Southern Justice, Part 63
I’m Fixin’ To present part 63 of Southern Justice:
Albert Reeves had retired from the corporate world and had been living on the lake for the past six years. His lake house was next door to B. Wendell’s in the opposite direction from Jones’ house. He and his wife played golf and went on trips, but he spent most of his time bird watching; that was until Jackie had moved in next door. After that he had spent most of his time Jackie-watching through his powerful telescope.
On the Tuesday afternoon when Jackie had finally got what was coming to her, Albert had taken a break from the telescope to fix his second scotch. As he settled himself back in front of the telescope he checked his watch and noted that it wouldn’t be long before is wife got back from some kind of garden club function.
He refocused the telescope for the sharpest image possible, and there she was, out on the water, looking as stunning beautiful as ever on her blue float, wearing a brand new bikini.
That’s when he saw the quick flash of what looked like a hooded head and an arm surface behind the float. Just as quickly, they both disappeared below the surface. Albert leaped up, rubbed his eyes and quickly looked into the telescope again. There was nothing there except the blue float, which seemed to be shrinking in size.
He then rushed out onto his deck, shaded his eyes against the glare of the sun with his hand while he searched the surface of the water around the dock and the boat. He saw nothing. The water was as smooth as glass. He wondered if the scotch and the sun were playing tricks on his eyes. She could have just dived underwater and be on the other side of the boat. Just at the moment he decided to walk over and investigate, his wife pulled into the driveway.
The first thing she did was to remind him of their trip to Savannah the next morning and the things they needed to do in preparation, but his immediate task was to take their little dog out for a walk. By the time he got outside darkness had descended, but there wasn’t much traffic on the road in front of his house. And he knew all of the vehicles of his fellow retirees and those of the weekenders.
He had stepped a few paces off the road and into the shadows where his tiny dog sniffed around to find out if any of other dogs had invaded his territory, when he saw the Mustang drive by. The license plate on the rear of it was illuminated, and Albert immediately memorized it.
The trip to Savannah was like all the ones before—sightseeing, shopping and dinning. When they returned home late Friday night he noticed that the lights were on and another vehicle was parked next door, which led him to the conclusion he hadn’t actually seen what he thought he had.
Albert changed his mind early Saturday morning when he saw two Ocmulgee County Sheriff’s vehicles next door. As he watched he observed two deputies, and the sheriff himself, walking the property and going in and out of the house.
Albert recognized one of the deputies as he crossed the property line and called out, “Hey, Deputy, you mind telling me what’s going on?”
“Good morning Mr. Reeves,” the deputy replied. “I’m sorry to inform you that the body of the lady who’s been recently staying here as a house guest washed up on Goat Island this morning. Did you happen to know her?”
Albert’s face drained of all color as what he had seen flashed through his mind. It took him a few moments to recover before he said, “No, I didn’t know her, but would you please tell the sheriff I need to speak with him!”
On that same Saturday morning, after the conclusion of the joyful meeting at Pic-Ric Products, Rick Junior rushed home and informed his family that they were going to their mountain cabin for a quick get-away. He loaded up and left without even a cell phone.
It was late Sunday evening before he got back home and listened to the phone message from Sheriff Hillman, asking him to please call him.
Upon dialing the sheriff’s number he was told by a dispatcher that the sheriff wasn’t in, but would return his call momentarily. Five minutes later as Rick Junior sat staring at the phone wondering what ever the sheriff of Ocmulgee County could possibly want to talk to him about, the phone rang. “Hello,” Rick Junior said.
A gruff but smooth voice returned his salutation when it said, “Hello, this is Sheriff Hillman calling for Mr. Richard Haselton, Junior. Do I have the correct party?”
“Uh, yes sir, that’s me. Whatever can I do for you sheriff?”
“I’m afraid I have some bad news for you. Your stepmother, Jackie Payne-Haselton, was found drowned at Jackson Lake yesterday morning and I’m calling to advise you as the next-of-kin. When was the last time you saw her?”
“The last time I saw her was in her fat, crooked lawyer’s office where he—-”
“Would that fat crooked lawyer be B. Wendell Hormel?” the sheriff interrupted.
“That’s him,” Rick Junior confirmed. “The last time I saw my so called step-mother was in his office where they were trying to take everything my late father owned, including Pic-Ric Products from my two partners and myself.”
“Would one of those partners be Mr. Christopher Adams?” the sheriff asked.