by Aiden James
“Yeah, I thought Fiona told you,” said Jackie, glancing at my wife, who sheepishly said she forgot to mention that fact to me earlier.
Since we had a lot to accomplish that afternoon, as long as these two ladies were comfortable with being there, then I was ready to get things rolling. I gave Tony a brotherly slap on the back and motioned for my group to follow me to the first appointed location to begin our investigation.
I should mention here that many of the buildings on the grounds have their own special place in history. One building is reportedly the most bullet-riddled structure still standing from the Civil War, and it looks like it. It once served as an office for the family when the Carter House unwittingly ended up in the middle of the Battle of Franklin. One can only imagine what it was like for anyone near the structure when it fell under fire. I’ve often wondered if that was the reason it was painted blood red…. It seems so apropos.
Jackie’s estimate that the investigation wouldn’t take long turned out to be true. Our team managed to go through everything outside in a matter of twenty minutes. It might’ve taken even less time, had we not had to converse with each other as part of our reality show. Unfortunately, there weren’t any notable gems from Justin or me, other than his grumbled threats about getting shot and becoming a mean ghost on this property.
At least Tony managed to get us to laugh about a scary experience with a shadow phantom he encountered on the property when he came out here one night alone. When we regrouped on the back porch, Fiona announced that Detective Ed would meet us at the Carter House after all, and planned to travel with us to the Carnton.
Well, Shit!
But, when I considered that everyone is barely holding it together for the sake of the television series’ survival, a bonafide gun-carrying cop might be the very thing to cure our ills. In the meantime, Fiona told a story about the lady who used to be the curator of the Carter House, Mrs. S—our friend’s grandmother. Mrs. S. was a wonderful lady that the older members of the staff still spoke of warmly—especially those that were considered experts in the local history pertaining to the civil war.
Anyway, one day when Mrs. S. was giving a tour of the house, a young man joined the group, preferring to linger near the back, behind everyone else. Dressed in clothes from another era, this young man repeatedly contradicted everything that she described—in particularly what the family did with certain rooms on the main floor. When it came time to visit the basement, everyone headed downstairs…except for him. Mrs. S. later described the young man as suddenly turning pale, as if he had seen a ghost. He turned to leave, moving through the house to the front door. She followed him, in fear that this oddball kid might try to steal something from the house, although he didn’t stop to touch anything.
When he reached the front door, he opened it and immediately picked up his pace as he moved down the steps. Bernice watched the young man proceed into the front yard, where he promptly vanished into thin air.
Greatly disturbed by what she had witnessed, she was later cleaning the main parlor to this famous home. As she dusted old photographs, Mrs. S. gasped when she came upon one of them…. The image of the young man looking back at her was identical to her mysterious visitor from that afternoon. The young man in the photograph was Todd Carter, who grew up in the house. He had traveled with the Confederate army that attacked the Union forces in Franklin. But alas, Todd was mortally wounded in his own backyard.
The family brought him inside, and he spent his last few days on earth dying in the very basement the mysterious visitor refused to visit.
As Fiona had previously shared that story with Tom and Jackie, they stood by watching everyone else’s reactions knowingly. Lots of ooohs and ahhhs—especially from the camera crew, who weren’t supposed to comment in any way during the filming of our ghost hunting activities.
From there, we toured the inside of the house, and spent an hour snapping pictures while we left several stationary recorders in hopes of capturing EVPs (electronic voice phenomena). Just as we packed up our gear to leave, around 4:45 p.m., Mr. Ed showed up.
“Fiona…Jimmy,” said Detective Silver, soon after exiting his preferred sedan. “We should probably talk before we set out on the road to your next stop. Jackie, too.”
Dressed casually in jeans—a first in my presence since we first met six years earlier—he seemed more uptight than usual. Many of you will remember Ed as a fairly handsome dude with slicked back dark hair that is surely dyed. But his light brown eyes needed that sort of thing or he’d look older than the fifty years he’s resided on planet earth.
I’m trying to be nice here, since the majority of Dick Tracy’s likeable traits are physical. Although, he was a lot more fun to make fun of when he sported a pussy-tickler moustache. Someone told me that he read our last book and decided to shave the sucker as a result. But now I see why he wore the damned thing, since the dude’s lips are thin and seem stark naked without the wee caterpillar beneath his nostrils.
“What’s up?”
Gotta love Jackie and her directness. But rather than tell her, Ed directed the three of us to step away with him to the bullet-riddled building, maybe fifty feet away from where everyone else waited on the porch.
“We’ve got a lead on the bullets, although nothing’s set in stone,” he advised. “We’re fairly certain they were purchased in Cookeville in October.”
“Well, that’s good...right?” said Fiona, wearing a hopeful expression, as if she desperately wanted him to tell her that our nightmare was almost over. “It shouldn’t take long to track down the person or persons who made the purchase.”
Ed shifted his weight from one foot to the other, uncomfortably, either from the news he came to share…. Or, perhaps it was the fact I intently tried to bore a hole in the middle of his forehead with my silent contempt.
“I can’t give you a name yet, since it was likely an alias,” he said. “But we know beyond any doubt that the individual who made the purchase has been linked to an extremist group based in Tupelo, Mississippi. The Feds are on their way to Nashville to review our findings and decide what course of action to take.”
How’s that for a whole lot of semi-clear, semi-vague information? Jackie nodded thoughtfully, and Fiona looked as if she was trying hard to picture how this development would affect us. As for me? I felt that time was a-wastin’ and we had our bigger investigation to get to soon.
“Does this have any impact on our plans to visit the Carnton this evening?”
No worries. I made sure I didn’t sound disdainful; although he eyed me critically once I popped this question. Well, maybe I sounded a little curt, since unless he had solid evidence that this extremist dude from Mississippi who likes to shop for deadly bullets in Cookeville was now waiting for us at the Carnton, then this conversation could wait until later. No doubt, Fiona heard my silent musings. At least she smiled at me...maybe on account of the same thing.
“The killer, or killers, could very well be there. They could even be here,” he advised, eyeing me evenly. Invisible light sabers were now drawn between us. “Truth is, until we have a better handle on the group’s preferences and movements, which we should get a briefing on by tomorrow, it could be better for your group to lay low.”
“Well are the Franklin cops going to be in attendance as promised?” asked Jackie. “There are supposed to be four of them, from what I gathered earlier.”
“Yes, they will still be there…but….”
“Well, why don’t we at least make an appearance there, and if I get a feeling of danger, we’ll leave immediately,” advised Fiona, drawing a quizzical look from Ed. He obviously was counting on her support of his not so subtle suggestion to cancel our Carnton visit. “I promise, Ed, if I get even the slightest sensation that anything’s amiss, we’ll immediately leave.”
“Well, that’s what I was afraid of,” he said, frowning. “I brought eight bullet proof vests. Sorry I couldn’t procure enough to cover both your grou
p and the camera crew…someone will have to be extra careful.”
He looked at me, and suddenly the frown lifted toward a slight smile. I guess it wouldn’t take a rocket scientist to determine who would be asked to take one on the cheek for the team. But, hell, I was used to this. After all, I was the only one not afforded an escort the summer before last, before anyone knew that it was our partner, Angie, who had gone on a killing spree against any and every soul connected to Candi Starr.
“Hey, I’m game for going commando,” I said, drawing looks of horror from my dear wife and Jackie, and amused loathing from our friendly neighborhood dick. “And, my hunch is we won’t hear from these crazy assholes tonight. But, I guess there’s only one way to find out.”
And with that I politely excused myself from Detective Silver’s presence and rejoined my buddies waiting to find out what the fuss was about. My confident smile did little to ease their fears that Mr. Ed’s presence was synonymous with more tragedy on the way.
Chapter Four
At first, it didn’t seem like Ed’s presence would be as loathsome to the group as it was to me. That was before the eight bulletproof vests were laid out on the back porch of the Carter House, and we decided who would get one and who would not. The snickers and jokes immediately faded, as if siphoned into the late afternoon November air that had dropped at least ten degrees since our arrival. No one smiled then, unless my smirk and Detective Silver’s placid grin counted for anything.
“You know…maybe I’ll just hang here and you guys can do your thing at the Carnton,” said Ricky, throwing his hands up in mock surrender.
If it had been me who was strapped to an expensive camera right then, I might’ve snapped his picture. Ricky has always been a cavalier guy that likes to do nutty things like roller skate through the parking lot of my former employer or hang glide without a helmet. Seeing a permanent photograph of him acting like a pussy might be the best way to ensure he never lets it happen again. Fortunately, Tony’s sneer and Justin’s disgusted expression seemed to have a coercive effect, and Ricky shook his head as if debating whether or not to cave in to the peer pressure.
“It’s a long walk back to Nashville,” said Tony, glaring at our newest member. “So, if you wanna turn chickenshit on the rest of us, be my guest. My question is what would be the fairest way to divvy up the vests?”
“The girls should have their pick first,” I said, not caring if this was supposed to be Ed’s moment to offer his opinion or not. I felt a warming surge of glee as his mouth lay open and not a damned thing came out. Yep, Eddie boy, I just stole your stage and speech. “After they pick, then we’ll decide which two guys will join me Rambo style.”
“You don’t want a vest?”
Justin shot me a distrustful glance.
“No, I don’t,” I said, ignoring the worried gaze I felt leveled at me by Fiona. No, it’s not a death wish, but I truly felt Ed had needlessly heightened the fear factor by bringing this stuff with him. “I think I’ll be fine. Besides, our latest contest winners are driving up to join us from Pulaski. They’re not going to be protected any more than I am…along with whichever two guys among us either volunteer to join me or draw the shortest straws.”
Yeah, I had the straws ready and waiting, too. Pulled them out of a bale that was sitting near the porch. I figured five straws would be sufficient, and I held them out for everyone to see. It produced a priceless moment of surprise for most everyone, and a look of ‘almost’ admiration from Mr. Ed.
“So that means, Fiona, Jackie, Michelle, and Sally can go ahead and get outfitted, and then y’all can figure out whose going to get the other four vests,” said Ed, moving over to pick up the first one for Fiona. I swear I felt her bristle…. Might this be the final straw for him, as far as her longstanding patience with his not-so-subtle overtures toward her were concerned? One could always hope. “But, I suggest we get moving, since the Franklin officers are only on loan to you all until eight o’clock.”
In the moment of truth, Ricky became a man again, and after we determined that our camera guys were as indispensable as the oldest member in our group, Tom, it came down to Justin, Ricky, and Tony drawing straws to see who got to avoid sharing unprotected status with me. Maybe it was a misplaced notion to atone for his moment of weakness, but Ricky suddenly pulled out of the running for safety and volunteered to join me without the contest. That left Justin and Tony.
Count on the two most superstitious dudes I know to turn this into a duel. Both took their time to study the contours of my fist in hopes of drawing the larger straw. Ironically, they both picked the shortest two straws, and then spent another two minutes debating if the one was actually a millimeter shorter than the other, in hopes of forcing a rematch. Thankfully, Jackie stepped in and grabbed both straws and soon made her announcement.
“Justin gets the vest…sorry, Tony.”
This could have turned even more comical, as Tony eyed Justin with the ire of a little boy who had just been hoodwinked out of a Tootsie Pop.
“We need to get going,” Ed advised, tapping on his wristwatch. “Jackie? Fiona?... Would you ladies mind riding with me, so we can discuss the security details for your Carnton visit?”
No stiffness from my wife this time, probably because it was the both of them and not a solo excursion with Dick Tracy. Justin snapped up the opportunity to ride with me in Fiona’s place, and soon the rest of our gang followed Detective Silver’s gray Impala as it journeyed up the road to where the Carnton Plantation awaited us.
***
By the time we arrived it was approaching 5:30 p.m., with a few minutes to spare. Jerry and Jason Thomas were waiting for us in the parking lot across from the antebellum estate and near the gift shop/tourist center. They hail from the same town as Michelle and my band’s new bassist, Melvin Schoels, whom I haven’t introduced to you yet. Let it suffice for now that he is the guy we hired to replace me, since I was elected to replace Chris as the new front man for Quagmire.
Yeah, there’s an entire shit storm that I’ll eventually need to catch everybody up on that happened soon after our last published adventure. What looked like the doorstep to the elusive big time turned into something akin to the La Brea Tar Pits in L.A. But, rather than go through it all now, just know that the band isn’t giving up. Far from it.
“What a couple of good ole boys!” said Justin, disgustedly.
He grimaced as we watched the Thomas brothers approach Ed’s sedan. Each held a beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other. A two-man ghost hunting team barely in their twenties, our Pulaski boys brought very little experience to the table. However, as green and wet behind the ears as they were, the two had braved some of the more fearsome haunts in the Mid to Deep South. And, it was their amazing photographs, video footage, and EVPs that swayed the judges awarding tonight’s tickets to hand them the privilege of joining us at the crown jewel of our tour.
Man that sounds so pretentious saying that. I mean, the part about a privilege joining us…although touring the Carnton on the anniversary of the famous battle that ravaged this property one hundred and forty-eight years ago, and where four dead Confederate generals lay upon the back porch, is indeed a privilege.
But I’m getting away from our story.
“They’re just fun-loving kids, Justin,” I countered, as I parked the Camaro next to Detective Silver’s ride. “That quality might make for some good TV.”
Hell, I bet that’s what our producers thought when they learned of the judges’ decision. Fraternal twins that again can’t be any older than twenty-two years, Jerry and Jason each carry million dollar smiles to go with dimpled handsomeness, chipped ice blue eyes, and sandy blonde hair. They remind me of a young Andy Summers and Stewart Copeland from The Police, circa 1980. At least that’s the date of the album I have in my cherished collection of the old 70’s and 80’s bands that later influenced my sound before I moved to Nashville at the tender age of twenty-one back in 1999.
At le
ast these boys are more fun than their fellow ‘Pulaskian’ who recently joined our band. Melvin could use a massive dose of their lightheartedness. Good thing he’s one hell of a musician.
“These suckers give me the frigging creeps,” said Justin. He stepped out of the car and peered in at me from the passenger side. “They might look like pretty boys to you, but I’m tellin’ you, man…there’s something about them that feels wrong to me.”
“Well, I guess you’re entitled to your opinion, bro,” I said, and then exited my car. Everyone was moving to where the Franklin Cops waited to join us, near the path that would take us to the house. The cops scanned the area beyond us in the parking lot, as if expecting the trouble mentioned by Ed to suddenly show up. “Just don’t cause a scene, man.”
“And, don’t you act retarded and ignore the warning signs when they happen,” he advised, forcing a wan smile. “I’ve got your back, Jimmy—always, dude. You had better have mine.”
“Always, Justin—if things ever do go south with these guys, you know better than to question whether or not I’ve got your back,” I assured him, offering a reassuring smile to him. “Let’s go say hello.”
I wasn’t sure what caused him to feel uneasy. Maybe it was the combination of rampant death surrounding our Civil War ghost tour and Ed’s suggestion that a possible hit man was waiting somewhere along the wooded ridges less than a mile from the plantation. Regardless, I didn’t see the malice he spoke of in our two guests’ demeanor.
“Hey, Jimmy…it’s good to finally meet you in person!” enthused the taller of the two kids. He stepped over to me with his right hand extended, ready to shake after transferring the beer he had been holding to his cigarette bearing left one. “I’m Jerry, and this is Jason.”
He motioned to his brother, whose slender build was the only definitive way to distinguish between the two. They seemed much more identical twins than fraternal. Jason stepped up to greet me while Jerry offered a warm smile and handshake to Justin. Jason soon followed the same gesture, and then they stepped over to Ricky, Tom, Tony, and even offered the same greeting to Mr. Ed. Our babysitting dick seemed earnestly pleased to make their acquaintance, as well.
