The Secrets of Taylor Creek

by Michael Merson

  “I mean what I said,” Ben commented as he walked out and slammed the screen door behind him.

  “I do too, Dear!” Stormie yelled back.

  Stormie stood and watched Ben climb into his car.

  I won’t be told what to do anymore, she thought to herself.

  “Well ain’t that the berries. Stormie, don’t go causin’ no trouble. I knows you and ain’t nobody telling you what to do. Especially that man,” Sissy remarked as she watched Stormie stand there looking out the screen door. Sissy had seen that look on Stormie’s face before, and she knew that she was up to something.

  Agent Nathan Emerson makes him nervous, and I want to know why…Stormie thought.

  ***

  Nathan had coffee at the deli and then got in his car and started on his way to speak to George and Otis. He drove along the waterfront heading in the direction that led to the docks, making sure he obeyed the traffic laws because Sheriff Carter had already found his way behind him.

  Follow me all you want Sheriff; it doesn’t matter now. Your way too concerned about me being here. That tells me your worried about what I might find, Nathan thought as he looked in the rear-view mirror at the sheriff’s car.

  Pulling into the parking lot, Nathan quickly found a place to park. As he got out, he noticed the sheriff pulling up to the curb across the street. Walking toward the front door, Nathan detected the unmistakable smell of dead fish. On the side of the building, he saw a few boats tied off on the dock where workers were unloading the most recent catch from the Atlantic. He watched for a moment as the men tossed large fish from their boat onto the pier and then into large blue containers on wheels where other men rolled them into the building to be processed.

  Nathan didn’t make it into the building before being stopped by a plump, white, middle-aged man. He wore a blue t-shirt and blue jeans that were tucked into calf-high rubber boots.

  “Can I help you?” The man asked.

  “I’m looking for George Butler and Otis Bettis,” Nathan responded as he pulled his identification out just as the man looked behind Nathan over his shoulder in the direction of Sheriff Carter.

  “I’m Rhett Jenkins, I own this place, I know why you’re here, and I think it’s a good thing that you are, but I cannot help you and neither can they,” he explained and pointed back toward Nathan’s car in the parking lot.

  “I just want to speak to them for a few minutes,” Nathan pleaded.

  “I know. George and Otis ain’t got nothin’ to say to you,” he shouted and continued to point to the parking lot.

  “Now reach out and shake my hand and turn around to leave,” The man said quietly as he placed his hand on Nathan’s shoulder and turned him toward the parking lot. Nathan was about to object when he felt the man slide something into his front shirt pocket carefully out of the view of Sheriff Carter.

  “I understand,” Nathan said as he started back to his car.

  “Don’t come back here either. Them boys ain’t got nothin’ to say to you!” Rhett yelled and then looked over and nodded at the sheriff before going back inside.

  Nathan pulled out of the parking lot and looked at Sheriff Carter, who was still parked along the curb. Sheriff Carter smirked and then placed his hand on his head in a lazy salute to the unwanted FBI man.

  ***

  Nathan drove back to the bed and breakfast and sat in the car. He looked around to make sure the sheriff wasn’t anywhere close by before he retrieved the item from his front pocket. It was a sheet of paper, and when he unfolded it, he read the message:

  The word is out about you. Everyone has been warned about talking to you. George and Otis will meet you at 11:00 tonight at Bay View Cemetery. It’s off of 20th St. right before Piggotts Bridge. Make sure you’re not followed and come alone. Most people here are good folks, but the bad ones have a lot of power. People are afraid! Tread lightly!

  ***

  Ben was sitting behind his desk and speaking on the phone when Sheriff Carter arrived. Emma let him in, and Ben nodded for the sheriff to sit down.

  “Frank, thanks for the information, and I do hope you’ll be at our next Gentlemen’s Social. Yes, it will be on Saturday the 17th. Yes, I’ll make sure Bessie is there. I know, and she enjoys your company as well. I’ll see you then.”

  Ben hung up the phone and shook his head in disbelief.

  “Where is the FBI man today Dwight?”

  “Right now, he’s eating lunch over at Maud’s.”

  “You decided not to watch him anymore?”

  “No, I just figured he might get suspicious if he sees my car and me once again. Besides, they ran him off over at the docks. Folks know not to talk to him. He’s probably trying to figure out what to do next.”

  “Good. I just got off the phone with Deputy DA Frank Jackson over in Charlotte, and he told me a lot about Agent Nathan Emerson.”

  Emma Rodgers walked in, carrying a bag of food that she opened and took out some sandwiches for her and Ben.

  “Sorry Sheriff Carter, I didn’t know we’d be havin’ company, or I’d brought you something too.”

  “I ate earlier,” Sheriff Carter advised.

  “You were saying that Frank Jackson told you something.”

  “Yes. Apparently, Agent Emerson is from right here in North Carolina. He played football in high school near here and was a star linebacker who went on to play middle linebacker for the Oklahoma Sooners.”

  “No shit,” Sheriff Carter said as he leaned forward into the chair.

  “No shit is right. The son-of-a-bitch played in the Orange Bowl against our own North Carolina Blue Devils in 1958 where he helped them beat us 48-21.”

  “I remember that game. Amazing!”

  “Wait, it gets better. After football, he went on to law school.”

  “He’s got a law degree?”

  “Yes, from Duke. He came back here and got his degree from Duke.”

  “I’ll be damned.”

  “Didn’t you go to Duke Ben?” Emma asked between bites of her roast beef sandwich.

  “Yes, Darlin. I did.”

  “Did he ever practice law?” The sheriff asked.

  “No. He, however, did pass the bar and then applied to be an FBI agent in 1961.”

  “He’s only been an FBI agent for 4 years?”

  “Yes, sir. And you know what else?” Ben asked, enthusiastically.

  “No, what?” The sheriff asked.

  “He worked in Washington until 1963. Then he moved around investigating cases involving civil rights violations.”

  “Really. Well, that explains all that talk about civil rights the first day I met him.”

  “Really is right. He helped on the Medgar Evers Investigation in Jackson Mississippi, the 16th Baptist Church Bombing in Birmingham, Alabama, and up until March of this year, he was back in Mississippi for the murders of those three civil rights workers. Then he went to Miami.”

  “How did he get back to North Carolina?”

  “Frank doesn’t know for sure, but he thinks Agent Emerson was involved in some situation in Miami where he ratted on a few other agents that were involved in some type of corruption. It didn’t sound like he’s very well-liked within the bureau right now.”

  “That’s good to know. Is that all?” The Sheriff asked as he stood to leave.

  “Yes, for now,” Ben answered.

  “The man could be trouble. But if something needs to be done, it will get done… I ain’t lettin’ nothin’ interfere with my retirement plans,” Sheriff Carter said before walking out.

  Chapter 13

  Nathan spent the afternoon trying to make himself look busy as he had the feeling that he was still being watched by someone. He had returned to the Beaufort Bed and Breakfast after eating a late dinner. He did everything he could to make himself visible through the window. He left the light on and made various passes by it between commercial breaks while he watched an episode of Gilligan’s Island and a few reruns of other sitcoms unti
l it got late.

  At ten o’clock, he turned the television and room lights off to give the impression that he was going to bed. After a few minutes, he crawled across the floor where he made his way to the window and peered out the side of the curtain. He watched as his babysitter tried to conceal himself along the wood line out of the glow of the streetlight. This time the sitter was careful not to show his face like Jack Walters had done previously. At first, he thought the tail was Sheriff Carter, who had followed him earlier in the day, but this new person was smaller than the sheriff.

  Nathan waited quietly and was motionless as he knelt and peered out the window until he saw the figure walk into the woods behind him. He then heard a car door shut and the sound of an engine starting. A few seconds later, while keeping low and still watching the area, Nathan saw a truck pull out of the parking lot that was on the other side of the woods. The truck entered the street where the driver turned on his headlights and made his way down the road.

  Not wasting any time, Nathan quickly walked across the room and out the door, shutting it quietly. He walked down the hall to the staircase and made sure to avoid the creaking steps that he had identified earlier when he had returned. Downstairs in the lobby, he peered out the side window of the house, looking down both sides of the street before opening the door and running to his car.

  Nathan had used the map he had of the area and found the cemetery. He arrived early, parked his car, and got out. He found a place to stand under a tree where he had a clear view of anyone entering the cemetery. He retrieved his flashlight from his pocket and then checked the middle of his back for his .45. He could see some headstones silhouetted in the darkness, and he guessed there were a few hundred people buried in the cemetery.

  Quietly, he scanned the area for any movement or sound. Suddenly, there were footsteps off to his right. Nathan stood motionless, listening as he gripped the handle of his gun, ready to draw it if he needed. Many thoughts ran through his mind.

  It’s a trap! He thought to himself. He crouched down to a knee and gripped the gun tighter.

  “FBI man are you here? It’s George Butler and Otis Bettis,” Nathan heard in a whispered voice.

  “Over here,” Nathan whispered back as he slowly and cautiously stood and then walked out of the shadows still gripping his pistol.

  “I’m George, and this is Otis. You the FBI man who wants to speak to us about Rose?” George asked.

  “Yes, I am.” Nathan answered.

  “I don’t like this,” Otis said as he looked around nervously. They’ll kill us for talking to you.”

  “No one is gonna kill you. I won’t let that happen. Now, you’re the two that found Rose Melton, correct?”

  “Yes, sir,” George answered.

  “We found what was left of her anyway,” Otis added.

  “I understand you found her near Taylor Creek, and you think that she was attacked by an alligator.”

  “Ain’t no damn alligator eat that poor girl,” Otis said as he looked around once more.

  “How do you know? The sheriff said she fell in the creek where she drowned and was later partially eaten by a large alligator.”

  “My cousin Ronny and me went to Pensacola, Florida a few years back to work bailing hay. One day we went fishing and Ronny got his line all tangled in some logs. He went in the water and was attacked by an alligator. That alligator tore him up something bad before I was able to get him away from it. His entire belly was covered in teeth marks. The skin on his arm was torn away, but he lived, and his cuts didn’t look anything like Rose’s cuts.”

  “Rose’s injuries weren’t the same as your cousin’s? What I mean to say is that she wasn’t torn open or anything like that?”

  “No. Ronny had bite marks like a ‘V’ on his belly and back. Rose was stuck kind of allover. and she had parts that were missing.”

  “What do you mean by missing parts?”

  “Her titties were cut off,” Otis answered flatly.

  “How do you know her breasts were missing and cut off? Did Sheriff Carter remove her clothes before the coroner arrived?”

  “No, she was already naked when we found her.”

  “Was there anything else you noticed?”

  Otis and George looked at each other suspiciously in the darkness. They had more information but were still afraid to talk to anyone about it.

  “She was cut up really bad down there,” George said as he pointed toward his groin.

  “What kind of cuts did she have?”

  “Like something stabbed her a whole bunch down there and around her thighs. I think that’s why the sheriff thinks she was eaten by an alligator. But that won’t no alligator bite!”

  “Is there anything else that the two of you can tell me?”

  The two men looked at each other once more and then toward the ground. They had more, and Nathan needed the information.

  “What are you not telling me?” Nathan asked.

  “You should speak to Warren Prater. He’s the one who found Delia Snipes,” George said.

  “Have you two spoken to him? Has he said anything to the two of you about what he saw?”

  “Yeah. Warren was out in his boat, and he had engine trouble, so he went to shore, and that’s when he found Delia and...”

  “And…” Nathan encouraged George to finish.

  “And she was cut up too,” He said and then looked over at Otis.

  “Go ahead, tell the rest.”

  “What else is there?” Nathan asked quickly.

  Suddenly there was a crack of a branch, and all three men quickly ducked down. They looked toward the direction of the noise. Nathan again reached for his pistol, but this time he pulled it from his back and held it at his side.

  George and Otis were scared and looking around. Nathan held George by his shirt in one hand and his gun in the other while all three of them surveyed the darkness around them.

  “Tell me the rest!” Nathan ordered.

  “Warren stole a camera from a car that belong to some people passing through some time back. He had that camera with him that day and told us he took pictures of Delia,” George answered excitedly.

  “Did he give the camera to Sheriff Carter?”

  “Hell no, that fat son-of-a-bitch would have arrested him!”

  “Where is Warren now?” Another sound in the distance startled the men.

  “I think people are watching us, we gotta go,” Otis said impatiently.

  “He’s over in New Bern at his Uncle’s house near the Marine base. Everyone there knows his uncle, Thurman. But they call him ‘Hoot.’”

  “Let’s go!” Otis said, grabbing and pulling George while standing up.

  Suddenly, a gunshot echoed in the night air. The round struck the tree behind the three men. Nathan released George and quickly fired three shots at a tombstone marker from where he saw the mussel flash, giving his two witnesses time to disappear into the darkness on the other side of the road.

  Nathan stood quickly and fired once more at the tombstone and then sprinted across the cemetery at a forty-five-degree angle toward a statue of Michael, the archangel, with his wings spread wide. From behind Michael’s shield, he fired four more rounds at the target and then squatted down as four shots whizzed by him, splintering one of Michael’s wings. Nathan pulled a fresh magazine from his pocket, dropped the other one from the pistol, and quickly reloaded.

  He waited for a few seconds and took a deep breath, stood, and fired two more rounds as he sprinted in the direction of the tombstone, firing periodically until he reached it. He leaped into the air over the marker and landed hard on his right shoulder but still managed to fire his .45 once more, hitting the marker square.

  Using his flashlight, he lit up the back of the tombstone only to discover that the assassin had escaped. He quickly turned the flashlight off and peered into the darkness around him while remaining on his stomach for about ten minutes before moving again. In the cover of darkness and very c
autiously, Nathan made it back to his car and quickly drove back to his room.

  ***

  Nathan returned to the bed and breakfast and soundlessly walked up the stairs. He used his key to gently unlock his room door. Still being vigilant, he entered the room in a crouched position holding his pistol painfully at eye level and surveyed the room. His shoulder still ached with the slightest movement. After walking around in the dark and believing that he was alone, he locked the door and placed an empty cola bottle in front of it. Nathan then slowly walked into the bathroom and shut the door. He put a towel under the crack at the bottom and turned on the light. His eyes took a minute to adjust to the light, but soon the spots vanished, and he could see himself clearly in the mirror.

  Nathan had dirt on his face and clothes. His shoulder was scuffed up and bruising. He removed his clothes and turned on the shower. For about 20 minutes he allowed the cold water to run down his back and along his injured shoulder. He looked down at it.

  You’ve had worse. Besides, it’s gonna hurt a lot more in the morning, so don’t start feeling sorry for yourself yet. Clean yourself up and get in bed, he thought to himself as he shut the water off.

  Very carefully, he exited the bathroom and gently laid down on the bed with his .45 by his side and the cola bottle still upright by the door.

  ***

  He had watched the events unfold at the cemetery. He had followed George and Otis to the cemetery and thought about killing them before they could talk to the agent. He had heard George and Otis talking about meeting the FBI man when they were eating supper at the diner. But after he thought about it for a little while, he decided against it. The two of them didn’t really know anything anyway. All they did was find Delia’s body. It’s not like they knew it was him that killed her.

  Why was that idiot shooting at them? I should have killed him, he thought to himself before falling asleep.