Southern Justice, Part 62

I’m Fixin’ To present part 62 of Southern Justice:

When B. Wendell pulled into the parking lot of the marina behind the deputies’ cruiser he saw two other vehicles–a 911 ambulance and the Ocmulgee County Sheriff’s car. There was a small crowd, including several fishermen, two emergency medical technicians, and the sheriff himself, all surrounding an upright stretcher with a white sheet draped across it to cover the body.

B. Wendell felt weak and nauseous as the deputy approached his vehicle. He hadn’t even had a cup of coffee and now they were probably going to want him to look at a dead person—whom he was praying would not be Jackie.

The deputy opened his vehicle door for him and said, “That’s Sheriff Stillman standing over yonder, if you would please follow me over there, he would like to have a word with you.”

The sheriff looked exactly like B. Wendell expected a rural county sheriff to look—well over six feet tall, in his mid-fifties, a little overweight in his starched and pressed uniform, wearing a pair of classic Ray-Bans on his face, and a big pistol on his waist.

The deputy made the introductions and B. Wendell realized they had been in radio contact when Sheriff Stillman said, “Mr. Hormel, I understand the lady you reported missing was your house guest and that you are her attorney?”

“That’s correct, sheriff,” B. Wendell responded in a trembling voice and added, “she’s also a personal friend.”

The sheriff made a sweeping motion with his arm toward the stretcher and said, “We were in the process of pulling this poor soul off the island when your phone call came into my office. That’s why we asked you to stop by. I certainly hope there is no connection, Mr. Hormel, but I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to see if you can identify the body. She’s not too pleasant to look at from being in the water so long and what with the damn turtles, but not to the point of being unrecognizable. Let’s step up close and have a look.”

B. Wendell reluctantly took the few short steps to the stretcher with the sheriff. He was trembling, and the saliva in his mouth felt hot and thin as he watched the sheriff’s hand reach for the top of the sheet. When he pulled the corner of it back B. Wendell found himself staring at a face so pale that it was almost gray. It was also bloated, which emphasized the bite marks on the neck and cheeks. She wasn’t pretty anymore, but he knew it was Jackie.

The hot saliva in his mouth turned to bile. He managed to stagger a few steps away before it gushed from his mouth. A moment later he took the handkerchief the the sheriff offered and heard him say, “I know that was difficult for you Mr. Hormel. Let’s walk over to the cafe and get us a cup of coffee.”

The strong black coffee tasted wonderful to B. Wendell as he sat in a booth across from the sheriff and watched him make notes on a pad as he said, “Mr. Hormel, I take from your reaction that you made a positive I.D., as the one and the same lady who has been staying at your lake house?”

In barely a whisper B. Wendell said, “Yes, I’m sorry to say it is—was Jackie. The poor dear had just recently become a widow.”

“If you feel up to it Mr. Hormel,” the sheriff continued, I’ll be needing some more information. Let’s start with her full name and address.”

B. Wendell gave the sheriff the information, but was stumped with the next question.

“Who’s her next of kin?” the sheriff asked. “I’ll need to know that so we can notify them. They’ll want to claim the body and—–”

“Sheriff, Jackie didn’t have and family. I’ve known her for a lot of years and she had no family at all.”

“Didn’t you say she had been married recently?” the sheriff added. “Did her deceased husband have any family?”

“Uh, well, yes, he did have a son,” B. Wendell stammered.

“That would make him her step-son. Can you furnish me a name and address?”

In his stunned state B. Wendell slowly began to realize the consequences of what had happened. Jackie was gone. Even though he had had real feelings for her, she had also been his ticket to riches and a retirement in style. He stared into his coffee cup and tried to think of some way to salvage something.

The sound of the sheriff’s voice brought him back to the situation at hand. “Mr. Hormel, the name and address of the step-son?”

“Oh, uh, yes. His name is Richard Haselton, Junior. I don’t have a home address, but he works at Pic-Ric Products in Atlanta.”

“I’m familiar with that company,” the sheriff said, “they do some very nice work with wooden products. We’ll contact the deceased’s step-son and notify him of what has happened here. Just one more thing, Mr. Hormel, we would like to take a look around your lake house if you don’t mind.”

“No, I don’t mind, but why would you want to do that?”

“We have a dead woman here. We have to investigate.”

“But isn’t it obvious that she drowned?”

“Sometimes, Mr. Hormel, what is most obvious, is also most deceiving.”

(tmdunagan@aol.com)