Looking for Lillian (Hunter Jones Mystery Book 7)
Page 8
Novena came from her desk to listen.
“That is one good-looking young man,” she said to Mallory.
“It was so good to see him,” Mallory said. “He really loves his work, and it was good to see him happy. You know the last time we were together, we were scattering his dad’s ashes, and it wasn’t that long after Noreen died. That was a bad time for everybody, I think it was all harder on Ben than any of us.”
“Has he got a girlfriend?” Novena asked. “He looks to me like he’d have to beat ‘em off with a stick.”
“Well, he did, but they broke up,” Mallory said. “He didn’t seem too bothered about it, so maybe he’s the one who broke it off. He just said it didn’t work out.”
“How’d he and Tucker hit it off?” Hunter asked.
“Oh, fine, I guess,” Mallory said, “Well, I’m afraid Tucker mostly had to listen to us catch up, but he was good-natured about it. I reminded him later of the time his sister Ellen came to see him from Chattanooga. They talked family and high school stories for hours, and she told him all about her break-up with this guy I didn’t know and her romance with this other guy I didn’t know.”
“Yes, but Ben’s not really your brother…” Novena began, and then they all felt a blast of cold air as the door opened. “Oh, hi, Tucker!”
He was carrying two take-out trays.
“Hi,” Mallory said. “Oh, I’m so glad you brought food. How’d your morning go?”
Tucker grinned and said, “Great. The manager at Dayco wants a complete upgrade.”
“That’s wonderful,” Mallory said. “Did you get my e-mail?”
“I haven’t checked,” Tucker said.
“Well, it was just a forward. Ben sent me an e-mail a while ago. He wants us to meet him over in Perry for dinner. His treat. I told him we’d meet him at his motel at six. Is that okay?”
“I guess,” Tucker said, sounding less than enthusiastic. “Maybe, I’ll change to a coat and tie.”
Mallory laughed and said, “I don’t think there’s anywhere in Perry where that’s required.”
“Yeah,” he said. “But I’ve got to keep up with Ben.”
“Oh, don’t be silly!” Mallory said. “He has to dress like that for court.”
Hunter and Novena exchanged glances.
Hunter ate a sandwich she had brought from home and went to pick up two copies of the paper that still smelled like ink. She headed toward the Bankston’s house.
Usually Tyler’s wife, Ellie, let Hunter in, but this time, Tyler rolled himself to the front door in his wheelchair.
“Ellie’s practically living over at the McFalls’ house,” he said, pulling the door open. “How about making us some coffee?”
Hunter handed him the papers, and they headed toward the kitchen, with Tyler going first. He had been wheelchair-bound since his boyhood battle with polio, and Hunter knew he would ask for assistance if he needed it.
“We watched that crazy woman talking about Lillian McFall’s ghost,” he said. “Is she a suspect now that they’ve decided Buzz’s death wasn’t from natural causes? She ought to be.”
“They’ve questioned her,” Hunter said. “Sam thinks she just found the body and panicked, but she’s making a big drama of it.”
She found the coffee canister and began to figure out how to work the ancient electric percolator on the counter top.
“Just fill it up to the spout with water and fill the basket with coffee,” Tyler said as he studied the front page.
He read for a while and then looked up.
“Did you see Buzz?” he asked. “I mean before. Ellie said he was in the den with the door shut when she got there. Him and that campaign manager.”
The perking noise began, and with it came the first smell of coffee.
“No,” Hunter said. “I never laid eyes on him. I met his wife, though. She’s staying over at Hilliard House now.”
“Yeah,” Tyler said. “I heard about that. Ellie said Deb has been over there helping, and they were still trying to reach wife number two so maybe it was just as well for wife number three not to be there. Buzz sure did make things complicated by coming down here to die.”
Hunter tried to frown at him but grinned instead. She was too used to Tyler’s irreverent attitude to act shocked.
The coffee perking had stopped, and the coffee smelled wonderful. Hunter found two mugs in the cupboard.
“I think we’ve got some of Rose Tyndale’s pound cake in the fridge,” Tyler said before continuing to browse through the paper, page by page.
“Tell Novena she’s doing good on the ad sales,” he said when he got to the back page. “You and Mallory did a good job on this one, too. I think you handled the crazy ghost hunter the right way by just mentioning her name. It’s bad enough that they’ve got people driving by the house and gawking now.”
Hunter had included the information that Lucasta Tilling of Merchantsville had found the body in an upstairs bedroom, but had left it at that.
“What do you know about the ghost story?” she asked Tyler. “Sam says she was very specific that the ghost of Lillian McFall was calling her. Who was Lillian?”
“I heard that tale growing up,” he said, “I think Lillian would have been Barnard’s aunt if she had lived. I think it all got romanticized by some of the sillier women because she was supposedly engaged to this local boy who died in that ship that sank during World War One. There were a bunch of Georgia infantrymen in it.”
He searched his memory for a moment.
“Wilbur Parks was the boy’s name. It’s engraved on the war memorial. I don’t think any of that family is still around. Anyway, Lillian and her mother died the same day, and they’re buried side-by-side in the old cemetery, but nobody ever told ghost stories about the mother.”
“How’d she happen to die the same day her mother died?” Hunter asked.
“I believe it was the Spanish influenza,” Tyler said.
“I’d like to know more about the real Lillian,” Hunter said, and when Tyler raised an eyebrow, she added, “Not for the paper. I’m just curious. I’d like to know how somebody winds up being talked about years later as a ghost.”
“Well, don’t ask any of the McFalls about it ,” Tyler said. “They got touchy on the subject a long time ago. Lots of foolishness and superstition. None of them would remember her anyway.”
Chapter 20
After Hunter left, she drove back to the newspaper office, and found Mallory there, sharing a pizza with Tucker. They were wearing matching navy blue hoodies and were in deep conversation.
“I thought you were off for the afternoon,” Mallory said, looking up.
“I am,” Hunter said, heading to the storage room in the back of the building.
A few minutes later, she came out shivering and sneezing with two of the ancient bound volumes of The Magnolia County Weekly Messenger. They were awkward to carry, the spines were almost gone, and the pages between the cheaply-made black covers were yellowed and brittle.
“You know those are on microfiche at the library, don’t you?” Mallory asked with a grin.
“Yes,” Hunter said. “But I don’t really want to try using the microfiche machine while Ty pulls all the books off the shelves, and I’m tired of freezing in this building. I’m going to take these home.”
“Here, let me help you,” Tucker said, getting up.
“As long as you two are here, how about getting the 1917 and 1920 volumes, and helping me get them into my car?” Hunter said. “I’ve got 1918 and 1919.”
“What are you researching?” Mallory asked, getting up.
“I’m looking for the real Lillian McFall,” Hunter said. “You two have a good time in Perry tonight.”
Mallory smiled and said, “Thanks, we will.”
Tucker rolled his eyes.
“Oh, I’m so glad you’re here,” she said, her voice muffled in a group hug.
“They’ve got a nice room for you two upstairs and the funeral’s set for tomorrow,” she went on. “If you aren’t too tired, I want you to go over to Buzz’s folks’ house with me in a while just to pay a visit and get my van. I’m feeling bad that I didn’t stay there, but honestly, it was like they didn’t know I was there anyway, and they’ve got tons of friends.”
“I brought you three different funeral dresses from that shop you like,” Alicia said. “One black and two navy blue. One of the navy blues ought to work for Caitlin. Just keep the tags on so I can take the ones you don’t want back for a refund.”
“I’m got black heels with me,” Sabrina said as they started up the stairs. “We’ll see about Caitlin. I know she didn’t bring a dress, but she hardly ever wears one.”
“How is she doing?” Tricia asked.
“I honestly don’t know,” Sabrina said, “I called yesterday afternoon to talk to her, but she was with her brother at his house. That’s good. She likes Tab.”
“Is her mother coming for her?” Barry asked, “Or is she flying to Spain?
“Phoebe’s coming to get Caitlin, but it probably won’t be until the weekend,” Sabrina said. “I don’t know what the plans are from there, and I’m not getting involved. Anyway, as soon as the funeral and the graveside service are over, I’m going to want to hug everybody and run. If we can go to Atlanta first, I can put everything I need in your car and mine. I thought maybe we could spend the night there and start for home early in the morning.”
Chapter 21
Hunter decided to make one stop before picking up Tyler and heading home.
The older section of Oakvale Cemetery was perched on a hill overlooking the river. Hunter found it beautiful despite its somber purpose. Oak trees, with their branches now bare except for Spanish moss, sheltered old family plots. There were darkened tombstones and flat markers, statues of angels, and the all-too-frequent tiny markers for babies and little children. Several veterans of the Civil War were buried there.
She had no trouble finding the McFall family plot because two workers were there with an excavator, preparing the gravesite for Buzz McFall. They gave her curious looks as she approached the cluster of graves, and took out her notebook and camera.
There were the gravestones, side by side, for Barnard T. McFall, the man who had built the house on Literary Lane. His wife was buried beside him.
“Elizabeth, Beloved Wife” had been born in 1870 and died on December 16, 1918. Barnard had outlived his wife by ten years. Beside their graves, with a smaller, simpler marker, was the grave of Lillian McFall, 1893-1918.
Hunter made her notes, took some pictures for later reference, and did a little math in her head. She was surprised that Lillian was 25. Somehow, she had been thinking of her as a young girl engaged to a very young man who had been called to serve his country.
B.T. McFall Jr. was buried nearby, with his wife, Ellarene. It struck Hunter that Buzz McFall, who was the fourth Barnard Talbot McFall , despite being married three times would not have a wife buried by his side. It seemed highly unlikely to her that the young and beautiful Sabrina McFall would spend the rest of her life as a grieving widow.
Across town, Deb McFall was back home from helping Pink and Barnard McFall, and glad for a second time to hear Tab leaving with his half-sister.
Deb, who had taught high school math for twenty years, was an organized person. She was fond of her son’s grandparents and had been ready to pitch in and help in the crisis, but she liked her own familiar routines, too. She was tired of Caitlin’s choices in music and the volume as well. She wanted to make a normal supper and have a normal quiet evening. She also wanted to talk with Tab alone when he returned.
After she heard his car starting, she went into the kitchen and threw out the leftover fried chicken bones and empty soft drink cans, wondering what the lawyers and Buzz’s financial officer were going to be telling her son on Friday.
She had no idea how rich Buzz was. He had provided generous child support for years, and she had been able to put a good part of it into savings for Tab’s college education, supporting herself and her son on her teaching salary, and living in her late parents’ home, which was now hers.
She was worried that Tab would be coming into a lot of money that he wasn’t ready to handle yet, and that his motivation to get his college degree and have a real career could just evaporate.
Ellie Bankston was back home, too. She called Rose Tyndale and said, “I couldn’t find your watch anywhere. It wasn’t on the window sill, and Augusta didn’t remember seeing it at all. Are you sure you left it there?”
“Oh, fiddlesticks!” Rose said. “I guess I’ll have to look around here some more. I was so sure I left it there by the sink, but maybe that was the night before at the open house, and I did put it back on. I’m just getting so forgetful, Ellie. I’m sorry I bothered you. So how is everything with the McFalls?”
“Settling down,” Ellie said, “Pink seems to be getting over the shock. I think that we ought to go ahead and have our bridge game at my place next week. Maybe she’ll be ready to get out of her house for a while if it’s just us chickens.”
Rose turned her head from the telephone and coughed.
“That doesn’t sound good,” Ellie said. “Do you need for me to run to the drugstore and get you some cough syrup?”
“Oh, I’m fine,” Rose said, coughing again. “I’ve got tea and honey.”
Chapter 22
That night after Ty was tucked in bed after hearing both “The Snowy Day” and “Where the Wild Things Are”, Hunter set up a card table in the little upstairs room she used as a study. After starting with some internet research on the Spanish influenza pandemic, she opened the 1918 bound volume starting at the back and turned the fragile pages with care, looking for obituaries.
The two she was looking for been published almost a week after the deaths. Elizabeth McFall was listed in the style of that time, as Mrs. Barnard T. McFall, born Elizabeth Simmons. Her obituary was considerably longer than that of Miss Lillian McFall, which was immediately below it in a single long column on the righthand side of the page.
Hunter learned only that Miss Lillian McFall was the ‘beloved daughter of Barnard T. McFall, Sr., and the late Mrs. McFall”, was a member of Merchantsville Methodist Church and had attended “local schools.”
She was survived by her father; her sister, Miss Martha May McFall, and her brother, Barnard Talbot McFall, Jr.
By contrast, Lillian’s mother’s “devotion to family and church” were noted, as was her attendance at Andrew College, and her membership in the Merchantsville Woman’s Club and the Literary Society, her gifts as a pianist and her gracious hospitality.
The length and detail made the daughter’s much shorter obituary seemed like a footnote. Hunter was disappointed at not learning much more than she had found out from the gravesite.
The cause of their deaths was not mentioned—only, in both cases, that they had “passed away after a brief illness.”
The mother and daughter had a joint graveside service, presided over by the Rev. Jeremiah W. Bankston, no doubt, Hunter thought, related to Tyler Bankston. There was no mention of a church service.
Hunter positioned her camera and took three photos to get the whole story, knowing she could sharpen them up later in her computer. If mother and daughter had died on the same day, she thought, that probably confirmed that it was influenza. She began to turn the pages backward to see what, if anything, she could learn about the Spanish flu reaching Merchantsville. She knew that it had reached Georgia by way of Fort Gordon in Augusta and then hit Atlanta and Macon.
When
Sam came in a little later to ask if she’d like a glass of wine, she nodded with a gloomy look.
“What’s the matter?” he asked.
“Oh, nothing,” she said. “I’ve just been in the little time machine of death and doom.”
Downstairs, curled on the sofa with the cats, she told him about her research while he supplied her with wine, cheese, and crackers, which Flannery eyed eagerly.
She had found a public health notice in The Messenger. School and church services were called off. Citizens were urged to stay at home as much as possible and avoid public gatherings, Three local homes were under quarantine, with no names or addresses given, but a warning to obey the posted signs. Burial services were to be at the grave site for those who “succumbed”, and visitation with the families was not advised.
“They didn’t say in the obituaries what they died of,” she told Sam with a sad frown. “But I found six obituaries of children and young people that just had graveside services. There were more than the usual deaths among the elderly. It must have been such a sad time.”
“Hunter,” Sam said after listening for a while. “This was almost 100 years ago!”
“I know,” she said, managing a smile. “I guess that reading it in the paper just made it all so real. That, and having just been in the old house where a mother and daughter actually died.”
“Next, you’ll be seeing ghosts!” Sam said. “What are you doing this for, anyway? The McFalls sure aren’t going to want to see a story about Lillian in the paper, and it might encourage that crazy Lucasta.”
“I’ll stop for tonight,” Hunter said. “And don’t worry. I’m not really planning to write anything for the paper. I just got curious about the real Lillian, but she’s not all that interesting so far. She was 25 when she died, and , from what’s in her obit, she apparently never did anything in her life but join the Methodist Church.”