxson asked.
“Nope, I just lifted the hood and made sure all the critters were out of it before I brought it inside.”
“No critters?” Jaxson asked.
“Nope. The car was buttoned up pretty good. All the windows were up, the keys were in the ignition, and the doors were unlocked. I’m pretty sure the guys who found it went through it and took some photos. I found smudge marks in the dust inside from where people climbed in before I got there.”
“Well, thanks. I guess I’ll take it from here,” Jaxson advised as the man walked out of the building.
Jaxson began taking photos of the outside of the car and then moved to the inside to take more photos. After an hour, he entered the front seat and began documenting and logging the items he found in the glove box. He finally moved to the back seat and started looking there. It was under the passenger seat that he came across a journal written by William “Preacher” Turner.
Jaxson took the journal from the car, walked over to an old chair sitting in the corner of the garage, sat down, and began reading. After about an hour, he realized that he had just discovered an amazing story, but he still had questions. Jaxson collected his things and made his way out to his car. He placed the journal in the passenger seat and headed toward the two people that he believed could answer those questions.
The Secrets of Taylor Creek Page 1
