Barb crushed her arms around me and yelled in my ear, “I love you, Sheryl. If this is it, I just wanted you to know that. Your friendship has been the best thing that’s ever happened to me!”
I shouted over the storm, “I love you too, Barb. But don’t talk like that! It will be over in a second! God is watchin’ over us. You’ll see.”
Barb buried her face in my shoulder as the winds howled outside. The sounds of breaking glass, metal clanging, and the fury of the wind drowned out the sound of the warning system. Right as the noise reached its peak and the house shimmied and shook, it stopped. Barb and I scrambled to our feet and raced outside, our mouths agape as we stared at the mess in the street. Without saying a word, we moved in unison and hugged each other’s necks. The love between us, and the thankfulness at being alive, transferred without uttering a single sound.
Though over in minutes, the damage it left behind was immense. No one died or sustained major injuries, which was a blessing, but Drexel Kilgore lost his entire rice crop, and the main building at Cohestra Industries was an unrecognizable pile of metal, wood, and glass. Everyone marveled at the destruction and the fact no one inside lost their lives. Dane’s mother, Emma, ushered everyone out of the main building and over to the refinery area minutes before the twister descended. Accolades and murmurs of wonderment swept through town, almost as fast as the tornado. Ms. Emma’s uncanny sense about the storm before the sirens started to wail saved many lives.
The majority of the citizens banded together to help clean up the mess. Newcomb’s Diner supplied free food and drinks to the workers. Everyone pitched in, another perk of living in a small, close-knit community.
Cohestra Industries used the devastating event as a catalyst to not only rebuild, but expand. The company had been a part of Junction City since 1928. Every year, seventh graders learned about the plant in history class. After the flood waters recessed and people began moving back, Cohestra Industries started out as a grain and cotton refinery. Dane Witherspoon moved here from up north somewhere and saw the potential of the area and bought up numerous acres of the damp, empty land. Soon, people started to move in since the government offered chunks of land at rock-bottom prices. The loss of crop revenue and food produced from the area had hit the rest of the United States hard. Farmers from around the surrounding states flocked in by the dozens, eager to buy a piece of the fertile Delta soil. By the time Mr. Witherspoon died in the early 40’s, his business was booming. Cohestra was the only mill within fifty miles, and after the new residents began farming, crop production soared. His son, Dane II, expanded the facilities in the 60’s to include a small side business—bottled water production. Spring of Youth he named it.
From stories told by Nana, Meemaw, and Dane—and a tad from history class—I learned the water facility part of Cohestra’s business didn’t really take off until the mid-80’s. Up until then, people in the Delta seemed to think it was insane to pay for water. If you wanted some, you grabbed a glass, filled it with ice, and loaded it full from your sink. If you wanted more, you repeated the process.
But after the sudden death of his father, Dane III (called “Pops” by everyone in the town—just not to his face) took over the helm of Cohestra in 1991, and he had big plans. He started a marketing campaign that touted the health benefits of drinking Spring of Youth. Glowing skin, youthful vigor, energy, and longevity were the selling points. The ads were sprinkled with a few pictures of some of the actors portraying the elderly residents of Locasia County.
“Get your bottle of pure, liquid youth serum today! The natural, spring-fed waters will rejuvenate your mind, body, and soul. There’s a reason Locasia County residents live so long! It’s all in the water—and we are sharing it with YOU!”
Local folks scoffed and kept to their tap water. Of course, they had the inside scoop that no one really lived any longer in Locasia County than any other part of the world. But the residents kept quiet and let the charade continue, just to save face. The target audience outside of Mississippi couldn’t get enough of the stuff in their never-ending quest for youth. Soon, Cohestra’s refinery business took a back seat to the bottled water side as it shot to the top of the money making section of the company.
As soon as Cohestra began rebuilding after the tornado, Pops Witherspoon decided to use the opportunity to expand the family’s land ownership as well. He met with the other financial powerhouse family head in the county, his sworn enemy, Drexel Kilgore. Numerous local gossip tales about the reasons for the hatred between the two men had been whispered throughout the county for years. Some were utterly outrageous, born from the bored minds of the citizens. The one that stuck and made the most sense centered around botched, agreed-upon price for rice years ago. When Mr. Witherspoon wouldn’t pay the verbal amount he offered at the beginning of the growing season, the argument caused the two men to almost come to blows outside the main building at Cohestra. Since that day many decades ago, the Kilgore and Witherspoon clans had given each other a wide berth.
One particular afternoon, however, was a different story. Pops Witherspoon offered to purchase Drexel’s damaged fields, plus an additional hundred acres that connected the Kilgore spread past Caney Creek, deep into the forest and swamps beyond. I overheard the conversation between the two men. Mr. Witherspoon wanted the additional acres to build a new, bigger water plant closer to the source so Cohestra would be able to meet the demands of their water distributors. The discussion between the two old men had been loud and unpleasant. I heard every angry word from my position at the counter, along with all the other customers having lunch. For some strange reason, the meeting took place in the back corner table of our diner. Guess they both figured our little restaurant was neutral territory to conduct a meeting. Their voices went from hushed murmurs to loud words.
“I done told ya, Mr. Witherspoon, I ain’t interested in sellin’ any of my land. Not to you or anybody else. Period.” Drexel huffed, clearly annoyed with the man sitting across from him.
“I heard you the first time, Mr. Kilgore. But I don’t believe you grasped my more than generous offer. In case you didn’t, I will repeat it. Ten thousand dollars an acre. And recall, I am not askin’ to buy you out, mind you. Just the damaged fields and the unused land by Caney Creek. Leaves you plenty left to continue farmin’, plus you won’t have to worry about cleanin’ up the mess the twister left behind.”
“Y’all’s really a vulture, ain’t ya? Skulkin’ ’round waitin’ for a member of the herd to just drop down to the ground, too weak to stand back up and run. Then swoop! You fly in and start peckin’ at the carcass.”
“Mr. Kilgore, ten thousand dollars an acre is beyond generous! I assure you, peckin’ at your carcass is not what I’m tryin’ to do. I’m tryin’ to help you and your…”
Everyone in the diner jumped when Mr. Kilgore slammed his fist on the thin Formica tabletop, cutting Pop’s words off with a loud thump and jangle of silverware and glass. “I ain’t like the others. Won’t let the money you’s danglin’ sway me none. Your words ain’t worth a lick of salt anyway! I won’t let the money blind me from the truth behind your words. And the truth is, y’all’s either crazy as Lucy-Goosey or sly like the schemin’ fox ’cause the land ain’t worth a quarter of what you’re offerin’. My money is on sly fox. Y’all want somethin’ out there in them woods awful bad to make such a poor business choice. Don’t rightly know what it could be, but I’m here to tell ya, I won’t be a part of ya gettin’ it. No siree. And don’t ya ask me…or my kin…again. I’m givin’ ya fair warnin’, Mr. Witherspoon—stay away from me and my farm.”
Mr. Kilgore stood up in a huff, his face redder than a ripe tomato. He threw down a twenty on the counter, tipped his hat to me and my family, and left the diner without another word. Pops Witherspoon sat in the booth for a few more minutes and fiddled with his drink. He then rose and left without a backward glance. Stunned customers forgot all about their food and stared in shock. His face was unreadable when he
passed by, but the heat of his anger was hot enough to brew coffee. As soon as the door closed, the murmurings of the crazy encounter started. Within the space of an hour, all of Locasia County heard about the meeting . The feud between the Witherspoon and Kilgore clans went from bad to worse.
I didn’t realize until it was too late how bad things would get.
And it would make the damage from the tornado look like child’s play.
Less than a week later, after the verbal sparring between the two powerful men in our diner, Pops Witherspoon died. When Kathy Hall, one of the two 911 operators in the county, came in for a jolt of caffeine after a long night shift, she told us all about it. Pop’s housekeeper discovered his body on the back porch when she came to work less than two hours ago. A massive heart attack ended his reign as the head of the Witherspoon clan. I almost dropped the tray of biscuits. I was so glad Dane and his mom had gone down to Greenville last week. Dane’s dad, the fourth Dane, had only been around Junction City long enough to knock up Emma, so it was just the three of them in that big old mansion. When Emma told him about her pregnancy, he hightailed it back east. He came back once to visit his son when Dane was nine.
Dane and Ms. Emma had been down in Greenville for the past week while Dane attended basketball camp. Lucky for them, they left the day the two elderly men almost came to blows in our diner. Hearing the news about his Pop’s passing, I whispered a silent prayer of thanks. If Dane and his mom had been home, they would have discovered his body.
It was bad enough that Ms. Johnson found the old man. As Kathy related the 911 call, she said the poor elderly woman told her she was so upset, she’d nearly fainted. Ms. Johnson said it took her twenty minutes of running around inside the house to find the phone. After Kathy spread the bit of really juicy gossip, she left to go home. Well, she said she was going home. My guess was she planned on stopping by every house on the way to share what a difficult shift she’d just pulled.
My family didn’t have time to even digest the news. And I didn’t have time to snag my phone from my purse to call Dane before Ms. Johnson’s beat-up Oldsmobile came to a screeching stop less than two feet from the front window of our restaurant. Mom, Meemaw, Papa Joe, and I were the only ones working at the diner. Shirley had the day off and Dad was in Greenville buying supplies. With the morning breakfast crowd gone and lunch a couple hours away, no customers were inside when Ms. Johnson burst through the front door. In her haste, she nearly jerked the door off its hinges with her beefy arms. The dainty jingle of the bell above the door sounded like a cowbell.
When she walked in, she looked like a zombie. Wisps of her white hair had escaped the tight chignon on the back of her neck and stuck to her wet forehead. Her fair skin was white as snow, except for the two big blotches of red dotting her round cheeks. Her ample chest heaved as she struggled to catch her breath. Mom and Meemaw glanced at each other with knowing looks, worried, I’m sure, that the older woman was close to passing out. In a flash, they were by Ms. Johnson’s side, and each one gently grasped an elbow and led the shaken woman to her favorite table. Papa Joe nudged my arm in the direction of the water pitcher. I nodded in response, grabbed a glass and walked over to the table. When I set it in front of Ms. Johnson, she picked it up with shaky hands and downed the first full glass in one, long gulp.
“Ms. Johnson, would you like somethin’ to eat? I can whip up your usual in a snap.”
“Thank ya kindly, Ms. Jolene, but I don’t know if I’m ever gonna be able to eat again. I surely don’t. After what I seen today, my appetite done skedaddled.”
“Ah, now, sure you will. We…uh, just heard about what you walked in to this mornin’. I’m sorry about what you had to deal with, but death is just the beginnin’ of eternal life. You know that, Lucinda. You just had you a shock, that’s all. Who wouldn’t be upset? I mean, you worked for Pops, I mean, Mr. Witherspoon, for how long?”
After she spoke, Meemaw lifted the empty glass up to me for a refill. While I poured, Ms. Johnson started fanning herself with a napkin from the table, and then began to wipe the wetness from her face and chest. The heavy humidity and rain had left her a dripping mess. I sensed her emotions. Terror streamed from her, just like the water. I slunk down in the seat behind her to listen. The compulsion to stay overwhelmed me, the booth like a magnet to my butt. Something seemed wrong—out of place. My own mouth was suddenly dry, and the outer skin on my ears burned.
“My nerves ain’t shot from sadness of his passin’, that’s for sure. I’ve seen dead bodies ’fore, so it ain’t that, either. I’m here to tell ya, he may be in eternity now, but he ain’t flyin’ in the Heavens with wings. No way Mr. Dane Witherspoon the third made it through the Pearly Gates. I worked for that old coot for over twenty-five years—more if you count the years I followed my mama’s footsteps around the big old house when she worked for him. Three generations of my family took care of the Witherspoons. Ain’t none of them been around when one passed. Lucky me, I drew that short straw.”
“Sheryl, go fetch Ms. Lucinda a bottle of lemon-lime soda. It’ll help settle her stomach so she can eat.”
Ms. Johnson focused her attention on me for a second and then back to Mom and Meemaw. “No, I’m fine. Just need to breathe for a second. Get my wits back on track.” She lowered her voice and motioned for all three of us to move in closer. “As I said, my nerves ain’t on fire from findin’ the old geezer stiff as a board. It’s how I found him and what was left behind that’s done freaked my ol’ pea brain out. And I have somethin’ to tell y’all. Somethin’ I hid from the sheriff. Can you…will you lock the door? I don’t want nobody to hear or see this.”
The compulsion I felt seconds ago to stay and listen had been right on the money. Now, my stomach tightened and a dull headache danced around my temples. All three of us sat still, caught up in the fear in her voice. I heard light footsteps from behind me and realized Papa Joe had come out from the kitchen. He made his way to the front door. The click of the lock when he turned it seemed to calm Ms. Johnson’s nerves somewhat. She leaned back and let her shoulders sag against the cool vinyl, watching with wary eyes until Papa Joe was safely out of earshot.
The black of her pupils blocked almost all of the blue of her eyes. She opened her purse, withdrew a small, amber colored bottle, twisted the top off, and tilted it back. She drained almost half of the liquid in one large gulp. Once finished, she smiled a feeble little grin, let out a huge burp, and began. “Sorry about that, ladies. But sometimes you gotta have a short snort to ease things up, you know? Not very ladylike, but…”
“None of us are judging you, Ms. Lucinda. Though after that big swig, I must insist you eat somethin’ before you leave, okay? Maybe just a cup of bland oatmeal. Nothin’ fancy.”
“Ms. Gertie, you’s about the sweetest woman in the county. Just like your ma, God rest her soul.”
“You’re too kind, Ms. Lucinda. Now, take a deep breath and tell us what’s gnawin’ at your insides.”
“Okay. Well, like I said, death don’t bother me so much. Seen several people pass over the years. Shed my tears at the loss of loved ones. But this time? Hmmm, it wasn’t just a death. It was…murder.”
Mom and Meemaw gasped in shock. The muscles in my neck tightened. Meemaw commented first. “Murder!? What makes you think he was murdered? Why, Kathy Hall told us he died of a heart attack. Shoot, the man was over eighty years old!”
“Ms. Gertie, I know how this town is—word spreads faster and farther than a fart on a windy day. Most of the words passed on stink just about as bad too. Listen, I’m tellin’ you, old Pops was murdered.”
“Does Sheriff Gilmore agree with your opinion?” Mom queried, her voice tight.
“Whether he does or not, Ms. Jolene, won’t change my mind. But to answer your question…no. The sheriff and the coroner said the old man had himself a widow-maker attack. But the Governor of this great state himself could come and give a proclamation on the courthouse steps that the old man died of a hear
t attack, it won’t matter to me. I’m tellin’ you, the man’s heart gave out because he was scared to death.”
“Scared to death? What do you mean by that, Lucinda? I mean, really, how could you tell? And exactly how does bein’ scared to death equal murder?”
“Gertie, you and I go way back, so I’ll let your negative tone slide—this time. And I’ll tell you how I know somethin’ done frightened the life outta him. How many heart attack patients you ever heard about whose hair turned whiter than a goose feather when their heart failed?”
“Come again?” Meemaw blurted out.
“Girl, that pretty head of salt-and-pepper hair of his was gone. G-O-N-E gone. Looked like someone dipped his head in a can of white paint. Every single hair was not only white, but stickin’ straight up from his head. Like he done stuck his finger in an outlet or turned his head upside down while blowin’ it dry with a cupful of gel in it. I’m tellin’ you, ain’t never seen nothin’ like it. Ever. Plus, his face was frozen in a silent scream.”
“That is odd, but seriously, what in the world would have scared him? Witherspoon men are as hard as stone! Nothin’ and nobody scares them. It’s usually the other way around.”
“Oh, I agree with ya, Ms. Gertie. No snake around these parts could hold a candle to old Pops. That is, until he had that run-in with Mr. Kilgore last week. When I came to work the next day, he seemed…different. And not just because Ms. Emma and lil’ Dane was gone. Quiet, like someone popped his balloon and let all the hot air out. Deflated. After his run-in with Drexel, he stopped goin’ to work and just followed me around while I cleaned. He checked the doors and windows about every twenty minutes. Made me give him my house key back…then went and changed the locks anyway. When his phone would ring, he wouldn’t answer it. He’d just stare at the thing like it was on fire or somethin’. Oh, and bought himself the biggest, ugliest mongrel I’ve ever seen and kept it tight on a leash right beside him. And ol’ Pops, he hated dogs. I mean, hated them. When a few strays dared nose around his property, he was right quick to grab his shotgun and dispatch them quickly. How does a man go from a tough snake to a cowerin’ kitten in less than one week if he ain’t terrified about somethin’?”
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