Mellow Yellow, Dead Red

by Sylvia Rochester

  Wesley was just as excited but remembered other leads that had looked promising, only to fall through. “Don’t go jumping to conclusions. The name and the letter might be coincidental. Let’s check him out, see where he was at the time of Nina’s and Burkett’s deaths. We shouldn’t have any trouble running him down through the Dandridge Sheriff’s Department. In fact, I’ll leave that job up to you.”

  Wesley handed him the paper with Manika’s information. “You contact Tennessee, and I’ll go pick up photos of Edith’s cross. After that, I’ll find a vacant, interrogation room and call Edith’s parents.”

  Wesley studied the photograph of the chain and cross. The Nelsons should have no problem identifying the necklace. He opened Edith’s file and attached one of the photos. On the inside cover was a picture of Edith, and below her, her parents. He thought back to the last time he visited with them. Their demeanor was subdued, but they had not given up on finding their daughter alive.

  He picked up the phone and dialed their number. “Mr. Nelson, this is Detective Grissom.”

  There was a pause. “You’ll have to excuse me,” Ronald said. “Every time you call, my heart skips a beat.”

  “You can relax. I don’t have anything to report. It’s just that it’s been a while, and I wanted to touch base with you and Myrna, let you know I’m still actively working the case.”

  “Well, it’s always good to hear from you. Myrna says to tell you, ‘Hello.’ We heard they found the body of a hunter in the woods, and earlier a woman who had been dismembered. Myrna went all to pieces, thinking something like that might have happened to our daughter. If we didn’t have faith that the Lord would see us though this, I don’t know what we’d do.”

  “And you have the full support of the Palmetto Sheriff’s Department. I still believe we’ll find her.”

  That last statement didn’t evoke any emotion from Ronald. His reaction was steady and laid-back, as usual. There was no urgency to get off the phone, no hesitancy to discuss Edith’s case. If Edith had returned home, the man should consider a job as an actor.

  “I’d still like to help, if you’d let me. Just sitting and waiting is hard on me,” Ronald said.

  “You know that’s against policy, but I’ll keep you informed of everything. You mentioned the two recent murders. I wanted you to know that we didn’t find any evidence that would place Edith at the scene of either victim. Well, give Myrna my best. I’ll keep in touch.”

  Charlie looked up when Wesley returned to his desk. “The Tennessee deputies were very friendly and will pay Mr. Manika a visit in the morning. They said they’d get right back to us. How’d it go with the Nelsons?”

  “I didn’t pick up on anything. I decided not to tell them about the cross. Let’s see if that leads anywhere. And I really want to see if the cadaver dog finds anything.”

  “I’m about ready to shut it down,” Charlie said.

  “If you don’t mind staying a little longer, I think we should run everything by the chief and get his input.”

  Charlie shrugged and followed Wesley into Chief Smith’s office. By the time they hashed over all the possible scenarios, it was after seven.

  “See you at the Burger Shack,” Charlie said as he climbed into his truck.

  “Eight o’clock,” Wesley replied.

  On the way home, Wesley couldn’t stop thinking about the Nelsons. Instead of going home, he drove to the far end of Palmetto where the highway skirted a lower portion of the woods. Then he made a turn into the subdivision where the Nelsons lived.

  Dousing his headlights, he pulled onto the shoulder of the road and killed the motor. Maybe he would see what he didn’t hear. Lights gleamed in the living room and on the front porch. The sound from a TV drifted into the night. The air was steeped with the smell of a freshly cut lawn. Nothing seemed to have changed. The place was exactly as when he last visited—a modest, neat home in an older subdivision. His theory about Edith seemed unlikely.

  Would tomorrow’s search change things?

  Chapter 16

  Susan had waited all day for Martha’s call. How long did it take to organize a dig? It’s not like this was Martha’s first rodeo. Fresh out of patience, she grabbed her purse and headed for the door. Halfway there her cell phone rang.

  “Sorry I couldn’t get to you sooner,” Martha said. “I just finished wrapping up last minute details. Are you free?”

  “Are you kidding? It was all I could do not to burst in on you.”

  “Then swing by my office, and I’ll put on a pot of coffee.”

  “I’m on my way.”

  It was dark by the time Susan arrived on campus. She had her choice of any number of parking places. After pushing open the heavy doors to Martha’s building, she marched down the hall toward Martha’s room. The empty corridor echoed her heels as they tapped against the shiny tiles. All the offices were closed and dark, except for Martha’s. Light from her open door streaked across the floor. Susan stepped inside.

  “That was fast,” Martha said.

  “I’m itching to hear what you have to say.”

  “Sit here.” Martha pointed to a chair beside her desk where she had prepared a tray containing cups, saucers, and condiments. The coffee pot was plugged in on a side table.

  “Just a half of a cup for me,” Susan said. “I’m hyped enough.”

  Martha poured the coffee and took a sip. Over the rim of her cup, she seemed to study Susan. “It would be great to have your gift in my line of work. Ever consider delving into archeology?”

  “I’m afraid I might not be much help. I don’t get to choose where or when my visions will occur. But I have enjoyed working with you and find the process most interesting. I’d like to go with you on future digs, if that’s possible.”

  “I’m sure that could be arranged.”

  “Please don’t keep me in suspense any longer. Are you ready to tell me what’s behind all those bones?”

  Martha nodded. “If I’m right about what happened, it might explain why you keep seeing that Indian.”

  She opened a large, well-worn book. “This contains an historical account of early Louisiana based on stories and documents compiled by French settlers, explorers, and various Indian tribes. That’s not to say that everything in this book is gospel. As with any account, some things get distorted, some things are often omitted, and some things are intentionally misleading. To quote a cliché, one should take it with a grain of salt.”

  Martha turned to a page showing a picture of a priest. “This is St. Cosme, a missionary to the Natchez Indians. In 1706, he was murdered along the Mississippi River while on his way to the Gulf Coast. But to understand why, we need to go back several years.

  “In 1702, women were very scarce in Louisiana. French settlers, seeking wives and slaves, attacked a settlement of Chitimacha Indians and stole the women and children. The village was said to be near Donaldsonville, but that was never proven.

  “I expect the raid so enraged the Chitimacha that they killed the priest out of revenge. Stories about the killing persisted, and it was rumored that a member of the Chawashsa tribe claimed to have seen the priest’s rosary on a Chitimacha brave. As the fervor over the priest continued, Bienville declared war on the Chitimacha Nation, and a search party was organized. Although the Chitimacha was believed to have resettled somewhere on the west side of the river, no one was certain as to their exact location. Then information surfaced that their village was near a lake.

  “On the east side of the Mississippi River lie Lake Pontchartrain and Lake Maurepas. Who’s to say the search party didn’t cross the river in hopes of finding the tribe and stumbled upon the village in Palmetto by mistake? History records that the search party massacred most of the inhabitants of the settlement, and surviving women and children were taken prisoners.”

  Martha paused and shook her head. “I can’t say with certainty that the remains in the woods belong to those who were massacred, but it is a possibility.”
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br />   “The Indian that appears to me has never displayed any anger or violence, but he does project a great sorrow,” Susan said. “Could he be trying to tell me they were innocent?”

  Martha shrugged. “Since he’s unable to communicate, that’s something you may never know.”

  “I refuse to believe that. I’m convinced it was his plan for me to discover the arrowhead, and through him, find the remains. Somehow, someway, I’m going to also find the truth. Right now it’s important we make sure to recover all the bones and give them a proper burial. By helping him, I believe he will also help me with the recent murders. Maybe he already has.”

  “You don’t have to worry. I’ll see that his people get a proper burial. My team will do a thorough job of collecting all the remains. I’m meeting everyone at the site in the morning and will get them started. Do you want to help?”

  “You bet I do.” Susan stood up, ready to leave.

  Martha motioned for her to stay. “Give me a minute. I have something else I want to tell you.”

  Susan eased back into her chair.

  “I wasn’t ready to talk about my divorce the other day but now I am. After you hear what happened, maybe you’ll understand why I’m so involved with archaeology.

  “I met my husband, Evan Alexander, right after I graduated from college. He was an engineer with an oil company and his work required frequent flights to offshore rigs. Because of that, we decided to locate close to his work. We settled in Golden Meadow. A year later, I gave birth to our son, Chad.”

  Martha opened her desk drawer and pushed a photo toward Susan. A young boy with an angelic smile, bright eyes, and a mass of blond curls beamed up at her. “What a beautiful child.”

  “He meant the world to both of us. By the time he was five, he was his daddy’s right-hand man. Evan never went fishing that Chad wasn’t by his side. When he was seven, Chad could handle a reel with the best of them. Then one day, our world came crashing down.

  “That morning had started out like most Saturdays. Evan and Chad had made plans to go off shore. The Red Snappers were supposed to be running. The forecast was for partly cloudy skies with a chance of thunderstorms in the late afternoon. They had planned to be back long before then. Well, storms moved in earlier than expected and caught everyone on the water by surprise. Winds were clocked at sixty-five miles an hour, and the seas had swells in excess of twenty feet.

  “At five o’clock Evan and Chad still hadn’t returned, and Evan hadn’t called. I was frantic and called the Coast Guard. They said they had received numerous distress calls and were doing all they could to assist fishermen. I described our boat and that they were going to the rigs to fish for Snapper. The Coast Guard said they would contact me as soon as they knew anything.

  “I think I aged a year while waiting. The worst was when I saw the flashing lights through my window. Evan stepped through the door. For a fleeting moment, I had hope. I looked behind him for Chad, but he wasn’t there. Then I saw Evan’s face. It said it all.” Martha wiped tears from her eyes. “Sorry, it still hurts.

  “The storm had hit with such force, they didn’t have time to react. Before they could get to the life jackets, the boat had capsized. Evan said one minute he had hold of Chad, and the next minute, he was ripped from his arms. The wind and waves had blinded Evan as he screamed and searched for our son. Chad’s body was never recovered. His death was too much for either of us to handle. We grew apart, and within six months, our marriage had ended. I haven’t seen or heard from Evan in over ten years.”

  Martha dropped her head and hugged her arms. Susan walked around the back of Martha’s chair and placed her hands on Martha’s shoulders. Giving a gentle squeeze, she said, “I’m so sorry.”

  Martha patted one of Susan’s hands. “That is why I work so hard to identify remains. I want to give them a voice, help them tell their story, and sometimes I can give them a proper burial. It’s a chance for me to do what I couldn’t do for my own child.”

  “Thank you for telling me. I can understand how you feel a kinship to all those who have lost love ones, even those who have been long forgotten. I’m really glad I met you, Martha Alexander.”

  Martha dabbed at her nose and sniffled. “You have potential to make a first-rate, amateur archaeologist, Susan. I hope this won’t be the last time we’ll work together.”

  The following morning, Susan and Martha arrived at the site early to find the excavation team already at work. They had strung lines to coincide with Martha’s grid and had begun working certain areas.

  “Do I have a good team or what?” Martha said.

  “Most of them look awfully young. Are they students?” Susan asked.

  “The majority of my team consists of students, but I also have retirees and a few history buffs.” Martha snickered. “I’ll take all the volunteers I can get.” She made the rounds and checked everyone’s assignments. After relocating a few students, she gave her approval before selecting an area for her and Susan to work.

  “The land to the east slopes slightly,” she said to Susan. “It could be evidence of an old creek bed. Let’s see if it holds any remains.”

  That particular location separated them from the rest of the team for a distance of about a hundred yards. While it offered them a little privacy, Susan could still hear the team’s voices and see them through the brush.

  “I’m glad we’re not right next to the others,” Susan said. “It would be awkward if my Indian friend decided to appear. Not that they would be able to see him, but they might see a definite change in my demeanor. He really captivates me.”

  “I thought you would like some privacy,” Martha said.

  Martha wasted no time scouring the area, looking for odd indentations, or anything out of the ordinary. She settled on a sandy ridge that could have been part of a creek’s bank. Taking her notebook from her backpack, she turned to her original sketch and drew in the approximate location. “You want to dig or hold the sieve?”

  Susan picked up the screened sieve. “I wouldn’t want to destroy anything. You’re better at scooping up the dirt.”

  With the first shovelful, Martha unearthed an arrowhead. “It looks similar to the one you found.” She placed it into an evidence bag.

  Susan and Martha turned at the sound of motors and the cracking of limbs. Tasha’s pointed ears touched as she took an aggressive stance. Her growl erupted into barking when Wesley and Charlie broke through the brush.

  Martha held up her hands and approached them. “Please, stop. I’m with the state archeology department, and we’re excavating a find here.”

  “They’re okay, Martha. This is the detective I told you about and his partner, Charlie Morgan.” She pointed to each man as she introduced them.

  “Are you sure they won’t disturb anything?” Martha asked.

  “I’m aware of the location,” Wesley said. “I was the one who discovered the body by the cabin. I know you’re here to recover ancient remains, and my partner and I will steer clear of the site.”

  Tasha alerted to something else. She looked past Wesley and Morgan and gave a deep bark.

  “There’s a deputy with a cadaver dog in the woods to our right. He’ll be with us today. We won’t have to worry about your Doberman attacking us, will we?” Wesley asked.

  “Heel, Tasha.” The dog took a position at Martha’s side. “She won’t give you any problems.”

  “Why did you call in a cadaver dog?” Susan asked.

  “Charlie and I discussed all the possibilities, and he convinced me that I shouldn’t rule out the likelihood that Nina wasn’t Burkett’s only victim, that there might be others out there. Edith could be one of them. Today, we’re going to expand the search for bodies.”

  Charlie tipped his hat to Susan. “How’s it going? Find anything here?”

  “We’ve just started,” Susan said. “So far we’ve uncovered another arrowhead.”

  “Cool,” Charlie said.

  “Guess we’ll
get going,” Wesley said. “I don’t want the deputy to get too far ahead of us. Nice meeting you, Martha.”

  “Nice meeting both of you,” Martha said.

  “Think you’ll be free for dinner tonight?” Susan asked Wesley.

  “I should be. I’ll pick you up about seven-thirty.”

  The ATVs rumbled to a start. The sound evoked another bark from Tasha.

  After they left, the dog settled down, and Martha and Susan resumed their work.

  Around noon, one of the students called for them to join the group. A couple of the team had returned from picking up pizza. It was a welcomed treat. After scoffing down a couple of pieces and finishing off a bottle of water, Susan was reinvigorated. This time, Susan dug and Martha used the sieve.

  The old saying, “Good start—bad finish,” held true. A piece of pottery and another arrowhead was all they salvaged. Neither did the Indian appear. Maybe the presence of so many people had something to do with his absence. As of yet, she didn’t see the urgency of trying to use the arrowhead. There was still much to be done.

  All the while they kept working, she wondered if Edith’s remains were out there. If Wesley discovered them, she wasn’t sure how he would respond. After five years of hoping for a good outcome, it would devastate him. But it seemed to her, not ever knowing would be even worse.

  Late that afternoon, Wesley and Charlie stopped by on their way out of the woods. The cadaver dog hadn’t hit on anything, but Wesley said there was still a large area to be covered.

  “I’ve worked up an appetite today. Don’t be late picking me up,” Susan said to Wesley.

  “You know me. I’m always on time. See you at seven-thirty.”

  Wesley and Charlie left for headquarters, and Susan and Martha packed up their belongings. Martha had decided it was time for everyone to shut it down for the day. At the main site, she thanked the team and said she’d see them in the morning.

  By the time Susan reached home, the muscles in her legs and back felt as if they were stretched as tight as a banjo string. She peeled off her clothes in a hurry and climbed into a warm bath. Heaven! She didn’t care if her whole body pruned. She had worked hard and was tired, but it was a good tired. It beat having sore feet from wearing high heels all day.