 
The Beginning (Whispering Pines Book 1)

Copyright @ Charles E. Wells

Published by Smashwords

Dublin, Georgia 31021

www.wellstonpublishing.com

Revised December 2013

In honor of the two beautiful women who helped make this book happen. Jeanie Russ and Gail Wells

Table of Contents

Prelude .....................................................................4

Chapter 1 ...................................................................9

Chapter 2 .................................................................. 13

Chapter 3 .................................................................. 15

Chapter 4 .................................................................. 26

Chapter 5 .................................................................. 34

Chapter 6 .................................................................. 46

Chapter 7 .................................................................. 50

Chapter 8 .................................................................. 55

Chapter 9 .................................................................. 60

Chapter 10 ................................................................. 70

Chapter 11 ................................................................. 73

Chapter 12 ................................................................. 76

Chapter 13 ................................................................. 79

Chapter 14 ................................................................. 82

Chapter 15 ................................................................. 93

Chapter 16 ................................................................. 106

Chapter 17 ................................................................. 110

Chapter 18 ................................................................. 119

Chapter 19 ................................................................. 128

Chapter 20 ................................................................. 135

Chapter 21 ................................................................. 145

Chapter 22 ................................................................. 153

Chapter 23 ................................................................. 161

Chapter 24 ................................................................. 169

About the Author ......................................................... 177

#  Prelude

"How much further is it to the cemetery?" Mike Shavers asked the dark figure in front of him.

Bobby Ackerman, the dark figure, stopped quickly, too quickly, and Shavers ran into him. The collision sent both feet sliding in opposite directions so he had to grab at the back of Bobby's shoulders for support. That unexpected reflex almost sent them both tumbling.

Ackerman managed to keep them upright until Shavers regained his footings, then he spun around and barked, "Mike, what are you doing? If I drop this flashlight we are stuck out here for the rest of the night."

"Sorry Bobby. Your brake lights aren't working and I can barely walk on this slippery crud."

The two men were trying to navigate a wild game trail through the woods, a trail covered in loose pine needles with interwoven stiff roots and vines. Bobby snapped at his partner, "If you grab hold of me again I'm going to shoot you. Didn't I tell you to wear boots?"

"Yea but I don't own any boots. What you should have told me was to bring a flashlight. I can't see a thing back here. What if I step on a snake?"

"Why do you think I told you to wear boots? But that's ok; if a snake bites you I'll rush it to the emergency room."

"Ha, yea right, well, you should have warned me about both and we wouldn't be having this discussion right now."

Bobby pointed the light at Mike's shoes. "Those things are not going to protect you from snakes whether you have a light or not, and it's not the ground that's slippery, it's the pine needles. The leather soles on your shoes can't grip, makes them slick as ice. Maybe you need to forget about the snakes and worry about not breaking your neck!"

"Well I like these shoes and you said we were going to a cemetery, not the Okefenokee Swamp."

"Well as you can see, this isn't a swamp, its woods, and we have some serious digging to do and I'm not doing it alone. I could care less if you get those shoes dirty or not."

"I'll do my share so stop worrying about it. Now how much further is it? The bugs are eating me alive."

"At least you can truthfully say that I didn't tell you to bring bug repellent."

Bobby swung the light back around to the path. "There's an old rusty cow fence just ahead. Once we cross that it's only a hundred yards or so."

"How do you know it's a cow fence and not for horses or something?"

"Shut up Mike, and why are you in such a rush? Are you that anxious to see the ghosts at the graveyard? Oh wait; I forgot to warn you about the ghost, didn't I?"

"I never seen a ghost in my life, but, uh, are you expecting to see one?"

Bobby turned the light beam back into Mike's face and chuckled wryly, "As white as you are right now, I think you already saw one. Now don't walk so close and let's get going before the sun comes up."

Mike stopped, raised his watch hand and pressed the light button. "Hey, it's only 2:30 in the morning. We got plenty of..."

The words faded when he looked up and realized his partner with the light had already moved ahead. "Bobby? Hey, wait up man. I can't see where I'm going."

\----------

Matt Veal lifted the pickaxe over his head, aimed at an area near his feet and then let gravity do the rest of the work. The blade landed somewhere in the darkness near his feet at the bottom of the hole. He could not see where but it felt a tad too close for comfort to his left foot. "I got to get more light down there before I poke a hole in my foot," he mumbled aloud.

He leaned the pickaxe against the sidewall of the hole, rose to his full six foot three height and wiped at the beads of sweat on his forehead with the back of his hand. The only light around him came from a pale quarter moon overhead and a battery-powered lantern on the ground. The hole he dug in a grave shape, very appropriate since he was digging into just that, an old grave, his Grandfather's burial plot.

The cemetery, neglected and then abandoned, was dotted with white, weather aged grave markers. The inscriptions on the stones were barely readable in the daytime and impossible at night. The acre square resting place for several dozen souls was covered with waist high weeds and wild shrub bushes with the nearby tree lines getting closer as each season passed. The only way to reach where Matt now stood was by following a wild game trail through the thick woods, an arduous task not for the faint of heart by day, and a decidedly dangerous one by night. The area was miles from a roadway. Few people around West Creek County remembered the place and the ones who did, seldom spoke of it. No one had conscience or desire to take care of the grounds and so, by neglect, the Veal Cemetery remained alone to fight against Mother Nature as she edged closer reclaiming the land.

Once Matt's breathing returned to normal, he moved the light closer to the rim of the hole. That was the moment the "feeling" that somebody was watching hit him. A man who trusted his instincts, made a show of wiping his forehead again while letting his eyes wander the shadows. The reach of the light's beam was limited, probably less than thirty feet.

"The crickets," he realized with a twitch. "They're quiet, too quiet."

Night creatures were a noisy bunch in Georgia but at that moment all Matt could hear, other than a distant owl and the wind rustling through the trees, was silence.

He stretched his achy back muscles and then, for no reason he could understand, the crickets came alive again as a though a switch had been flipped.

The warning signals faded and then were gone. The creature sounds had returned. "Maybe it was just a passing bobcat or something," he mumbled under his breath.

He took up the pickaxe again and made three hard swings, then paused again to listen. The silence was back. "Maybe it's the digging that has them spooked" he lied to himself.

Then he noticed something visually unusual and held the axe tip up to the light. The red clay was moist, sticking to the metal of the tool. If you dug a hole in dry Georgia dirt then the clay layers would be like concrete, not sticky and moist. The dirt coming out of the hole was wet, no doubt recently uncovered or turned.

The realization gave him goose bumps and a sinking feeling inside. Had someone already been there? That or maybe there was an underground spring feeding the soil and keeping it moist? Stomping his boot against the bottom of the hole, the dirt indeed felt soft and moist, packed but not aged in place. There was not enough moisture to call it an underground supply either.

Then he recalled something from his childhood, a movie scene from the Wizard of Oz. The cowardly lion was terrified in the haunted forest and crying, "I do believe in spooks. I do believe in spooks. I do... I do... I do believe in spooks."

The hairs on the nape of Matt's neck stood out and his blood felt icy cold. He strained to probe the darkness outside the small ring of light. Finally, when the sensation was over powering, he reached for the lantern and clicked it off, letting the darkness swallow him.

"I do believe in spooks... I do... I do..."

The eerie silence grew suffocating and loud. Slowly his eyes adjusted until he could see the distant city lights above the tree line. Then it happened; a twig or limb snapped and the ensuing report reached Matt's disbelieving mind squarely. Only a human would be so careless.

Matt placed his hand on the edge of the hole intending to swing up and out, but the darkness exploded in a beam of blinding light in his face. He felt like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming truck. The raging glare made him throw one hand in the air to shade his eyes.

"I wasn't expecting any company out here."

"There's a gun pointed at you, Mister Veal, so don't make any stupid moves."

The light began shaking as the hand holding it moved closer. There was also a noisy second set of footfalls following behind. Moving eyes only, Matt gauged his chances of breaking for the trees in a mad run but the odds were not good. He needed a weapon of some sort and the only thing available was the pickaxe.

He said calmly, "Let me turn this lantern back on so I can see."

With one hand shading, he let the other slowly reach down and turn the light back on. Before he could stand back up straight though, a second voice snapped, "Veal. What are you doing here? Stealing our stuff?"

"I don't know what you're talking about. I am here digging up graves, you know, grave robbing. A few of them are civil war veterans, buried in uniform. Those old belt buckles they wore are worth several thousand dollars apiece these days and I intend to get them."

"Huh? What did he say, Bobby?"

"Shut up Mike. Just be quiet. The boss is going to love this. That's the boy scout of West Creek County and we just caught him grave robbing."

Matt's mind put the pieces and names together easy enough. "So you work for the big guy, huh? I have seen you both around town recently," Matt lied because he honestly could not make out their faces with the flashlight pointed in his face.

"I didn't realize your boss needed to bring in outside muscle to get the job done."

"That shows how much you know, Veal. Our boss is not a local yokel like you."

Ackerman moved to within a few feet of the hole where Matt stood waist deep and said, "Well by all means, Mister Veal, don't let our arrival stop you. Keep digging. It saves us a lot of work and I'm sure Mike appreciates not having to get his shoes all dirty."

Matt slowly pointed at his lantern. I'll need to move this thing closer to the hole so I can see what I'm doing."

"Go ahead but don't try anything stupid. The trigger on my gun is a tad sensitive."

As he reached for the lantern, Matt said, "I imagine your boss wants me alive, not dead. So I don't think you are going to shoot me without his okay."

"I'm sure my boss does not care whether I bring you in alive or dead."

By moving he light, it brought the two faces into better view and he recognized the one called Bobby. The other he had never seen before but noticed he was not holding a gun.

"So what is it I'm digging up for you guys? You looking for civil war stuff too?"

"You'll find out soon enough because from the looks of it you are close to reaching it. Now get to digging."

Matt raised the pickaxe but Bobby's sharp voice stopped him. "No, put that thing down. You are too close and it will bust a hole in the box."

"What box, the casket? That thing probably rotted away years ago."

"Just do what I said, Veal. Use the shovel. If you ain't got one then you can use ours. It's hidden back in the edge of the trees."

Matt propped the pickaxe back to one side and picked up a nearby shovel. He sighed, looked up at the men and started digging.

It took less than ten minutes until the tip of the blade hit something solid and metallic. The sound brought a sneering smile to Bobby's face. He raised the gun level at the Matt's chest but just as he was about to cock the hammer, Veal bent over and disappeared out of the line of fire just below the surface of the hole. The pile of shoveled dirt gave extra cover. He had been intentionally stacking it between him and the two men for just that reason.

When Matt suddenly dropped from view, Bobby pulled the firing hammer back ready to kill him. Down in the hole, the "click" of the gun's mechanism sounded like an explosion in Matt's ears. He knew his time was short yet still he wondered at the box beneath his feet. What had these two characters hidden there?

Matt knew that Bobby would have to step closer to shoot. In fact, he was counting on it. He grabbed a handful of the loose dirt at his feet, which partially exposed the top of the box, and he recognized the type. It was an air sealed military shipping crate. Uncovered, it should be about three feet long and two wide.

Clenching a fist full of dirt, Matt rose to his feet intentionally facing away from Bobby and his partner. "Just tell me this," he said straightening up and trying to buy a few precious seconds. "What's in the cargo box?"

"You don't need to know, Veal. Now turn around real slow and face me."

"Why? I figured you for a back shooter. You mean to tell me you like to see a man's face before you kill him?"

"Turn around or you'll never find out."

Matt turned slowly expecting a bullet to the back any moment. The light hit Ackerman's gun hand perfectly and Matt noticed his one chance to get out of this alive. Ackerman, in all his caution and puff, had not set the trigger safety on the side of the gun to fire position. Until he did so, it gave Matt a few precious seconds to react.

Slowly Matt let his left hand move toward the pickaxe and with a tone of assurance, he said sternly, "Son, why don't you put that gun away and go home, take your little buddy there with you. I don't want to kill both of you."

The barrel of the handgun trembled slightly at the words but Ackerman's tone also showed no fear. He had never killed a man before but the excitement of doing so enthralled him. Had he known the truth behind Veal, an old military man with experience and the nightmares that accompany it, he would not have been so brave.

With finality, Bobby stepped closer and said, "Good-bye Mr. Veal."

His finger tightened on the trigger but the safety lock held rather than the gun jumping in his hand as expected. When nothing happened, Ackerman's eyes flew open in surprise and shock. He tilted the gun sideways to check the problem, which was Matt's cue to act or die.

Matt tossed the handful of dirt while taking up the axe with the other. Using both hands, he pivoted his body around on the tip of his left foot using the weight of the tool to add momentum in the turn. He spun around in a 360-degree circuit taking the axe blade speed up to deadly velocity. Before Bobby could get the gun ready to fire, the pointed end of the axe struck him inches above the belt line and sank deep into his body.

The force of the blow staggered him sideways and he almost fell. His grip on the gun loosened allowing it to spin freely on the trigger finger and then drop to the ground at his feet. Matt grabbed the weapon, unlocked the safety, and checked for the second man who was nowhere in sight.

Bobby, body frozen, eyes wide in disbelief, managed to cry, "I have to kill you, Mr. Veal. I have to..."

Blood spurted out of his side pooling at his feet on the ground. Matt, assured that the second man had broke and run, asked, "Who sent you to do this and why? What's in the cargo crate that's worth killing over?"

When there was no response, Matt reached up, yanked the axe out of the body and dropped it. He released the trigger safety on the gun and aimed at Bobby's stomach. The man was still standing but obviously unable to move or react. "What's in the box, son? Who's behind it?"

Bobby Ackerman's body folded at the knees then crumpled downward into a heap on the ground. With his free hand, Matt swung himself out of the hole and kneeled. "Why Ackerman, why were you going to kill me?

Bobby started talking, at first rather strong for a man with a hole in his side the size of a baseball, but as he talked, his voice grew weaker, fading lower and lower until in one last spurt of words he whispered the final answer Matt sought, and then he died, face down in the cemetery dirt.

Matt rose to his feet and looked around, trying to hear more than see through the darkness to determine if Ackerman's partner had truly fallen back or was making a run for it. The question answered itself when he heard a distant creaking from the old wire fence just inside the trees. The second man was obviously bumbling his way back through the woods in the dark.

Matt clicked the gun's safety back on and stuck the weapon in his belt. Glancing around once more just to be sure, he looked down at Ackerman and said, "I hope it was worth it, son."

He would have to explain all this to the law eventually but calling the law also meant having to explain why he was digging in Cemetery in the first place.

"That's a lot of explaining," he said to the dead body at his feet. "And I'm not ready to do that just yet."

There was already negative blood between him and the Pary Family who owned just about anything that moved in West Creek County including Sheriff Walt Brooks and his crew of deputized crooks. They would never believe he had taken down a man holding a gun on him, using nothing but a pickaxe. They would turn this killing into a murder to put him away for good, for obvious reasons.

"I'll call Frank and get some help," he thought. "But not until I confirm what Ackerman just said. The problem is, that second man that got away will tell them what happened, but not that I'm coming after them."

Jumping back into the hole, Matt opened the cargo box and stared for a long time at the content, confirming what Ackerman had whispered to him. Shaking his head in disgust, he closed and resealed it, then crawled back out and stood staring at the body. His mind was constantly processing the sounds around him in alert mode but all was in balance again with the night creatures. Finally, using the tip of a boot, he rolled the body of Bobby Ackerman into the hole and said, "I'll come back and get you and that box later so don't run off anywhere."

With a deep breath of the night air, Matt picked up the shovel and starting pushing dirt into the grave. "I probably should leave you out here for the wild animals to chew on but you and that cargo box are my evidence."

It took him half an hour to cover the hole and another ten minutes to work his way back through the woods to his parked car. He knew time was important because Ackerman's partner was, by now, back in town setting off the alarm about everything that happened at the cemetery. They, of course, would have no idea that the dying man had given him a few names and one location.

It was discomforting as to why Ackerman so readily spilled the beans to him. Maybe he was trying to absolve some sin before meeting his maker. Who knows but he gave Matt enough to work with on his next stop, a meeting at a makeshift airstrip. A planeload of illegal drugs was coming in at sunup but Ackerman had died before telling him where the strip was located.

Matt knew the geography of West Creek County better than anyone did and he could think of only one place large and flat enough to build an airstrip that would go unnoticed. "I'll start there," he mumbled and cranked the car engine.

Ackerman's gun lay on the seat next to him, unfired with a full clip of ammunition. If his hunch were correct then the runway would be located in the woods west of town in an area owned by the Pary family. They were developing it into a lake area community including a hydroelectric power center from a dam under construction on Beaver Creek.

Matt had not seen the place in several years but kept track of the progress from talk around town. Had someone cut a landing zone out of the trees there? If so, the heavy equipment needed could have come from the construction project close by and nobody would have been the wiser. "That's the most logical place to build it," Matt said aloud, "They are looking for me by now and I bet that is the last place they would expect to find me."

# Chapter 1

Matt parked along an old logging road, took the gun from the car seat and a flashlight from inside the console compartment and got out. He looked around carefully while tucking the weapon into his belt and then stepped into the trees moving northward.

He traveled slowly, quietly like the hunter he was, using only short bursts from the flashlight as needed to find routes around noisy ground cover. For half an hour, he searched for signs of a large opening in the trees but found none. He estimated his location to be near the end of the level area he had in mind when guessing for a suitable runway.

"Okay, guess I'm wrong," he decided and was about to turn around and try elsewhere when the sound of a not too distant vehicle's door closing echoed through the woods. Next, he heard voices talking but he could not make out the words. He let five minutes pass until all was silent again. He could not gauge the direction from which the sounds had come but then the odor of burning wood reached his nose.

Was it a campfire? What idiot would build a campfire in the middle of a pine thicket? He literally followed his nose forward, probably faster than he should have but he did not want to lose the scent leading him. He covered a good distance until his eyes caught the glint of a fire ahead, maybe fifty yards.

Through the brush and foliage, he saw half a dozen men sitting on the ground near a small fire. A seventh stood off at a distance holding what appeared to be a rifle. No doubt, they were being cautious after hearing from Ackerman's partner.

Matt found a spot where he could see easily into the camp through the trees. The pines stood in orderly lines similar to a cornfield. This was no wild forest cast haphazardly about by the whims of Mother Nature. It was a tree farm with crops planted in rows and standing a hundred feet tall waiting for harvest.

He strained his eyes trying to see faces, looking for the man that had been with Ackerman at the cemetery but the distance was too far. Bottom line, there were seven men and one was showing a weapon. How would he deal with stacked odds of seven to one? He definitely needed his friend's help but it would take hours for him to arrive. By then this would all be over and everyone would be back in town looking for him.

Matt took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He needed to get closer and find out whom they were. He could not go rushing in like a fool thinking there was only one-man armed. It would be suicide.

He stepped from behind the tree he had used to hide behind, not that a tree with a ten-inch diameter base offered much stealth for a man his size. He eased forward toward the fire until his boot landed atop an unseen deadfall limb and a loud, angry "snap" shot through the night air. "You stupid..." his mind screamed.

He froze hoping their eyes were fire blind so they could not see this far back from the flames. He did not want to break and run because that would give away his position to even the greenest city slicker among them. All he could do was stand and watch, expecting a gunshot in his direction any second, but nothing happened. The men remained seated around the fire doing much of what they had been doing when he got there, waiting. Then he noticed the man who had been standing further back holding a rifle, was now gone from sight.

Matt was now the hunted. He began taking slow easy steps backwards, keeping his eyes mainly on the men around the fire but risking short glancing sweeps elsewhere, looking for the missing rifleman. When he was far enough back, he turned around and backtracked. He made it a dozen yards before a voice very close by said, "The boss was right. He knew you might show up here. I have been waiting for almost two hours, Veal."

With no further words, something slammed Matt in the face. All he saw was a blinding bolt of whitish light and then he felt searing hot pain. He dropped hard and fast to the soft pine needle ground. His last thought was wondering how could he be been so careless, so stupid.

*****

A gruff looking man leaned in toward the flames of the small fire, holding his hands palm outward as though to warm them. They really did not need it. It was more fireside habit than chill even though the early morning summers in Georgia could make a body feel cold sometimes. It was a trick of the dew and humidity in the air, a wet feeling against the skin and not the temperature.

One of the other men sitting around the fire noticed the boss's seeming discomfort and rose to his knees, grabbed a couple of limbs from a small pile set aside for the occasion, and tossed them into the yellowish flames. Hundreds of reddish sparks exploded into the night air from the disturbance, rising and winking their way upward along with the smoke, into the lower tree branches.

After watching the show of sparks, the boss said, "Any one of those could set this tinderbox on fire so keep your eyes open. Don't add anymore wood either. It will be dawn soon so let the fire die out."

He then rose to his feet and brushed at the straw stuck to his knees and backside. "I'm going to check to see if any deer have wandered out on the air strip. That plane should be here soon."

Nodding at a pair of the men still seated on the ground he added, "Keep a close eye on our guest over there by the tree. If what Mike Shavers told the boss is true then he's not a man to mess around with.

A wiry little guy among the group asked, "You think Veal killed Bobby with an axe even while Bobby had a gun in his face?"

"That guy," the boss said carefully, "Is Matt Veal and our associates in Atlanta have wanted him gone for a long time. They told me he has been poking his nose in all the wrong places lately so we are going to deal with him."

The boss turned to walk away and reiterated, "Don't take your eyes off of him for a second. After we unload the plane we will nail his hide to a tree."

The boss walked the few dozen yards out of the woods and into the open area of the strip. In the hazy darkness before him was a bulldozer-hewn runway. He checked his lighted wristwatch and then glanced toward the eastern sky. The horizon was breaking into light shades of white and soft pink. His vision, now more accustomed to the darkness away from the fire, scanned the half-mile open area before him trying to spot any shadows moving that would indicate a deer herd had wandered onto the landing area. Deer were small compared to a large aircraft but a half dozen of the 100 plus pound creatures could cause serious damage to the landing gears and props of a huge cargo carrier.

The boss stood watching, waiting and listening as the eastern sky slowly turned lighter and brighter. The landing area, surrounded by trees on all sides, grew more distinct coming out of the night's last shadows.

Checking his watch again, he turned back towards the woods and shouted, "Ed? You and Lenny put Veal into the back of my truck and bring him along. The rest of you put that fire out, then get out there in the field and light up the oil pots."

It took the men a short while to get the oil burning lanterns going along the perimeter of the strip. One by one, they wandered back to the edge of the woods where the boss waited and then stood helping him scan the horizon.

Soon enough an aircraft appeared over the most distant tree line followed by the sounds of low grumbling engines. It was a C-130, an airplane easy to distinguish against the yellowish backdrop of the coming sunrise.

Known in military circles as the Lockheed "Hercules" or "Hercky Bird," it was a 1950's designed workhorse with four turboprop engines and a 60 year (and counting) history of dependability. This particular one was retired service vet purchased on the illegal arms markets of the world and put to use by the Central American drug cartels. It was the perfect vehicle for cargo, legal or otherwise, traveling over the Gulf of Mexico and South Atlantic Ocean. The bird could fly long, nonstop runs that began and ended from short runways in hidden jungles or Georgia pine groves.

One man pointed at the plane and said, "There she is, coming in low."

The men watched the machine grow larger and then rumble slowly past overhead. Then it banked away performing an air ballet of sorts. The boss removed a hand held radio from his belt. "This is Thunder Chicken. Do you read me Blackbird?"

"Yea I got you. Are we good to go?"

"Good to go. Can you see the fire pots okay?"

"Roger, I got them. I hope you got a bowl of oatmeal down there. We don't do grits."

"Got a couple of stale pop tarts you can have. We're clear."

The aircraft climbed then turned sharply to the right and disappeared behind the tree line. When it next appeared, the wheels were down and seemed to be dragging through the treetops they were so low. Once over the edge of the clearing, the aircraft dropped like a rock but just before it seemed to be crashing, it pulled sharply upward and looked like a landing duck flaring its wings. The stall brought it to almost a standstill and then gravity set the machine down on the ground in an explosive cloud of flying grass, red dust and rocks.

"Wow" one of the men watching said aloud. "How in hell does that guy do that?"

Next, the four huge props reversed pitch, emitting an ear-piercing whistle surely heard for miles around. Then in what seemed just a few feet, the plane rolled to a complete stop. A second later, the engine roar fell to a low, dull rumble one could feel in the ground beneath their feet.

Inside the airplane, the pilot spun the nose gear steering control with his left hand and the ship made a slow one-eighty turn until it faced the rising sun from which it had just arrived. With outside vision at zero due to the dust storm, the pilot kept his eyes inside, reading the console as it spun to 134 degrees and stopped.

Satisfied with position, he lowered power to the engines until they were idle. There was no reason to shut them off because he was not going to be there long. He locked the brakes, scanned the gauges and then looked out the windshield. The dust had settled in the air now and he could see the tree line from which a signal should be coming. A small light beam flashed once, then twice and then once more. The pilot reached to an overhead panel, flipped a switch off and on, three times and the plane's running lights flashed in response. With a sigh of relief, he grabbed the intercom button and said, "We're good. Open it up back there."

Standing near the edge of the woods, the boss watched the plane return his signal then tucked the flashlight away in a pocket. One of the men said, "Man I wish I could learn to drive my truck like that."

Another laughed and said, "Hell you can't even get your truck to run, let alone fly."

The others snickered and then looked at the boss who nodded and said, "Let's go and everybody keep your eyes open. I don't want any more trouble catching us off guard."

Eyes alert and wary, the pilot watched a pair of vehicle headlights glare on from the woods and then start toward him. A third and smaller vehicle followed the parade but had no running lights visible.

When the rear door, which also served as loading ramp, was fully open and down, two pickup trucks backed to the bottom of the ramp and a yellowish green warehouse forklift puffed to a stop at the base. A dark figure of a man from the left truck stepped out and then up the ramp of the C-130. The boss asked the load handler waiting there, "Any problems?"

"Nothing serious, we had to dive down to the water a couple of times when they hit us with radar but we lost them easy enough. What about you?"

Boss looked at the covered crates stacked and strapped in the center of the cargo bays and an idea formed in his mind. "We have a small problem outside. I have a passenger for you to take part of the way back when you leave."

The man shook his head. "We're not stopping anywhere on the way back and besides, we don't carry passengers or solve your problems. You deal with it."

Boss turned to the waiting trucks outside and motioned. Three men got out, walked up the ramp and stood quietly. Pointing to the wooden pallets, Boss snapped, "Bring the fork up and let's get started."

As the men turned and walked away, he said, "Just take our passenger and drop him off someplace. You don't have to land and he is out cold and hog-tied. He will not be any trouble unless he stays here. He killed one of the boys from Atlanta last night. He has friends in law enforcement that we can't risk being called in to investigate. It could endanger the whole operation. I got word from Atlanta to take care of him once and for all."

The load handler took a deep breath of the morning air, sighed, and then nodded agreement. Boss signaled two more men in the other truck and a moment later they were dragging a body clumsily up the steep incline of the ramp. The loadmaster watched then shook his head in disgust and pointed. "Put him over there and strap him down good to an empty pallet. I don't want any trouble."

He turned back to Boss and asked, "Where do I drop him off?"

Boss smiled and said, "Drop him off over the water someplace without a parachute. Atlanta does not want this one coming back to bother us again."

Okay, but there will be an extra charge for helping you solve this problem."

Boss nodded. "Can't expect anything less and I'll let them know you earned a fair share for the trouble. We got the rest of it covered from this end."

***

Six hours later and 35 miles out over the Gulf of Mexico, the black-bellied C-130 was clipping waves at 50 feet, once again avoiding detection by the New Orleans Radar stations. The loadmaster, now in the co-pilot seat, nodded at the pilot "It's as good a place as any."

The pilot turned and raised an eyebrow. "Here at this altitude? We're too low."

The loadmaster unlocked his seat harness and stood. "Just fly the ship and let me take care of the rest. He's tied up and at this speed he is going to either drown or pop open like a watermelon when he hits the water."

The pilot nodded. "Yea, you're right. He will be fish food either way."

The rear cargo door opened slowly when the handler pressed a release button on the side panel then another that released the locks on the wooden pallet on which Matt Veal was strapped. With one foot, the handler shoved at the crate and it skittered down the rail deck and then out the rear door and disappeared from view. He grinned then closed the doors and returned to the cockpit. "Fish food," the pilot said when he saw the green "Door Secure" indicator light on the operation panel flash. "He's nothing but fish food."

***

The 28-foot charter fishing boat, "Barber Ann" was sailing north at 16 knots when the skipper first heard the sounds of an approaching aircraft. The sounds were odd, low and deep, which could only mean the bird, was skimming the wave tops. In moments, it appeared as a looming black bird on the horizon and grew quickly into a huge aircraft moving at a dangerously high speed for such lack of altitude.

The thunder of the four turboprop engines shook his small boat when the plane swished past forward of their position. The second mate cried aloud, "God all mighty. I could have reached out and touched the wings of that thing. Why are they flying like that?"

The skipper picked up the marine radio mike, turned to his second in command and said, "Drug runners. No other reason for all that dangerous flying."

The mate nodded and watched the aircraft grow smaller as it moved away into the western sky. At the last possible moment, he saw something drop away from the rear of the plane and then fall to the water below. "Did you see that, Skipper?"

"I saw it." Into the radio mike he said, "New Orleans Coast Guard Radio? This is 9-4-4-6. Do you copy over?"

A scratchy voice spilled back over the boat's speaker and replied, "Roger 9446. We copy you solid S5. What can we do for you?"

# Chapter 2

Gail Synerson could not get her staple gun to work so she went to the next cubicle over to borrow one from a co-worker, Angie. When she touched the thing, a vision of Angie and her boyfriend flashed through her mind like a movie. She could see them the night before, seated in a posh restaurant, sipping wine until they had to call a cab for the ride home. Next, the vision jumped forward and Gail saw them at Angie's apartment, clothes strewn everywhere and...

She quickly set the stapler back on the desk and felt her face flush. To cover the problem, she asked, "Did you and Greg enjoy the restaurant last night?"

"Oh, gosh yea, we... hey, wait a second, I have not told anyone about that yet. Were you at the Green Jacket last night?"

"Yes I was," she fibbed, almost adding, "And then I followed you home and was peeking in your bedroom at midnight thanks to your staple gun. Oh yea, and by the way, you are pregnant."

Angie bought the lie and said, "Oh wow, you should have come to our table and said something. I didn't see you."

"Well," Gail smiled, "You were pretty busy so I decided to not interrupt. You know third wheel and all."

Gail waved and returned to her own desk. "Whew," she mumbled. "I have to learn to keep my mouth shut."

Gail had spent her entire life trying to hide her psychic ability. As a young girl, she thought watching crazy pictures playing in her mind was normal, that everybody could do it. Then one day at recess the teacher handed her a soda and when she touched the bottle, she saw pictures of her teacher. There was also a man, a very bad man, pushing her to the floor and getting on top. She heard her teacher screaming and crying. When Gail dropped the soda bottle, the pictures went away and the association with visions and objects locked into her young mind. With tears streaming down her face, she looked up at her teacher and apologized for spilling the soda. When their eyes locked, the teacher knew her secret was out. The next day she was gone, resigned from her job, and a sub explained to the class that she was moving away to another city."

An hour later after the stapler incident, Gail was busy editing a news article when she called out to her supervisor in the cubicle office behind. "Hey, Chuck? Would you check the number seven story? Marty put it in the Business Section?"

Chuck Veal, his mind also busy with something, only comprehended half of Gail's shouted request. With a twinge of consternation he shouted back "Okay, Gail. Give me a second."

After typing one last sentence into his work, he closed the screen and tried to remember what Gail asked? Taking a deep breath and holding it a bit longer than normal, he leaned back in the office chair, interlocked his fingers behind his head, and looked up at the tiled ceiling. He started counting the all too familiar ceiling blocks letting his brain run through a mindless rote that helped clear mental data jams sometimes. Around tile number seven, he leaned forward and brought up the computer menu, scrolled down to story insert number seven and clicked the mouse. The monitor filled with a neatly blocked and formatted draft copy of an article cued for the presses. The title across the top had yet to be determined, which was normal and the headache of a different department.

He glanced quickly through the first few paragraphs searching for why Gail singled it out but found nothing wrong. Maybe she said eleven and not seven. He read several more paragraphs just to be sure but everything looked fine so he called out, "Gail? Did you say file seven?"

A soft, southern accented voice spoke unexpectedly from behind him. "You don't have to yell. I'm standing right here."

Chuck jerked at the unexpected voice and tried to spin around in the chair to face it. In the process, he lost control and was about to tumble when Gail grabbed the rear of the chair to steady it. That triggered the vision but it was not Gail's first view of what she would come to know as Whispering Pines Estate.

From the chair's touch, she saw Whispering Pines. It was a huge and very beautiful mansion. As she stood there in Chuck's office seeing it, she knew it as a southern styled plantation but she also knew it to be a replica and not the real McCoy. The front of the home was elegant and painted a bright white with yellow shutters. Across the front were bay windows with wood shutters and elaborate trim. A gray Corvette Convertible sat in the driveway. She did not know much about cars but she knew a Corvette when she saw one. Most disturbing of all was a question that popped into her head. Where had she seen that place before?

Then she remembered the night a few months ago, the pizza delivery and buffalo nickel. She had seen this same house in that vision too, or almost at least. Because now, at that moment, the near forgotten vision and the present one forming seemed to meld into one view, one thought one image and one wall of emotions.

It had been a Friday night and she ordered a pizza. When the delivery arrived, she went searching through her purse for money and the shiny coin fell out and dropped to the floor. She paid the man, closed the door and then reached down and picked it up. It was a nickel but something felt odd about it. Holding it up higher she realized it was a buffalo nickel. "Gosh," she said aloud. "They started making these again?"

The touch from the nickel triggered her first vision of Whispering Pines. Elegant, roomy, on what looked to be a lot of land covered with gardens and barns of all shapes and sorts. A modern Corvette Stingray car was in the driveway.

Gail could not let the back of Chuck's chair go because now she needed the support. This vision's strength and flow was powerful as it merged into the one from the night and pizza. She could no longer remember what she saw in which vision. All she saw now was the Whispering Pines Manson only the car parked in the drive was much larger, older, one of the "big boat" types of the late 50's. Had her vision time shifted?

A man got out of the car, walked around to the passenger side and helped a woman open and close the door of the vehicle. She was beautiful and her name is Claudia. Gail could feel her joy, feelings of elation and warmth. She and the man had just married. His last name was Veal and the couple had returned after their honeymoon. The man was Chuck Veal's Great Grandfather.

The front door of Whispering Pines opened and out stepped another beautiful woman, Abatha, she was Claudia's sister only something emitted from Abatha that felt overwhelming to Gail. Was it rage, hatred, jealousy? Was it something even darker such as intent to kill, murder? A voice in Gail's head spoke out, "Abatha is going to murder her sister and new husband."

"Why?" Gail heard herself ask.

Chuck, unaware of her vision occurring, asked "Why what?"

When she did not respond, he opened his mouth to ask again but something made him wait, watch, not speak.

In the vision, a voice replied to Gail, "Because the man she truly loved spurned her, and instead he fell in love and eloped with her older sister, Claudia."

Now it made sense to Gail. It was too late now for Abatha to have him; thus, she was going to be sure that nobody would ever have him or Claudia again. She was going to kill them that night.

When the vision passed, Gail felt her face go pale. She looked down at Chuck who was watching her intently and realized she had spoken aloud. "Oh, uh, I mean, why, I did not mean to startle you when I came in just now."

Chuck knew better but decided to let it slide. Instead, he took a slow breath of air and pretended to be grumpy. "Darn, Gail. Don't sneak up on me like that."

This was not the first time a worker had caught him distracted with his back to the door. He had sworn to rearrange things a dozen times over the years so he could see the doorway and computer screen all in one glance but finding the time to make the changes was the secret. The current layout of computer desk against the wall and doorway behind his back was the norm for most offices but not a great idea for Chuck's mindset.

Gail, getting her normal feelings back, apologized again. "I'm sorry. When you did not answer I decided to stop by."

Chuck waved a hand in the air and smiled. "I should thank you, Gail. For years, I have put off moving my desk around so I can face the door. You have finally convinced me it has to be done before somebody gives me a heart attack."

Silence ensued while Chuck once again absorbed the shock of having Gail staring at him. She was a short, beautiful woman with olive colored eyes that danced with a mixture of playtime and humor. Right then she was smiling that killer smile that he hated as her boss but loved as a man. More and more lately, he could not be in the same room with her without turning soft and mushy inside. She was the first and only woman on earth who did that to him. His mind was still trying to react around her but it was not working out so well.

When the silence got painful, he said, "I thought you were still on the other side of the wall and I did not hear you come in. Maybe I should buy a cowbell and hang around your neck or something."

"Well, I would have knocked on the door but you don't seem to have one."

Chuck noticed she was wearing a modest but short yellow dress that highlighted her petite figure. She kept her long hair pulled back in a ponytail and kept that flipped forward over one shoulder. Everything about her seemed to radiate and glow, fill up the room, especially her face. Hers was a shockingly beautiful face, complimented by high, Indian cheekbones laid out on a plate of silky smooth complexion.

Noticing his stare, Gail looked down at the front of her clothing. "What? Is the zipper open? Did I spill coffee?"

Chuck pried his eyes away and said, "I'm sorry, I was trying to remember something. I did not mean to stare like that. Umm, did you say you wanted me to check file seven?"

"Number seven. Yes. That's it on your monitor now I think."

Glancing back at the device, he said, "Okay, and that is another reason I need to rearrange my office. Everyone who walks in can see what I'm doing on the computer."

Gail smiled but said nothing so Chuck kept the conversation going. "How long have you been in this department?"

"About six months why, are you going to dump me back where I came from in advertising?"

"What? Lord no. I just could not remember when you came in with us."

In her best, southern belle voice Gail teased, "Well, oh my, isn't it amazing how time flies when you're working hard?"

Switching back to her normal voice, she asked, "Anyway, do you agree Marty needs to move that article back to the weekend Magazine section?"

"I'd rather set fire to my hair than try and bend Marty about anything, Gail. But I have to admit, it is rather funky why he put it in the Business section."

"Robby's article is the usual stuff, humor and human interest so I think it needs to go where it normally goes, in the Sunday Magazine. Do you think Marty hit the wrong key and placed it wrong?"

"That is possible but our jobs are to bang out the city and State news and let Marty decide in the print copy to put it. It could be an error on his part so I guess I had better bring it up with him. The worse he could do is fire me."

Unknown to Gail, Chuck had asked Marty to move Gail to his department in the first place. When he asked why, he had told him about her personality and he wanted her to join his work team and contribute. Well, it was not an entire lie at least.

Chuck said, "Did you know there is talk of syndication for Robby?"

Her eyes lowered slightly. "I wouldn't doubt it. He's good...informative and funny...he can capture a reader who wouldn't stick around otherwise."

"Yea, they keep reading just to see what's coming next."

"I guess syndication would be the next advance in career for such a promising journalist."

"Are you jealous, Gail?"

"Jealous? Well, yea, maybe a little. Still, I'm glad to see someone getting into syndication and if anybody around here deserves it, Robby does."

"Okay, well, I'll get with Marty and see if he did this by mistake and let you know. If he fesses up to it then it's a good editing catch for you."

"It's like you said, Chuck. We don't decide where to put a story but we should bring a possible error to his attention. Putting that article in the Business section is wasting a good piece like this on the money changers."

"Yea, but rich, dirty old men in charge of billion-dollar factories need something funny to read like the rest of us. Marty might be offering them a smile between the number crunches."

Gail shook her head, "Who knows about such things."

"I'll talk to him before lunch."

She turned to leave but Chuck stalled her again. "Gail, I may be leaving work this afternoon early and I will not be back until Monday."

"Oh? Are you taking a little vacation or something?"

"I wish but it is a family thing."

Gail nodded. "You sound serious. I don't mean to pry but is everything okay?"

"Well, maybe. It is my brother down in Georgia. I have been trying to contact him but he is not answering my calls. If I still have not heard from him by two or three o'clock today then I am going to ride down there and check. I should be back by Monday."

Gail's eyes sparked at the word Georgia. It clicked with her vision of Whispering Pines. "When was the last time you talked to him? My sister will drop off the earth for a week without calling me."

Chuck shook his head. "It has been over four days and this is not like him at all. I talked to him last weekend and nothing since. I have worn out the resend button on my keypad calling. I am starting to worry that he dropped it into a saw at the timber mill or something."

"Is there someone else down there you can call?"

"I have been trying. About an hour ago, I reached some new person at the timber mill office, Thompson I think he said his name was. He claims to be the crew boss but I have never heard of him. He told me that Matt is out of town on business and gave me his cell number like an idiot."

"Well, he is your oldest brother and a grown, single man."

"How do you know he's single, Gail?"

"Because you did not mention trying to call his wife who by logic would be the first choice if he was missing."

Gail could not dare tell him how she already knew a lot about Chuck's brother from touching office machines or even the water fountain right after Chuck had been using them.

"You don't know Matt like I do, Gail. We are close and we talk every four or five days at most. We are easy to reach with one another. Always reply to the phones. I guess it is just my gut telling me that something is wrong or he would be in touch by now."

Gail, sensing his efforts to control his temper, asked, "What about another relative or maybe a girlfriend?"

"I called the West Creek County Sheriff's office. A childhood friend of ours is a Deputy there. Ended up with the Sheriff on the line and he said our friend was on assignment out of town and could not be reached. I asked if he could send a patrol car by the house and check. He called me back later and said that Matt's car was not in the yard and everything seemed okay. I don't know who Matt's girlfriend might be these days and we don't have any other relatives in the area."

Gail bit her lower lip and stood watching the floor wax fade. How could she explain her visions to him and not ruin her career?

Chuck added, "I don't think the Sheriff gives a damn, but I know something is wrong."

Gail fidgeted with her hands "Well? We can cover for you so going down there might be a good idea. It's not all that far is it?"

"Not too bad, about five hours or so. If we could finish up my work early I guess Marty would refrain from firing me when I take off work."

"We would have to finish?" Gail said smiling.

"Well, okay. I will have to push it hard but I know you wouldn't lean back and just watch me doing all that hard work alone, would you?"

"If the boss wants something done then I do it. It's full steam ahead and all that stuff."

Perhaps under normal circumstances, Chuck would have never uttered it aloud, but the words fell out of his mouth before his brain could hit the brakes. "There's a bit more to his missing than I have told you about. I could use your investigative curiosity and skills down there. I guess if I asked you to go for those reasons alone, I might not get slapped, right?"

The vision flared back in Gail's mind only this time there were dark shadows creeping near her view of the mansion. Chuck, noticing the expression on her face shift, figured he had over stepped his bounds and made a horrible mistake. Her next words would most likely be threats of sexual harassment charges against him. Then he saw something more. Was it cold fear? "I am so sorry, Gail. That did not come out right."

His voice brought her back and her expression cleared. Slightly blustered she asked, "He lives in West Creek County, Georgia?"

"How did you know that? Have I mentioned it before?"

"I guess so, Chuck. How else would I have known?

"Okay," she said as though some great burden of decision was now resolved. "I have always wanted to see that part of Georgia. I have never been in the heart of redneck country. Do you want me to follow you down in my car?"

Chuck felt the floor slide beneath him almost and said quickly, "Oh no, we can ride together in my car and there is a spare bedroom at Matt's house so you can stay there. I will sleep at the mill on an office sofa or something."

Gail said nothing, only nodded, so Chuck continued talking. "I really could use your help. Every bone in my body says something is wrong and you are a talented investigator."

Gail, biting her lower lip, nodded but said nothing. Chuck was about to explode from the gut wrenching fear in his stomach. He found his voice again and this time, could not make it shut up."You do know that rednecks are stereotyped, good old boys. In truth, they are nothing but true southern gentlemen. Yes, a lot of them drive pickup trucks and some even chew tobacco but few will fail to open a door for a lady or stop and help a motorist in distress."

Gail, staring at him with a growing twinkle in her eyes, broke in to his rambling talk. "I know, Chuck, I'm from North Carolina, not New York City."

Taking a deep breath for the first time (it seemed) that day, Chuck grinned and relaxed but a second wave struck and his mouth started another round of excited jabber. "Matt could be called a Redneck I guess, but people have tagged anything southern as also being redneck and that's simply not true. Anyway, you will like Georgia except for the heat, humidity, gnats and mosquitoes. Everything else is great. If we have enough time on the way back, I will take you through the mountains of North Georgia. I bet you don't know that North Carolina and Georgia share a border. You can drive from Georgia directly into North Carolina and skip over South Carolina entirely."

Gail, now openly amused at his banter, laughed aloud. "I did not know that."

Chuck nodded. "I'll go up and see Marty and ask about the article. Then I will drop the bombshell on him that you and I are going out of town following a hot story. Think he will buy that?"

"From the sound of it, I seriously doubt it. Besides, what will be more fun will be what we tell everyone in the office after we get back. That should start some rumors flying. Let me know what he says other than no. I will be in my cubicle behind that wall over there in front of your desk."

After she had gone, Chuck sat staring at the space just vacated feeling stunned and excited, all in one emotion. It was true he was seriously worried about Matt, and the concern grew deeper by the hour, but it was also true he could use her intuition and instincts down in Georgia to help find him. He was not using Matt as an excuse to drag her off into a weekend of stealthy romance.

Chuck again realized there was a ton of work to finish if he and Gail were going to get out by 2:00 pm or so. He swiveled back to the computer, reopened his work sheet, and tried to regain the previous concentration from before the episode with Gail. "Why am I holding back all the information she needs to know about the trip? Would she refuse to go if he told her everything?"

Chuck realized he would not be able to concentrate on work so he gave up, saved the file on the computer, and then pushed away from the desk. First he had to get permission for both of them to leave work but regardless of permission or not, he had to get down there and find Matt."

Stepping into the hallway, Chuck turned left toward the elevator. As he passed the opening to Gail's office he saw her seated behind her own desk, a desk she had moved to face the doorway, which seemed odd compared to his own. She waved and mouthed the words "Good luck!"

The short elevator ride up to the third floor was brief although another female employee had stepped into the car with him at the last second. Once the door closed, the machine gave a short lurch upward, and started to move. The woman, apparently not pleased with such rides, gasped slightly. Chuck said, "I bet you wish the floors in these things were made of glass so we could look down and see everything below."

The woman got off on the second floor without so much as a smile. He thought, sourpuss, no sense of humor. The car stopped on the third floor and Chuck stepped out, turning toward the Senior Editor's office that had a real door.

The brown eyed, light skinned man behind the desk looked up, shook his head, and said, "The answer is no. It will be the same answer that I give you tomorrow and the day after that. Anything beyond that time frame we'll discuss later."

Chuck smiled. "Okay. Then I don't need to ask if you want the winning numbers for tomorrow's power ball lottery?"

Marty looked up and grinned. "Now that might get you a yes. What's on your mind this morning?"

"Two things; first, one of my people think that Robby's story, file seven, does not belong in the business section. Did you put it there by mistake?"

Marty looked at him questionably and shook his head side to side. "It's no mistake. What is the second question that will also be answered with a no?"

Chuck held his palms outward. "Then I'll say no more and we'll just call in sick tomorrow and surprise you."

Marty lowered his head and peered out across the upper rim of the eyeglasses and asked, "We? Who are we? Nobody takes off work on a Friday around this place. If you drop dead of a heart attack then you can be two hours late getting here but that's it."

"Look, Marty. I know it is not a good day to take off work but I need to go check something in Georgia. My brother down there, Matt, has not answered my calls this week. I need to run check on him. There are some things he and I discussed in the last few weeks that makes me very concerned about the situation."

"You sound pretty worried, Chuck. If you think it is that urgent then by all means take off. Your team can cover for you."

"Well, that's just the thing. I need to take Gail Synerson along with me. She's a good investigator and I could use the help in case something has gone wrong down there."

With raised eyebrows, the editor paused, rolled his eyes upward, and said, "Gail? You and Gail are going to spend a weekend together. Do you think I am going to order a female employee to do that? For that matter maybe you should ask her about this before talking to me?"

"No, Marty, it's not what you think and besides, she's already agreed to go and help. It is important that I get down there soon as I can so she and I can wrap up our work by 1:00 pm or so and get going. If any breaking news comes out while we are down there, we can link in with our laptops."

Marty twirled the blue pen in his right hand and sat thinking. "What did your brother get into? Was it legal?"

"I promise you it was legal but I honestly don't have time to lay it all out for you right now Marty. All I know for sure is that he has disappeared. Nobody from down there, including the law, is telling me anything. I am worried and I need Gail to go with me. As a stranger, she could snoop around better than I and find out what's going on."

"Okay, Chuck, but I need both of you back here Monday. Got it?"

He stood and smiled. "Thanks, Marty. I owe you one."

As Chuck reached the door, Marty called, "Hey, Chuck? You really don't like Robby's article where I put it?"

He shrugged and said, "It might be okay if you let the headline suggest it's not to be taken as a serious piece for the business people. Just don't give me credit for spotting that placement. Gail is the one who pointed it out to me."

Marty smiled then said, "Okay. I might check with her and see what is really on her mind. Good luck finding your brother and if you need anything..."

"Yes?" Chuck said smiling.

Marty shook his head and finished; "If you need anything then I suggest you find a way to get it without bothering me."

He waved and left the office stopping by Gail's desk. She was on the phone and pointed at the ceiling letting him know that she was talking with Marty upstairs. He gave her the okay sign and walked away.

"She'll back out on me at the last second. You just wait and see." Chuck mumbled and dropped back into his world of work.

The next time he looked at the wall clock, it was just before 2:00 pm. At the same instant, his cell phone beeped with a text message. The late hour shocked him because he had managed to blank his mind and excitement, and fall back into his work. Scolding his ignorance of the late hour, his first thought was Matt had finally sent a message. If he has sent a message, will I cancel the trip with Gail or lie about it and we drive down anyway?

Quickly Chuck clicked the cell phone and checked the message. It was from Gail.

Okay. Here it comes. Dear John, I don't want to go with you anymore to Georgia.

With some dread, he punched the message up onscreen and read; "Leaving work right now for home. See you around 4:00 pm?"

His heart bounced twice off a rib or something. Her address came through in a second text with a short "ha ha you may need my address to pick me up!"

He numbly hit the reply button and spent ten minutes fumbling with the device's awkward keypad, typing in "See you 4:00 pm. Boss said bring laptop just in case."

She was actually going with him. "There is a God," he mumbled and closed out his work for the day.

***

At 3:49 pm, Chuck steered his Jeep into the driveway at the address typed into his GPS unit. The backdrop view of her house had King's Mountain in the distance. It was a beautiful looking scene but from this far away, the mountain appeared not much taller than the back yard trees. He cut the engine and got out, half expecting no one to be home with maybe a note on the door that read, "Sorry Chuck but I can't go. Have safe trip and see you Monday at work."

From the distance, he did not see any notes or paper taped to the door and before he could get out and start walking toward the porch, the door swung open and Gail stood there, dressed in a neat soft green pants suit and holding a small suitcase in her left hand. He waved and she waved back, motioning one finger in the air and mouthing the word "one minute." Then she vanished back into the doorway.

Glancing about, he noted the neat yards and wondered if she hired the landscaping and lawn care or maybe had a boyfriend who took care of everything. That thought, turned sour in his mind and lingered until she was half way to the car before he realized it.

He made a fast dash toward her with intentions of carrying her luggage and laptop bag but by the time he reached her, she was less than ten feet from the car and still in full motion.

Chuck took her things, led her to the passenger side door of the car and helped her inside. Then he opened the back door and placed her suitcase on the open seat. She said, "I better keep the laptop up front with us. It has cell services for the open road."

He shook his head and said, "Turn it off. We don't want the office bothering us now do we?"

She laughed. "I do hope that was a joke."

"Well Gail, if Marty calls us to come back to work then it's your fault entirely."

He closed the rear door and climbed in. Backing out of the driveway he asked, "Are you hungry? We could stop and grab a bite to eat before we do any serious road time."

"I'm fine. I ate a salad when I first got home but if you want something, we can stop. It's your call."

"A salad is hardly anything to eat so how about a fat steak?" There is a good place near Charlotte. It's about two hours down the road so we can wait and decide when we get closer."

Once on the interstate, they made general chit chat for the first ten or so miles talking about matters at work. Then Chuck remembered that his cell phone battery was weak and needed recharging. He reached for the auto charger plug and tried to find the insert socket on the phone while stealing glances at the traffic ahead. Gail, seeing his struggle, took the phone, the plug, and said, "I'll get it. I hope I remembered to bring the wall charger for mine."

What she may have failed to notice was the effect it had on Chuck when her soft hands had touched his and how many skipped heartbeats it caused, but what he never realized was the effect it had on Gail touching his phone. She suddenly saw Chuck sitting in his apartment a few weeks back, talking over the cell with Matt. His brother was telling him something about their family history and how, if he could find a way to prove it, that he and Chuck would be the rightful owners of Whispering Pines Estate.

When it passed, she finished plugging in the cell charger and set the unit down in the cup holder between the two front seats. "Thanks" he said, not noticing how pale she had suddenly become. A few moments later, Gail felt calm enough to ask, "So what else can you tell me about your brother? What if we drive up in his yard and he's out back mowing the lawn or something?"

"Here it comes," Chuck thought. "She is going to listen to "the rest of the story" and then demand that you turn around and take her home. Heck she might even demand you pull over right here and let her out of the car."

He took a deep breath. "I hope that happens. I hope that he is out cutting grass or something simple or logical. I guess there is a lot more I had better explain to you before we get too far out of town. I just don't know where to start."

"Is he an axe murderer on the run from the law?"

Chuck laughed. "Worse, he's a timber baron wiping out every spotted owl in the state."

Gail pointed at the road ahead and said, "So let's hear it and remember that every journey of a thousand miles starts with the first gallon of gas." They laughed.

Chuck eased the Jeep into the left lane and passed a couple of cars that were moving at less than the 75 mph Jeep. Cops will usually let you get away with a few miles an hour over the limit.

As they cleared the cars, Chuck hit the right blinker and said "The last time I talked to Matt he was excited about some new information on the family research he has been doing for a while. He told me he was about to break open an old unresolved family matter but did not want to tell me too much over the phone."

"Oh, a mystery," Gail said teasingly. "I love intrigue and mystery. So a relative in your family is an axe murderer?"

"No, mainly horse thieves and moonshiner, anyway, the intrigue of his not talking over the phone was my feeling as well. I tried to push him into saying more but he refused. I'd planned to get down there soon out of curiosity alone but we've been so busy at work lately and all."

"Boy that's a fact" she replied. "Do you think this new information he found has anything to do with why he's not answering the phones?"

"I'm not sure about anything right now. Who knows? My hometown is pretty weird and loaded with intrigue. One can find just about anything down there if you look deep enough under the surface. Everything from crooked cops to rich self-centered rich brats, you know the sort of people who own just about everything in sight and have everyone important in their back pockets."

Gail nodded. "I know the type of place you mean. I grew up on the outskirts of Charlotte and that city is not much different from most small towns. The Mayor washes the dirty dishes of those who pay them under the table while members of the city council mow the lawns outside. Same thing as small towns only there are more people and greater money involved."

"Sounds like an HBO movie or something" Chuck said.

"The only person that washes my dishes is made in China and my grass gets cut by my boyfriend."

Chuck almost choked. What else did he expect; that a beautiful girl such as Gail did not have a boyfriend? "Your boyfriend lets you run off for a weekend with your boss?"

"He doesn't know because I'm sneaking away. However, yes, I have a boyfriend who cuts my lawn. He says we are going to be married one day, just as soon as he gets his license to drive."

"Oh, you like them young do you?"

"Only the ones who charge me thirty- five dollars to cut the grass then go home to their mother. Sammy is a sweet boy but he has a crush on me. Did you see the condition of my yards? He's constantly working on them but refuses real pay."

"Well I bet your real boyfriend is jealous."

"We broke up several months ago, so what about the women in your life? Do you have problems remembering which ones you've asked out on what night?"

"Right, well, my last girlfriend left me for some cute fourteen year old boy that cuts grass for pretty ladies who live alone."

They both laughed and continued the light hearted prattle back and forth both during the food stop and then for another two hours further down the interstate until Gail had gone quiet and fallen asleep. That is when Chuck realized he was in awe of the figure seated beside him in the car.

# Chapter 3

He glanced at the radio's digital clock that read 8:36 pm. His eyes glanced back to the highway in time to see a road sign that read West Creek was fourteen miles ahead. He was almost home.

The conversation with Gail had ended a half hour earlier when she had fallen asleep, curled up in the seat beside him. She was great company and fun to hear. Her lively jabber kept things from going dull and her mouth was in constant vocal motion. He loved every sound of her soft country voice, rambling about anything and everything but now, except for the normal hum of the engine and road noise, the inside the car had fallen silent.

Chuck glanced away from the road and stared at the raw beauty of the creature beside him. She was dazzling even in the dim wash of the instrument lights. Why, he wondered, did I buy a car with bucket seats like this one? She could be sitting next to me with her head lying on my shoulder. My arm around her...and... and..."

He let the thought fade away but his eyes remained fixed on her beauty. He was glad she'd come and once savvy to all the mystery of Matt's disappearance, he was even happier she hadn't demanded he take her back home.

It was full dark outside and the headlights illuminated the two-lane blacktop highway well enough. He enjoyed night driving because things seemed to go smoother and there was less traffic on the road. He seldom got sleepy behind the wheel. It wasn't likely to happen either, especially now, with Gail along in the car and having talked away the worst of the boring miles as they passed.

Chuck's eyes had been away from the road ahead too long staring at Gail. It was as though his driving duties were totally forgotten the moment his eyes tracked over to her face. The car's right side tires roamed off the edge of the pavement and the sudden bumpy ride on the rough right of way snapped his trance and attention back to the business of driving. He thought, if I keep this up, I'll kill us both.

A few moments later, his eyes were back, soaking in another long, inquisitive look. From deep inside he had to admit he had never seen a more beautiful creature in his entire life, and then the car tires slipped off the pavement a second time in as many miles. His eyes shot back forward and gave witness to an alarming scene up ahead. A deer herd was crossing, but they weren't moving quickly enough to clear the road.

Gail, startled awake by the car's unusually bumpy ride, or her sixth sense, sat up, then with eyes wide in disbelief cried, "Chuck? Look out." The herd froze in the car's headlights. Unlike other creatures of that size, these were light sensitive to the point of paralysis and were now blocking the road ahead.

With no obvious way to steer around or through without striking one of the hundred pound animals at 60 mph, habit forced Chuck's foot down hard on the brake pedal. He knew there would be no stopping in time to avoid a collision so his intent was to get as much speed off the car as he could before impact.

The anti-lock brake system engaged against the full force of his foot on the pedal and the seat belt retaining mechanisms clanked loudly doing their jobs.

More from desperation than conscious planning, Chuck kept looking for an out and saw it forming slowly. A small opening had appeared between two of the light shocked animals, a hole perhaps just large enough to get the car through safely. He released the brakes, steered the car toward the space... and prayed.

A top-heavy SUV such as his would not take kindly to plowing over two or three animals the size of half-grown cows. If such an accident didn't kill him and Gail, it would create extra problems for the weekend ahead. He had enough problems already without adding a wreck to the list.

Chuck's life didn't flash before his eyes nor did things move in slow motion. Stuff simply happened in the blink of an eye as the car veered toward the space between two animals. "Hit them at a glance and not direct," Chuck's mind screamed.

Two deer rolled off the passenger side of the car and bounced away into the night. Then the hole before him opened wider. The Jeep zipped through, skimming one of the creatures on the butt and shoving it aside. Before them lay open clear roadway only the Jeep was angled toward the grassy edge. To try to correct it too quickly could send them rolling, and to not correct at all might send them flaring off into the trees or worse, into a deep drop off.

Chuck felt the front wheels hit the grass and start to lose traction. His father, who had taught him to drive many moons ago, had impressed on his skills a unique knowledge about vehicle skids on clay-topped dirt roads. "When all else fails, stomp the gas."

Chuck floored the Cherokee. The centrifugal force snapped the front of the car higher, which added more force to the rear pulling wheels giving them extra traction. They broke free and spun which turned the front of the car just enough to dig into the grass, and this concludes today's lesson on how to drive like an idiot.

The Jeep sheered back toward the pavement and Chuck was able to regain control. Keeping in mind, the Jeep was top heavy, he let it slide down a not too sharply inclined embankment. There, things and motions stopped. The world was still. There had been no ear shattering crash sounds, no jolts or jerks, everything simply stopped moving. Except for the idling engine, all was quiet.

Chuck and Gail looked at one another, then around outside in disbelief, realizing they were not upside down or smashed against a tree and on fire. If the Jeep couldn't pull back up the slight incline, Chuck would engage the four-wheel drive and that would get them back on the asphalt. Maybe there would be no need to call a tow truck or the State patrol because there was no real accident...no damage and therefore, no wreck.

Except for the car's own headlights, the highway was dark and empty in both directions.

Chuck turned to Gail and asked, "Are you okay?"

"I'm shaken but not stirred. Were those deer in the middle of the road?"

"Yea, they can be dangerous at night in this part of the State."

"I hadn't noticed" Gail teased.

Chuck laughed and shook his head. "That was my first experience with these new ABS brakes. I guess you could say they work rather well. Remind me to write a nice article next week about Lee Iacocca or something."

"I can't believe what those deer just did."

With a straight face Chuck replied, "That ain't nothing. Wait until you see what I just did."

They laughed hard and long, more to relieve tension than sour humor. Chuck wiped the tears from his eyes and eased down on the gas pedal. The rear wheels spun then caught traction and pulled the Cherokee up the incline. At the top, he spun the wheel clockwise and straightened out on the roadway, then pressed the gas and the car was back up to road speed quickly. "Fun ride, want to go again?"

With a wary ear, he listened but heard nothing coming from under the car or the hood that meant anything broken. At least there were no shakes, pings, or knocks.

"I can't believe we missed them," he said once convinced the car was in good working order. "God, there were at least a dozen just standing around back there...drinking coffee and shooting the breeze."

"You did good driving back there Chuck. At least, you didn't kill anything or us. It's a good thing you bought this Oldsmobile don't you think?"

"It's a Grand Cherokee Jeep, Gail."

"Cars are cars. Motor oil is motor oil. Where did you learn to drive? New York City?"

"I learned on the farm, in an old pickup truck. I was driving trucks and tractors before I was ten years old. Those clay top roads were slicker than ice when it rained and hard and dusty as concrete otherwise. You either learned to drive with the flow or against it and sometimes you were just free to spin the steering wheel and look busy while the truck went in whatever direction it chose."

"I'll bet. Sort of like back there wasn't it?"

"No, back there was an expert piece of idiot luck handling."

Gail laughed. "I'll take idiot luck any day of the week. I learned to drive on my Uncle's farm. The first time I drove into town after getting my license, I hit a man who was crossing the street. He walked in front of me. I found out later what the crosswalks were supposed to mean."

"Didn't you see him quick enough?"

She shook her head sideways. "I honestly didn't see him until it was too late. I wasn't going fast so he wasn't hurt or anything. He bounced right back up and yelled, "What the heck is the matter with you, lady? Are you blind or something?"

I yelled back, "Me? Blind? Hell, I hit you didn't I?"

Chuck roared with laughter and his already tired, reddish eyes watered again with tears.

"I'm not fussing or anything" Gail said more seriously "I'm just curious. Why did you leave the Interstate and go this way? I would imagine a two-lane highway like this one is more dangerous, especially at night, than the Interstate. Isn't it?"

"Not entirely. I always come this way. Besides, you don't get to see the real countryside if you're locked to the concrete jungle of an Interstate. It's hard to get a feel for an area if you zip through it at 70 mph."

"Maybe so," Gail said. "But you don't have to weave and swerve around deer herds often on the Interstate."

"Don't bet on it. The deer cross the road wherever they please and they don't care whether it's a four-lane highway or a logging path through the woods. If they got someplace to go, then they go."

"Is that woods around us now or swamp? I can't tell in the dark. I thought I saw some water back there underneath the trees."

Chuck pointed at the trees lining both sides of the highway. "This? This is a farm and you are in the middle of a row of crops. The water back there was probably a creek the beavers dammed up or something. They are a real pain sometimes."

"What do you mean a farm? I don't see any corn or anything; just trees."

"Yes, just trees and those trees are the crops on the farm. Several large timber companies own this property and they plant those hybrid trees as crops. Lot of money you're driving through right now. If you want to see real wild, natural woods then I'll take you there tomorrow."

"I've seen the woods before, Chuck. It's not like I'm a big city girl or something. Like I told you earlier, I grew up in North Carolina, not New York City. We do have woods in North Carolina, you know."

"Not like these around here. Some of these are strange. Matt and his timber crews can tell you about some weird stuff. They've had odd things happen while logging out an area."

"Yea we've got our share of so called Big Foot sightings and haunted woods back home too. You know the type. The haunted bridges, enchanted forest and stuff like that."

"Which company owns all this property? I haven't seen so much as a house for the past few miles. All I've noticed is trees and the occasional wild deer."

Chuck laughed. "Most of this land coming up ahead is either owned or leased by my brother and me. We have over 1600 acres of pine saplings that will be ready for harvest soon. The rest we lease from private individuals. Timber is a good investment and Georgia is one of the nation's top producers of pine. That's what most of these woods have growing around here and they are worth a fortune if you manage them properly."

"You and Matt own this land? Goodness and what about the animals? When they cut all the trees where do the animals go?"

"Most of them cross the road."

"So I see. Were those deer out looking for a new home because the timber barons are destroying their habitat?"

"They were probably out looking for some poor farmer's grain field. A herd like that can destroy a farm crop in one or two nights. Moreover, we timber barons are not stupid. We plant two trees for every one cut."

"Yea," Gail chided. "But you barons only do it for profits and not habitat protection."

"A friend of mine and his girlfriend were out riding around one night. A deer jumped out in front of the car and he swerved, lost control and hit a ditch. The car flipped over and threw his girlfriend out. Neither of them was wearing a seatbelt and the car landed on top of her. She died later at the hospital."

"I'm sorry, Chuck. I've heard of things like that. It's awful."

A moment of silence passed and Gail asked, "Why can't they do something to keep the animals away from the roads?"

"Well, they try. The state patrol and sheriff have this whistle like thing mounted in the grill of the patrol cars. It's supposed to make a sound that deer don't like. Some cops say they work and some say they don't. The State lets the farmers thin a herd down between hunting seasons if the numbers get too large. It's a tender balancing act between man and beast but Georgia regulates it pretty well every year."

"My daddy hunted a lot on my Uncle's farm. It was a dairy farm."

"Did your pop ever shoot a cow thinking it was a deer?"

"Well, my mom always said he was good at shooting bull."

Both of them laughed aloud. Chuck asked, "Do you like the taste of deer meat?"

"It's okay if it's fixed properly to get the wild taste out of it. I can handle it."

"My mom could fix some of the best venison you've ever ate. She would stir fry the meat into her all famous gravy and let it simmer. God, I would commit murder for one of her deer steaks right now."

"I've never heard you talk about her. Is she still alive?"

"No. She died about five years ago right after Dad died from cancer. They were a rowdy couple. It was not your perfect marriage but in later years, I realized they stayed together because they simply loved to fight and argue. Matt always said they loved and lived to hate each other. Anyway, they lasted for 42 years of emotional battles and we kids are no worse off for the experience."

"Your dad left the property and the timber mill to Matt when he died? What about you?"

"He left it to both of us. I own half but Matt has expanded way beyond what we got from Dad. I would never take a dime out of the operation although I guess, legally, I could, but in my mind, it all belongs to Matt, lock, stock, and barrel. It's earned some fairly good money over the years too."

"Why did you leave West Creek County? Why didn't you stay and help run the Mill?"

"I wanted to be a writer and newspaper journalist. Our hometown paper is not the New York Times. It's also owned and operated by the Pary family which...."

Chuck's voice faded and Gail's memory raced back to that night with the buffalo nickel. Pary, Abatha Pary, jealous, mad enough to kill, did kill. She had murdered Thomas Veal and his new bride, Claudia. "Veal?" some voice from inside her cried. It had not occurred to Gail that Veal meant anything until now. Chuck Veal her boss, the man driving her to the source of the vision?

"Step back...step back...don't touch the nickel."

Chuck's voice returned, right where it had left off in mid sentence. "...Doesn't see eye to eye with my family, so I decided to move away but you see how far I got with that, don't you?"

"Yes I do." She said as calmly as possible. "You're one of the best copy editors and summary writers in the business but I've never seen anything you've written beyond a few thousand words or so."

Should she ask? "Chuck? Have you ever heard of a place around your area called Whispering Pines Estate?"

The shock of the name almost sent him swerving into a passing eighteen-wheeler truck. His eyes all but bulged out of their sockets and he spun his head and looked directly at Gail. "Where on earth did you hear about Whispering Pines?"

She tried to act matter of fact as her mind assembled a quick cover statement, something she had learned to do over her life in hiding her abilities from others. "You mentioned the newspaper name Pary, and somewhere or other in my plundering around the internet I've come across the name or maybe even the online edition of the paper. Either way I've read about the family and their estate called Whispering Pines." Then she thought to herself, and if you believe that, there's a bridge I can sell you.

She pointed back at the road ahead reminding Chuck that he needed to get back to the business of driving and take his eyes off her.

Snapping his eyes back to the road, Chuck let her stumbling into Whispering Pines on the Internet warble around in his mind. "It is possible you know. Type Whispering Pines Estate into the Yahoo search engine and what comes up?" He'd never done it before.

"Wow. Uh, yea there's a Whispering Pines Estate down home and Miss Abatha Pary owns it and the newspaper in West Creek County. I'm amazed you've even heard of it."

Gail sighed. "He bought it, now quick girl, change the subject."

"Chuck? Are you keeping your best written material hidden or something; maybe working on a book perhaps?"

"Yes, I'm working on a book. Who knows, one day it might be finished and published. It's about this newspaper guy who meets a beautiful girl."

Gail smiled and held her eyes on him. The stare was so long he felt his face grow warm. "I'm just one of those people who are cursed with the need to put pen to paper and once I get going you can't shut me up. I'll write something longer than Gone with the Wind in one breath. I can't cut off at the newspaper limit of a thousand words so I have to trash up my computer's hard drive with stuff I've written that's longer."

"Yea, I'm almost the same way." A few miles passed underneath them and suddenly Gail was back at it again. "Curiosity is a terrible thing to waste." She thought.

"What was that about the Pary family? Are they the social leaders or something?"

"They think so because Miss Abatha Pary owns everything in sight except our property and a few other small operations. Her nephew and niece watch after the family's holdings because she's up there in age, probably her late eighties or so. They stay with her at Whispering Pines."

"That's enough, girl. Don't push your luck."

Several moments of silence passed between them. The tree line on their right suddenly disappeared and an open, empty area faded off into the darkness. Gail squinted through the car glass and asked, "Is that a valley or something over there? Where did the trees go?"

"I don't think it's a valley. The area around here is flat. That's a field. Cow pasture I guess."

"I guess so. The farmers have to eat too even when the timber companies chase them off the land."

Chuck smirked kindly. "Raising timber in Georgia is a type of farming. We don't have those hundred-year-old stands of hardwood like in the Pacific Northwest. If it were daylight, you could see the forests around here are set in rows, like a corn crop or something. The trees are money crops, just like anything else a farmer grows. The pine trees are the moneymakers for operations like those that Matt owns. These trees through here are about fifteen years old, I would guess and they are just about ready for harvest. Once cut, the field is planted again so the critters will return and all is fine and well for the next fifteen years."

"Did you and Matt buy up all this land around here?"

"Well, our Dad left us about 1,000 acres when he died. I've rented my share to Matt. He also leases timber rights on another 10,000 acres from other people. Even with that much land under contract, he still has to buy trees from private landowners occasionally. He can't keep up with the demand for rough cut timber otherwise."

A pair of small, reddish eyes appeared in the car's headlights ahead. Gail stiffened and grabbed the car's dash. Chuck slowed the automobile and then swerved into the opposite lane, missing a raccoon."

"This is a busy highway at night, in more ways than mechanical."

"Yea, I guess we've got those critters all over the place. I've seen many animals wander out on the highways. Bobcats, wild turkeys, wild hogs, I even saw a 400 pound bear that crawled out on I-16 early one morning. An 18 wheeler hit him."

"Bears in this part of the country?"

"Not anymore." Chuck said. "In the city of Macon, there's a sign that reads, "Interstate 16...Bear left."

Gail gagged, "Oh God. You are sick. Take me home right now."

Chuck smiled and pointed a thumb behind them. "We can't go back. That deer herd has us cut off. There's no place to go but forward."

A moment passed quietly. Chuck broke the silence. "As for your original question about taking 441rather than the Interstate; it's a little further if you stay on I-85 to Atlanta and then head south on I-75. Normally I just get off on 441 above Athens, Georgia and come this way."

Gail, not liking the resulting silence that followed, said, "Bet that truck killed the bear, huh?"

"What? Oh, the one on 16? Yes, and it didn't improve the looks on the front of that big truck either and it caused a couple of thousand dollars worth of damage."

"I feel sorry for all the animals killed on the highways. They're just trying to do their thing but we punch roads and stuff right through the middle of their living rooms."

"There's a truck stop out at the Interstate. Do you want to grab something to eat before we head out to Matt's place?"

Gail shook her head. "If you don't think your brother would mind, let's stop at a grocery store, pick up a few things, and fix them at the house. I don't know about you, but I love to eat grits and scrambled eggs late at night rather than for breakfast."

He couldn't count the times he had rustled up a quick meal at midnight of the same thing. "Now that sounds like a great idea and I can make a mean ham and cheese omelet."

"It's late, Chuck. Let's just keep it simple and sweet. Plain old grits and scrambled eggs sound good to me."

A road sign zipped past the car. Chuck read it aloud. "Welcome to West Creek."

He took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. "There's a Quick Stop just up the road. They might have eggs for a dozen dollars."

"I don't suppose there's an open Kroger anywhere close by? We could buy a dozen, dozen eggs for a dollar. The price you pay at convenience stores is ridiculous."

"There's one in the next town but that's ten miles away. We can burn the gas, waste the time, and save a few bucks or we can stop at the convenience store here in town. They only charge loan shark rates for a dozen eggs and some of the employees speak half-decent English. It's your choice."

"I guess you are paying for the late night convenience like this. It just seems awful how they jack up the prices as they please."

The car rounded a curve in the road. Chuck eased off the gas and the car slowed. A railroad crossing appeared and the car bumped across it slowly. Then a scatter of buildings on both sides of the street closed about them.

Chuck let the car ease along at 30 mph while glancing around slowly. He said, "Nothing's changed, Gail. This place is frozen in time."

"It's beautiful. When was the last time you were here to visit?"

"Well, Matt came up to see me in North Carolina the last time we got together, so that would be Christmas. I guess it's been a year since I came home. Wow, I didn't realize it had been that long. I came down for a week to help Matt set up a computer system at the mill."

Pointing, he said, "There's the convenience store up ahead. I'll run in and grab some grub."

"You better grab some coffee, too. Instant will be Okay."

"If there isn't coffee, real coffee at Matt's house, then I'm going to call out the National Guard. He would freak out if I came trotting in with instant coffee."

Ten minutes later, they were back on the outskirts of town heading outbound. A few miles flew past then Chuck slowed the car and finally turned onto a clay-topped dirt road. Deep rain ditches marked the route on either side with field fences beyond that. The surface was rutted and wind eroded. The ride was bumpy and uncomfortable. Gail saw cattle loping about under the starlit pastures. Occasionally there would be a clump of small trees and low underbrush near the middle. The aromatic twang of cow manure, mixed with decomposing grain and hay, found its way inside the car through the air-conditioning system. Chuck grinned, embarrassed, then twitched his nose and said, "Do you think cow methane expulsion is contributing to global warming?"

"Did you forget my Uncle's dairy farm? I spent most summers sleeping near cows and they smelled this bad if not worse."

"Matt's place is a little more protected from this and there's a small fishpond in the woods out behind the house. Do you like to fish?"

"I love to fish. I just hate baiting the hook with those squiggly little worms."

"We don't use squiggly little worms. We use ugly, spider looking little crickets. They are better for catching the brim and blue gills we have in the pond. Two or three years ago, Matt stocked the place with channel catfish too. The cats, by now, should weigh about a pound apiece. That's good eating size."

"Chuck?" Gail asked. "If you think something is wrong down here, isn't it possible that Matt could be out in the woods hurt or something? I hate to think this, but what if he died of a heart attack in his sleep. I'm not trying to...."

"No, Gail. It's okay. I have already thought of that but, I remember a long time ago. There was this elderly man. He lived alone in an old shack, a sharecropper's house. He died in his sleep one night and it was three or four days before anyone found him. If something like that had happened to Matt then somebody would have already known by now."

"How would they know?"

"Buzzards, a farmer passing by saw buzzards sitting on the roof and front porch of the house. It was pretty gross but everybody knew what they would find after seeing those buzzards all over the place."

"That's gross."

"Yea, it's gross but it's also a harsh fact. The humidity here is high. It's just hard to tell with the car's air-conditioner running. Right now it's like a steam bath out there and the smells and such carry for miles."

"God, my parents had air-conditioning in the house from the day I can remember but at night, it stays fairly cool in North Carolina."

Chuck had to swerve the Jeep to avoid an angry looking pothole in the middle of the road, and then said, "I know but down here it's not like that. As a kid, we had some big window units that roared like a freight train but God forbid turning the monsters off. If the power went out, which it does often on rural lines such as ours, it can get so hot that you can't sleep, eat, or do much of anything."

"Did that old man who died have air-conditioning?"

"No the windows were open and fans maybe. When he died, those buzzards knew and came running but that's their job you know. Cleaning dead things off the face of God's little earth."

A small forest of tall, lanky oak trees seemed to swallow the fields and then hanging moss-filled limbs swallowed the Jeep. A hundred yards further, Chuck pointed at a small mailbox and single lane road to the right. "That's the place. Now we are going to the woods, my dear."

He spun the steering wheel and started the turn smoothly. Loose gravel crunched beneath the tires. Suddenly, the trees folded back and yielded to a grass-covered yard. Neat flowerbeds flourished around the base of several tree trunks and a quaint, white house stood at the rear of the opening. After taking it all in, Gail let out a slow breath of air and thanked her lucky stars. The house before her was not the one in her nickel vision.

# Chapter 4

Matt Veal's house was large with two huge chimneys rising from either side of the structure. A porch ran the distance of the front with the left side screened. From inside the screened area a yellow light illuminated a wood swing and two chairs.

The halo of another outside light glowed from the back. Chuck said, "He's not home. Look at the grass in the yard. It's over ankle deep. Matt normally keeps the place neat as a pin. He's not here and he hasn't been here for a while, maybe a week I'd say."

Gail said nothing as she looked around. The car veered around a tree base and moved toward the rear of the house. A small barn sat near the back of the property with an open shelter attached to the side. Beneath the shelter stood a boat on a trailer and a scattering of miscellaneous items too dark to see clearly.

Chuck stopped the car and said, "His Trans Am isn't here and there are no lights on inside. He's not home."

He cut the engine and the headlights. Silence engulfed them but not darkness. The yard light, attached near the top of a power line pole, shone brightly about and wires from the pole drifted lazily toward the house. Pine needles covered most of the rear yards with a good spattering of long, dark pinecones dotting the back porch steps and walkway.

Opening the car door, Chuck turned to Gail and said, "Let me go inside first and look. Would you wait here please?"

Gail shook her head. "I'm here to help, Chuck. I'd rather go with you."

He hesitated and then nodded. She was right. This was no time to play the chivalrous hero. "Okay. You're right. Let's go check it out but I can tell you right now there's no one here. Where that blue Trans Am goes, Matt goes. He loves that car."

He got out and stood, looked around a moment then walked around the front of the car and circled back to Gail's door. The chivalry was a habit his mother taught him and judging from how Gail had waited and not opened her own door, she was not ill trained in southern chivalry either.

Opening the door and holding it back for Gail, he glanced out toward the barns and saw nothing but shadows with total darkness beyond. Everything looked normal except the lack of care with the grass and flowerbeds.

Matt, a stickler for keeping things neat outside and inside, was a devoted neatnik. But Chuck needed a bulldozer for his twice annual clean the apartment duties. (If it doesn't move, crawls, or wiggle, then store it in a cabinet somewhere.)

Helping Gail out of the car, he said, "Let's go to the front. There's a key stashed under a brick that opens the door."

Gail nodded and walked hand in hand with him around the corner of the large house. "I hope there aren't any snakes out here," she cried.

"There's only one that I know about and it's only a king snake. Matt lets him stick around to chase off the dangerous critters that might roam onto the property."

"God, I hate snakes. Any kind of snake is a snake to me. Why does he let one stay near the house?"

"A king snake won't hurt you. They also eat the dangerous snakes, like rattlers and moccasins. Matt and I used to keep some for pets when we were growing up. The tame snakes, like the hog nose, spreading adders, coach whips, none of those are poisonous."

"I've never seen a pet snake fetch someone's slippers or the newspaper. Besides, like I said, motor oil is motor oil and a snake is a snake."

"Yes, king snakes are snakes but even rattlesnakes, which can be deadly, we didn't always kill either. We would catch them and our science teacher at school would ship them off to a company down in Florida who paid us a dollar a foot. Matt and I could earn ten or fifteen dollars each, in one afternoon. Around here that was good money for doing something so easy."

"Easy, you call catching a rattlesnake easy? For that matter I bet your mom wasn't happy about it at all."

"Oh mom didn't mind so long as we let her borrow one from time to time to keep Dad off balance."

The front walkway to the porch inclined, gently sloping upward and ended at the base of four easy steps. Chuck leaned over at the base of the steps, grabbed a loose block, and shook it out of the slot. He reached into the hole and removed a silver key. Holding it up he said, "We always keep this just in case of emergencies."

Replacing the block, he guided Gail up the steps and onto the porch. The front door looked solid and secure. On either side were narrow, decorative windows that extended from floor to ceiling. It was a typical country layout and, Gail admitted, beautiful even though tame by modern city and architectural standards.

He nudged the key into the dead-bolt slot, wiggled it several times, and then gave it a twist. The lock clicked and the door cracked open.

Cool, air-conditioned air poured out and struck them in the face. "Come on," he said. "We've only got about thirty seconds to punch in the alarm code before the system calls the cops."

Gail, following him through the doorway, said, "I hope you know the code. I'd hate to spend my first night in jail."

"No problem, "Chuck said. " An old school friend of Matt's is the chief deputy around here. He wouldn't keep you at the jail over night. He'd try to take you home with him instead."

"Well I surely hope you forgot the code then."

Chuck didn't laugh. Why am I angry? He stepped to the alarm control box behind the door and punched in several numbers quickly. An angry red light on the face of the unit switched off, replaced by two soft, green indicators.

"Like I told you, nothing has changed around here in a hundred years. I guess that includes the cut off codes for the house. Matt is resistant to change. Now, let's get some lights on."

He stepped away into the semi-blackness leaving her standing in the dark. A second later, he flipped a wall switch and the room brightened around them.

The TV set, bookcase, sofa and chairs suggested to Gail that it was the living room. The next thing she noticed was how everything appeared neat as a pin. There were no books askew, no empty glasses or cups on the coffee table, and not one stain on the deep colored wood floors. Across the room, a doorway opened into the hall corridor. It was there Chuck guided them next. He flipped another switch on the wall and the hallway lit up.

Gail could see three closed doors along the way with a final door open at the end. She followed him down the hall. The highly polished hardwood floor clicked beneath her shoe heels loudly. Chuck, wearing soft-soled shoes, created little sound. She'd never noticed that about him before.

Once inside the door of the last room at the end of the hall, he flipped another switch and the room grew bright. It was the kitchen and dining area. Long rows of yellow counter tops and cabinets covered one side of the room and a dining table stood on the other. The bright yellow and red colors and silvery appliances were beautiful. Much like the living room, the kitchen was spotless and clean.

The dining room table was backlit by the outside light that filtered and flowed through a large pair of bay windows. She was impressed. The house was beautiful and nothing like she had expected to find on a Georgia farm.

Chuck pointed toward the table and said, "You can go sit there if you like. I'll be right back. Let me check the bedrooms and stuff."

This time, she didn't argue but neither did she head to the table. Instead, she stood in the hall doorway and watched him backtrack down the hall. He stopped at each door, opened it, and flipped on a light and looked around inside. Next, he flipped the light back off, closed the door with a soft slam, and moved on to the next room.

Each time he opened a door, she held her breath. Was Matt here and hurt or dead? At the last doorway, he hesitated. His hand reached out slowly for the handle and twisted it. The door swung open slowly with a soft creak. For another long moment, his hand lingered inside over the light switch.

To Gail, he appeared frozen in place and then she realized, "That's Matt's bedroom and he's thinking about the old man in the tenant house."

The light came on. Gail waited, breathless, and watched Chuck's face and expressions. There was none. He simply stood, glaring into the room. Then, he glanced back at Gail with features totally void of any meaning.

Gail raised her eyebrows in question and waited. Chuck seemed to slip back to the present, looked around inside the room again, and said, "He's not here." With a tinge of anger, he flipped off the light but left the door open.

Gail had no idea why and didn't ask. Instead, she cleared her throat softly and said, "Okay. Maybe he went out of town and was in a wreck or accident and he's hurt."

Chuck walked back to the kitchen, his sharp, brown eyes searching aimlessly for anything out of place. Gail could see the sinking emotions growing with every sweep and said softly, "We'll figure it out soon enough.

"I sure hope so. His car isn't here so I can't imagine where he could be and look at the answering machine over there on the wall."

She followed his pointing finger and saw the machine's call light blinking rapidly. "The memory is full I bet."

Trying to brighten an already dark mood in the room, she added, "Why don't I go out to the car and get the food? You finish checking around and I'll fix us something to eat."

Chuck nodded and pointed to the rear door. "You can go out that way. I set the alarm system for occupancy so it will let you in and out without going off."

After she had stepped out and closed the back door, he pushed the answering machine playback button and waited. Several messages were from him, calling from North Carolina. His voice sounded odd and unnatural. Is this how I sound to everyone? The other messages were from Blake, a business associate Chuck had heard Matt mention several times over the years. The last message was a female voice and sounded up tight. "Matt? I need to see you. Call me, please."

"Well," Chuck said aloud. "At least somebody else knows he's not home."

Outside, Gail walked to the car and opened the back door. She retrieved the bag of groceries from the rear seat, turned and closed the door. She saw something move near the barn. Was it an animal like a deer, cat or dog?

She stared straight at the spot for a moment but saw nothing else. Then she tried looking off to the side because in the darkness, one's peripheral vision often worked better but still nothing. With an uncomfortable shrug, she turned and started back to the house but froze in her tracks when she heard the distinct and not too distant rustle of something moving in dry pine straw. So there was something out there and now, as she stood waiting, listening, sensing, she knew it without a doubt. They were human eyes and they were watching her but her inner senses felt no danger, no hostility, just curiosity coming from the eyes on her.

She started walking again, reached the top of the steps and opened the back door. As she closed it, she glanced back into the yard but it was gone.

When Gail first opened the door and stepped through, Chuck could tell by her expression she seemed wary or frightened. "What's wrong?" He asked.

Gail hesitated, took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "There was someone outside messing around the barn. I heard a noise and thought I saw something moving around."

Chuck stepped to one of the bay windows and peered out. "There are a couple of old tom cats that hang around the barn. They help keep the rats and stuff under control. You might have seen one of them."

"No, it was someone, not something."

Chuck opened the door and looked out. All seemed quiet. There was a slight breeze ruffling the treetops so maybe she had seen shadows causing illusions of movement. He waited for a moment then closed the door.

"It was probably just an old cat or maybe even a deer. As you well know, we do have many of those around. I have seen a ten-point buck come trotting right up to the trash barrel out there by the fence. They get brave at dry times of the year like this."

Gail nodded but deep inside she knew someone was out there. Should she tell Chuck all there was to tell about her sixth sense?

"Chuck? I know this is going to sound crazy, but, since I was a little girl I could sort of, uh, sense things that were going on around me."

Chuck, taking the bag of groceries she still held, looked at her quizzically. "What do you mean sense? Do you mean, like, sense, kind of sense? Like with your eyes and ears?"

Gail bit her lower lip. "Uh, no, I mean, like, sixth sense. ESP type stuff but not the eerie kind, you know. I can just tell when somebody is watching me and, well, somebody watching me out back just now. Trust me, I know."

He set the bag down on the counter and paused, looking directly at her. Her expression was serious and something in the way her confidence rose to the surface about it was startling. There was no doubt in her mind at all.

"You know, Gail? My mom had an identical twin sister and they could pass mental messages back and forth without saying a word. Is that the kind of thing you're talking about?"

Gail nodded. "Somewhat like that. When we were growing up, I use to drive my brother's crazy playing hide and seek. They could never hide from me. I would just follow my nose and it would take me to them. After a few years, they quit letting me play. I know this sounds stupid but it's true. Outside a moment ago, somebody was watching me."

He believed her, or at least, he believed that she believed. For that matter, his mother and Aunt weren't unique with their ESP. His Mom didn't need to stand at the back door of the house, screaming that supper was ready. He and Matt just knew, for some odd reason, that supper was ready and it was time to go home. It never failed.

"Okay," Chuck said nodding. "I think I'd better go check around the barn. Will you be okay here for a few minutes?"

"I'll be fine but maybe you'd better call the sheriff? Somebody could be trying to rob the house or barn."

"No, I'll just go look first but if I yell, you call 911 and tell them you're at the Veal' place north of town. They'll know how to find it."

"Is there a gun in the house?"

Chuck pointed down the hall. "First room on the left there's a gun case with a rifle and two shotguns. Shells are in the lower, right-hand drawer. Do you know how to use one?"

"Me?" Gail asked surprised. "Aren't you going to take a gun out there with you? "

"No, if there's somebody out there, I don't want to shoot them. I want to find out what they're doing and why. I'm looking for Matt, remember?"

Gail sat down on a bar stool and nodded. "Okay. You go and I'll wait here but I know there was someone out there."

Suddenly, an automobile turned into the front drive and its headlights lit up the area from around the edges of the house. They created a show of eerie dancing shadows in the backyard area and trees. The low grumble of a vehicle engine reached them. Chuck glanced at Gail then back at the moving shadows outside.

The sound of metal clattering and suspension coils squeaking suggested the approaching vehicle was most likely a pickup truck. The rutted and bumpy dirt roads around the county were harsh on any kind of machine operating over them. It wouldn't take long before a new car or truck developed pings, squeaks, and shivers one could hear for half a mile.

"Well? Whoever it might be isn't trying to sneak up on us. You could hear that racket for miles."

Gail nodded and followed him down the hall to the front of the house. At the door, he pulled back a window curtain and peered out. A dark colored pickup was just easing to a stop at the edge of the front walk. The engine's deep, gruff rumbling stopped and the headlights flickered out. The parking lights remained on, leaving a reddish glow on the ground at the back of the truck.

Chuck released the curtain and said, "They left their parking lights on so I guess they're friend and not foe."

Gail whispered, "That could depend on how drunk they are or high on drugs."

Door hinges squeaked and then a large, dark, figure of a man exited the cab. He stood motionless for a moment then called, "Hello the house. Mr. Veal?"

Chuck looked at Gail, who simply raised an eyebrow in response. He opened the front door and the man called again, "I know it's late but I'm looking for Matt. Is he home?"

Chuck stepped out into the porch light and replied, "No. He's not here. I'm Matt's brother, Chuck. Something I can do for you?"

The figure moved closer into the illumination and said, "Chuck? I thought that might be you. I'm Blake Squires. I'm Matt's friend."

Gail walked out and stood next to Chuck and he whispered to her, "It's a business associate. He and Matt are working timber leases together."

Chuck called back, "Yea, Blake. Matt talks about you a lot. Come on up. If you've got a minute I'd like to ask a few questions."

The tall, shadow slowly transformed into a dark, black man. He wore a plaid shirt, jeans and heavy lumberjack boots. His chest was wide with rippling muscles running up and down his massive arms and neck. His brown eyes were clear and intelligent, tinted with curiosity and concern.

He stomped his boots heavily on the concrete of the walkway and scrubbed them hard to clear dirt, mud, and clay from the bottoms. Then he took the steps up to the porch level and stood looking at Chuck. The two men were face to face, sizing each other up although Blake was a good foot taller.

Blake offered a huge, dark hand first. Chuck shook it firmly and said, "We just got here a few minutes ago from North Carolina. This is my co-worker, Gail Synerson."

Blake tipped the brim of the cap at Gail and then looked back at Chuck. "I didn't mean to bother either of you but I saw you driving in earlier and was hoping you had heard from Matt."

"No, that's why we drove down today. I haven't heard from him in over a week, any idea where he might have wandered off to?"

Blake shook his head and they stood staring at one another until Chuck turned to Gail and asked, "You suppose we could toss another egg in the pan to feed this guy? I've heard Matt talk about him so much over the years but I've never met him."

Gail smiled, "I'm sure we have plenty. Why don't you come on inside, Mr. Squires?"

As the two men stepped back to let Gail through the door first, Chuck looked at Blake and said, "When was the last time you heard from him?"

Blake scratched his forehead. "It's been almost two weeks since I talked with him last. I don't mind telling you, we have some pressing business we need to discuss. If he's not with you then I don't know where he could be."

Chuck sighed. "I honestly don't know, Blake. His car isn't here and the house doesn't look like he's been around recently. I'm worried. I almost wish he were out chasing squirrels up a tree or something. That would be a lot easier to believe than what's happening right now."

"We can rule out the juke joints, jails, and hospitals because I've already checked. He isn't in any of them. I also can't find his blue car anywhere around town either."

"If you know the car is blue then I guess you do know something about Matt."

Gail said, "Why don't you two come on inside because we're letting mosquitoes in the house."

Blake's huge hand reached up to the cap on his head and removed it. He put it behind him and stuck it brim down into the belt of his pants. Chuck stepped back in the door to let him pass and raised an eyebrow at the hat trick. He asked, "Were you Army or Marines?"

"Huh? What? What do you mean?"

Chuck pointed at the hat. "That's an old military habit. What branch were you?"

Blake smiled then looked sheepish. "Oh that? Yea, it's an old habit. I was Air Force. Eight years and I've been out five."

Closing the door behind them, Chuck said, "I think I already told you, this is Gail, a good friend of mine. _(Should I have said girlfriend?)"_

Gail shook the huge hand he immediately offered and said, "Just call me Blake."

"I'm Gail."

His clothes smelled pleasantly of pinesap, timber chips, and sawdust, which was nothing Matt's house, wasn't used to.

Chuck said, "Let's go to the kitchen table. We can sit there and talk."

Blake nodded and motioned toward the hallway door for Gail to lead the way and looking at Chuck he added, "Don't forget to reset the alarm code."

Chuck raised an eyebrow and asked, "Do you know what the numbers are?"

Blake rose to his full six foot five and said, "Yep, its 74-15-01m, Matt's birthday backwards."

Chuck's mouth fell open and he nodded at Gail. "This guy knows Matt pretty well if Matt gave him that code."

Blake smiled. "The last two or three times you came down to visit I was either out of town or too busy to get over and meet you. I'm glad we finally got together, but I sure wish there was a better reason for it."

As the three entered the kitchen area, Gail pointed to the stove, "I'll get something started over here. You two sit and talk"

"Thanks Gail. If you can't find something just yell."

Once seated, Chuck asked, "Blake? Matt didn't say anything to you before he left?"

Blake shook his head. "Not a thing. The last time we talked, he was at my timber office and was supposed to stop by again the next day to finish some paperwork. Before he left, he didn't mention anything about going out of town for a few days. I thought he might have taken off, up to the timber lease property and broken down or something."

Chuck shook his head. "No, he always carries his cell phone with him."

"Cell is no good down in that creek valley because it's too far out from the towers and too low as well. I spent half a day up there checking around, even got Bud Barron to fly me over the place a few times to take a look from the air. Something is wrong, Chuck. Something is bad wrong but I just don't know what."

Gail asked from the kitchen area. "Why didn't you call Chuck in North Carolina? Didn't you have his number?"

"No," Blake said. "I had the number on my computer at the office but lost it. Matt gave it to me in case something happened."

"What do you mean in case something happened?"

"In our line of work you never know when some idiot with a chain saw is going to drop a tree on your head. Matt and I kept each other up to date on what to do in case something bad did happen."

Chuck held out his hands as though pleading. "How did your computer lose my number? Hard drive crash or something?"

Blake looked downcast for a moment and then said, "No, somebody broke into my office three weeks ago. They roughed up my paper files and formatted the drive on my computer, wiped it clean. I lost everything I didn't have on back up and I didn't have your number anywhere else but the computer at that time. I tried the operator in two or three cities in North Carolina but we couldn't find you in the books. You live in Charlotte?"

"No, Gastonia. It's about two hours further up the interstate. I'm sorry, Blake. You have to understand all these questions and why I'm not sounding trusting right now."

"Yea, I know and I would be the same way. When I saw the Carolina tag on your car out back, I figured it had to be you right off the bat."

Gail stopped moving and looked over at Chuck. It took him a moment to fill in the blanks about the Jeep parked in the rear yard. Turning back to Blake he said, "You just drove up out front so how did you see my car in the back yard?"

"Oh boy," Blake said. "Me and my big mouth, uh, don't get upset, Chuck. I was on my way home and saw you pulling into the dirt road at the highway. I knew it wasn't Matt's car. That red Jeep of yours is easy enough to tell them apart. I parked down the road, up yonder by the fence, and kind of walked around by the pond and came in from the back way. I saw Gail getting the bag out of the car and that's when I noticed the out of state tag. I figured it was probably you. Matt talks about you a lot."

Chuck looked at Gail again who stood at the counter, smiling the world famous, "I told you so grin."

"Yea, uh, Gail told me she heard somebody out there. I was just going to check when you drove up. How'd you get out and back around so fast?"

"I didn't want to get shot by one of Matt's bird guns in the spare bedroom yonder. Besides, Matt says I'm a sneaky old fox when I need to be."

Turning to Gail, Blake added, "I'm sorry. I knew you had seen or heard me out there. I didn't mean to scare you."

Still stirring the eggs in a bowl, Gail grinned and said, "Yea. That's okay, Blake but how did you know that I was aware of you?"

Blake shrugged. "You looked straight at me one time and your eyes locked on me. I was back in the shadows of the barn but you saw me somehow. I just knew it."

Gail smiled. "By the way, I'm fixing enough eggs and grits to feed an army. Can I fix you a plate too?"

Blake held up a huge hand, palm out toward Gail, and said, "No thank you. I need to head on to the house and grab some sleep. Chuck? Do you want some advice?"

"Sure could use some Blake. What do you think?"

"I hate to say this but Matt and I made a few enemies when we bought the timber rights on Beaver creek. You've heard about the dam they're going to build to create some prime lake front property along the creek?"

Chuck nodded. "Yea, Matt told me a little about it. We've only talked once since then and he didn't say any more on the subject. He did say that Max Pary was not a happy man about the leased property."

"Yea, old Pary was pretty ticked off about the whole thing. Matt and I had to get a court order to hold up the Pary Company from closing the gates on the dam until we can cut the timber. Matt tried to get Judge Marcus here in town to put a hold on the project but we got nothing out of him, not even the time of day."

"That figures. Max Pary has that Judge in his back pocket along with most other elected officials around here. If the Pary family doesn't want something then it's most likely not going to happen."

Blake agreed. "I've been around for five years now. I've learned all about the Pary control over this place, some of it from firsthand experience. When my Daddy died, I got out of the Air Force because he'd left me about 600 acres of timber but no money. I went to the local bank and tried to borrow some operating capitol to start my own mill but the banker said no way. Then he offered to buy my property at five hundred an acre and he got mad when I busted out laughing in his face. Timber property around here sells for five thousand an acre or better."

Chuck laughed. "God yea, I would buy 10,000 acres at 500 each. So they turned you down for a loan. What did you do?"

Blake smiled. "First I went job hunting and Matt hired me on the spot, said he knew my daddy and had bought some timber from him over the years. I worked for Matt for a year at the mill and we became good friends. Next thing I know he helped me set up financing for my own operation and a mill. I was going to be his competition but he didn't care. He took me to a bank in Atlanta and introduced me. I walked out with a loan an hour later. A poor man like me, living in the middle of no place was handed the keys to a bank."

"That sounds like something Matt would do. Did this have anything to do with why the Pary family turned on Matt so hard? All you were doing was buying some trees upstream from their project, right?"

"More than you realize, Chuck. Pary had his little dam ready to go and he wanted to close the gates before the concrete had dried. Matt and I had to get a Federal Judge in Macon to issue a stay on the project. We've got until late November to get the timber cut"

"Matt told me a little about some of that, Blake. My word, I didn't know it was getting that touchy though. Anybody who rocks the Pary boat is just begging for trouble."

"That was my thoughts when Matt first asked me to be his partner on this job. Now, Max Pary wants his lake property ready to start selling and that will not happen until the water starts filling that valley. He is tramping around, huffing and puffing at everybody. No matter, he can't close those gates until the first of December unless we dropped our timber rights on the land upstream."

Gail said, "Chuck? If they were going to flood the land then why would anybody want to leave the timber? It would be wasted."

"Yea, that's an excellent question but you don't know the Pary family like we do. They are self centered and think they are dictators over the County."

"Yea," Blake agreed. "They especially don't like a local man like Matt throwing wrenches in their gears. Matt knew the legal crowd around town couldn't match wits with a Federal Judge because their influence doesn't reach that high up in politics outside the County."

Chuck sighed and looked around the room slowly. "I don't know where to go next. I guess I'll head over to the mill yard in the morning and talk to this guy Thompson."

Blake shook his head. "That isn't going to do much good. Matt knew that I didn't like Thompson from the start. I never could figure why he hired that guy, and, in the last two days, Thompson has fired three of Matt's best workers."

Chuck sat up straight. "What? Matt let somebody else do the hiring and firing? That doesn't sound right at all. What in the world is going on?"

Blake shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know but I've got a fairly good idea that Thompson wouldn't have fired them unless he knew Matt was out of the game somehow."

"Right, Blake. He must have known that Matt wasn't going to come back and fire him for it."

"Something like that, oh, and there's one other thing."

Chuck sat back down in the chair and said, "God, don't tell me. There's more?"

Blake shook his head. "Maybe nothing but, yea, there is another thing. Two weeks ago, one of Matt's employees died on the job. They say he lost his footing and fell in the wood chipper."

The words shook him. "Killed? Fell in the wood chipper?"

"Fell? I don't know, Chuck. The guy's brother works for me and they hung around a lot together. They were rowdy, tough, country boys but not mean unless you messed with them the wrong way. I can't say, for sure, the accident was anything more or less than an accident but my worker says his brother was pushed into the machine."

Gail brought two steaming plates to the table. She placed one in front of Chuck and the other at an empty chair. She looked at Chuck and asked," I know I shouldn't butt in like this but, what is a chipper? I gather it's some type of dangerous equipment at the mill?"

Before Blake could say anything, Chuck explained. "It's a big machine that chews up the waste wood and bark from the saws. Inside there are sharp blades on a huge rotary wheel. Stuff like tree bark, limbs and wood that's not good for anything unless you grind it up into small wood chips. The chipper grinds it up into marble size pieces they sell to a plywood mill in South Georgia. They use it to manufacture particleboard, paper products, and stuff like that. That machine gives me nightmares just thinking about it sometimes."

Blake added. Yea, it's a monster about the size of this room and you can hear it for miles, feel it for a thousand yards rumbling the ground. The cover blew off one like it over in Twiggs County and killed a man when it hit him. If anybody were to fall in, there wouldn't be enough of them left to put in a match box."

Gail shook her head in wonder. Chuck continued, "I've seen it chew thirty foot tall trees all to pieces in one gulp and barely wince at it. Did Matt do anything about this so called accident?"

Blake shrugged. "Matt wasn't buying it either but some of his employees said the guy killed was trying to break up a clog near the mouth and got his pants caught on a limb stub or something. Only one man saw it happen, a new guy named Anderson. Thompson hired him about three weeks ago."

Gail shivered and said, "Sorry I asked."

She stared back at the kitchen. "Blake? I have some coffee ready. If you can't stand my grits and eggs, maybe you can stomach my coffee. You want a cup?"

Blake looked at Gail and said, "Yea, if you don't mind, I'd love a cup. As for your grits and eggs, I reckon if I can handle Matt's cooking then I can handle anything. I'm just not hungry right now. Thanks again."

Gail smiled and then asked, "You want cream and sugar?"

Blake nodded. "Just sugar, please."

Gail went to the cabinets and started opening and closing overhead doors. Blake called out, "The Sugar bowl is in the top left cabinet. The second shelf...blue bowl."

Chuck eyed Blake. "Boy. You know this house and Matt's cooking better than I do. His cooking is terrible except for..."

They spoke together"...except for Catfish."

Chuck smiled. "That's it. He can't boil water without burning it but he can cook a mean pan of catfish. You and Matt must have spent time together that I didn't know about."

"I used to stop by at least once a week after work. The last time I was here he told me about some stuff that was on his mind, something to do with Miss Abatha Pary and your Granddaddy."

"Yes, he told me he'd found something about them but wouldn't say just what over the phone. It was weird, as though he was worried about a phone tap or something. Has anything else happened recently? "

Blake leaned over, rested his chin on his clasped fists, and said, "I was getting to that. There's something new about the timber deal I haven't told you yet. I just got word about it today. Thompson, that crew boss at Matt's mill, now claims that Matt released his claim on the property three days ago with a Fax sent to the mill office. Now they can close the gates at the dam immediately."

Chuck snapped, "Do what? Matt would never do that to you or anybody else. His word is better than a written contract."

"I know that, Chuck, but Thompson faxed a typed letter he says that Matt wrote to the Judge in Macon. I haven't seen it yet because I'm not the majority owner. On some of the deals we work together, Matt takes 51 percent and I get 49. On others, we reverse it so the money stays the same in the end."

Chuck nodded. "Yea, our father did some business deals the same way."

Blake continued. "I wouldn't know about this fax if it wasn't for a friend of mine at the courthouse. She told me that Thompson gave the Sheriff a copy of Matt's letter. So unless Matt shows up by Monday morning, it leaves me high and dry. I'm going to lose a nice piece of money invested in this deal, but I'm more concerned about what's happened to Matt than the money now that you showed up confirming something is wrong."

Chuck leaned back heavily in the chair and watched Gail bring cups and a pot of coffee to the table. He said, "Thompson claims Matt wrote a letter to the Judge in Macon? I want to see a copy of that in the morning."

Gail said, "What are you going to do?"

Blake replied, "I want to see the original letter but Thompson claims Matt sent him a copy by fax machine and the Judge in Macon is supposed to have the original. Our local judge upheld the faxed copy after talking to the Macon judge."

Chuck shook his head, thought a second, and then said, "Thompson claims he got a fax from my brother but Matt didn't get in touch with you about any of this?"

"Nope," Blake said curtly. "I haven't heard from Matt. A copy of the contract was in my files at the mill but after the robbery, I couldn't find it. The only other copy would be in Matt's safe at his mill. It's that old metal monster that belonged to your family."

Chuck nodded. "Yea, I remember that thing. I'm surprised it hasn't rusted slam out of sight by now. It's at Matt's office?"

Blake nodded. "It's supposed to be."

Chuck looked at Gail a moment and then said, "Okay, Blake. Here's the deal. Not many people know it but I own half of Matt's timber mill and I have the papers to prove it."

Blake nodded. "I knew because if anything happened to him I was supposed to see to it that you got everything from the estate."

"Matt was pretty smart about such things. I can get into Matt's office safe and we will get your copy of the contract. I'm going to put a stop to this mess somehow. Maybe I can override this so called letter from Matt to the Judge in Macon."

Blake smiled. "If we work together on this, I think we can pull it off. The main thing is to find out where Matt has gotten off to and I don't mind telling you, when I heard about this letter, I got worried. This isn't like him at all."

Chuck thumped his fingers on the tabletop for a moment, and said, "Okay, Blake. First thing in the morning, I want to go see this guy Thompson at the mill and I'll get the papers out of the safe too. Once we have those, I'll call Matt's lawyer in Macon and see if we can use them to stop Pary from closing the gates at the dam. The signature has to be either a forgery or some sort of copy machine razzle dazzle."

Blake nodded. "Mind if I ride along with you to the mill? There's one other thing you might want to get and you'll need me to watch your back."

Chuck glanced at Gail and then back to Blake. "What other thing?"

Blake shrugged. "Matt kept a journal on his computer, you know, a diary. He may have printed parts of it out and kept the papers in the safe. He also may have left something in there that will clue you in on what's happened."

Chuck glanced at Gail who gently tilted her head. He cleared his throat and said, "Okay. I would appreciate that, Blake. I'll pick you up in the morning. What time?"

Blake shook his head. "You don't want to take that car of yours out to the mill, do you? In the morning give me time to stop by my place first, and then I'll come here and pick you up. It might be kind of late...probably about seven or seven thirty."

Gail laughed. "God, I forgot that rural people consider seven o'clock in the morning to be half the day gone."

Chuck smiled. "Yea, Gail, sleeping late around this town means ten minutes after the rooster crows. Okay, Blake, I'd appreciate the help. You mentioned Matt's journal. I noticed he still keeps that old Packard Bell in his bedroom. There might be something on his computer here at the house too that will tell us something."

Blake grinned and said, "I thought about that. He told me once that he uses that old crate in his bedroom to keep track of family genealogy and history or something like that. You do realize that once they know you're back there's likely to be some commotion, don't you?"

"Yea, our father always told Matt and me that we rightfully own Whispering Pines Estate and property. When our grandfather was killed the estate went to his wife of less than a week who just happens to be Abatha Pary."

Gail's face lit up in shock. "Wait a minute. Are you telling me that Miss Abatha Pary is your legal grandmother?"

Chuck grimaced. "Legal? Hard to say and besides she would be our step grandmother, Abatha was only married a week to our grandfather before he was killed. She took control of Whispering Pines under a will he supposedly wrote the day before they were married. My grandfather left her everything, lock, stock, and barrel. Nobody could figure out why there were no provisions in the will for my father."

Gail looked confused. "I don't understand. Your father was the son of Tom Veal, but what happened to his first wife, your real Grandmother?"

Chuck failed to notice that Gail already knew the name was Tom and instead replied, "She died a year or so before he did during a flu epidemic. When Grandpa married Abatha, she became his stepmother. He left home as soon as he was old enough to go it alone and since then he hasn't set foot in the Whispering Pines mansion. In this will, our daddy got nothing at all. He never had the money to fight it when he was younger. Later, when he had land and money he didn't have the determination."

Looking over at Blake, Chuck asked, "I don't guess any of this is news to you. Is it?"

"No, I was hearing that story for years around town. If it's true then you guys got a big, bum rap and the Pary family got the rest."

"I guess so but nobody can prove it." Chuck couldn't argue the facts.

Gail asked, "If your grandfather left a will then there is nothing to prove."

Chuck said, "My father always claimed the will was a forgery. It's a long story, Gail, and it doesn't have anything to do with our situation now."

Gail raised an eyebrow. "It doesn't? Are you sure?"

Chuck looked at Blake and they shook their heads. "No, Gail, I don't see any connection with Matt's disappearance and the old Veal' murder."

Gail said, "Murder? You told me your grandfather died but you didn't say he was murdered. Can you explain that for me? This is getting a bit complicated."

Chuck stood up, pushing his chair back in the same motion. "Tell you what, Gail. When Blake and I are at the mill tomorrow morning, maybe you could read over some of Matt's family history files he's been writing. It pretty much explains his and my dad's theory of what happened to Granddad."

Blake added, "It was a murder. They say that Miss Abatha's sister was jealous of the marriage so she put poison in their coffee one night, and then picked up the wrong cup by mistake. Matt takes the opposite theory. He thinks it was Abatha who murdered her sister and her new husband, his Grandfather, in a jealous rage."

Chuck noticed that Gail seemed distracted all of a sudden and the conversation fell silent for a moment. Finally, Blake stood, took one last sip from his coffee cup, and said "Thanks, Gail. That was good coffee. I better head on to the house."

"Okay. I'll see you about seven in the morning." Chuck replied.

Blake turned to leave. "In the morning will be just the beginning of something I don't see ending pretty at all."

Chuck said, "I'm glad you stopped by tonight. At least now I know where to start looking for Matt."

Blake stopped, turned back saying, "The starting part is going to be the easiest. It's the finishing part that has me worried."

# Chapter 5

After Blake had gone, Chuck and Gail were putting away the dishes and straightening the kitchen when she said, "You know, this whole thing about your grandfather is interesting. Your family is filled with mystery, murder, and intrigue. It would make a good book or movie script."

Chuck laughed. "I never thought of that. That may be why Matt was writing it all down."

"You think he did? Is it all on the computer in the bedroom?"

"Probably, or at least, most of it could be on that machine. He also wrote at the mill office sometimes. I guess he had to move the newer material to a disk or jump drive and copy it here."

"Do you mind if I look tonight? Curiosity is getting the best of me and I don't think I could sleep until I read some of his material."

"Sure, but I think he runs the documents through an old copy of Word or some similar dinosaur program. It's similar to the Mac based stuff we use at the newspaper."

Gail remarked. "I know how to operate Word. I used that starting with Office 97."

Chuck was embarrassed. "Sorry. Matt and I learned computers on the old DOS 3.2 and even an old VIC 20 Commodore our dad bought us to type homework with."

Gail snorted, "God. I remember those systems. My Uncle gave me a 64 Commodore and its inherent BASIC language. That machine was the eighth wonder of the world at the time."

"Ha. Claudia, my Aunt on my mother's side, thought the computer was a tool of the devil. She also didn't watch television much. She couldn't get beyond the RCA radio days of yore I guess."

"What? You're kidding!"

"Honest, she kept an old RCA floor model radio in her bedroom and listened to it at night. If you don't believe me then go look in the middle bedroom. It's standing in one corner. She gave it to me and Matt before she died."

"You've still got an old floor model radio? Does it work?"

"It works, or it did last time I was here. It is in mint condition. Somebody offered Matt a thousand dollars for it a while back. He asked me if I needed the cash and I told him yes, but I'd rob a bank before selling that radio."

Gail looked thoughtful. "I'll bet it's worth a fortune in antique value."

Chuck placed the last dish in the dishwasher, closed the door, and twisted the cycle switch to on. "That old radio is worth a lot more than money. I can still remember walking into her room at night when Matt and I would stay over at her place. She'd be sitting in a rocking chair, sewing or knitting, rocking, and listening to whatever decent music she could find on the old AM bands."

"I didn't think she'd be listening to Rock stations or anything. I bet she was partial to WLS or maybe W1AW in Nashville."

"I forget but I think it was the Nashville station. Minnie Pearl and Grandpa Jones kind of country music but once I caught her with the dial on the big bands and easy listening." Chuck was enjoying the memories of his Aunt.

Gail hung the dishtowel she had been using on a counter rack and then turned to Chuck. "Can we go fire up Matt's computer? I'm dying to get started."

Without thinking, Chuck reached out and took her hands. They were soft and warm, slightly damp from the sink water. "You do realize that it's almost one in the morning?"

Gail, not trying to pull her hands away, smiled, "So? In another sixty minutes or so, it will be 2:00 am.

Chuck released one of her hands and with the other; he tugged her down the hallway. "Okay...come on and I'll pour some kerosene in Matt's old machine to get it running for you."

"Kerosene, uh, is the computer that old? I haven't seen a kerosene fired CPU in a long, long time."

"Humor," Chuck realized. "She uses humor to release tension just like I do."

Reaching the doorway he left open, he reached an arm inside and turned on the lights. "Okay. It's in here."

The room was large with a double bed against one wall and dresser with mirror beside it. A chest of drawers was against the opposite wall. There was abundant floor open floor space and gave the room an airy feel. Close to the bedside table was a computer desk with a white monitor sitting on top.

"Is this a picture tube monitor? No, LCD Flat screen?"

"It's an old tube job but don't worry. You will hardly notice the difference from the fancy one at work once you fall asleep."

"Its fine and besides, I spent two years staring at a similar one. When I switched to LCD I thought my eyes were going to explode."

Chuck flipped the power strip switch on and stood back to watch the computer boot. The monitor flickered and Gail said, "It's been a while since I ran one this old. I hope it's like riding a bicycle."

"It's a good machine but slow as pond water compared to modern ones."

They stood watching as the monitor screen came alive with the Windows XP OS system logo. Chuck pulled the desk chair outward and then motioned for Gail to sit. "You can drive from here. Have fun."

Gail sat down in the chair, stared at the monitor a second, then clicked on the Word desktop icon. "Let's start at the beginning," she mumbled once the program was up and running. She used the file history function and brought up the most recent one Matt had been using. Chuck leaned over and the soft smell of her hair wafted through his nostrils. He glanced over the data for a moment and said, "This is it. Matt wrote it a long time ago from a few notes our dad kept. This will explain the general history but none of this is documented facts. A lot of it is just our dad's speculation spiced up by Matt's own theories."

Gail nodded and then looked at Chuck. "Okay why don't you go ahead and grab some sleep? You've got to meet Blake in a few hours."

Chuck felt a twinge of despair. He didn't want to sleep. He wanted to spend all the time he could with her but common sense dictated he grab some shut eye. "Okay, you're right, I am tired."

Chuck turned to leave, hesitated in the doorway, "If you need anything I'll be in the living room. Don't go out the back door again unless you cut off the alarm system."

Without turning away from the screen, Gail held up a hand, "Okay. I can disarm the alarm when I go get my stuff out of the car."

"I forgot about that, okay, I'll get our stuff right now. Be back in a minute."

Gail already engulfed in the material before her, simply waved a hand in the air. He turned and left her staring intently at the computer screen.

A few moments later, he was outside opening the back door of the car and reaching for Gail's suitcase. That's when he thought he saw something move at the end of the yard near the old barn. Slowly, he lowered the bag back onto the seat and closed the door quietly. "The barn" he thought. "I haven't been inside the place in a long time. Could there be any clues to Matt's disappearance inside?"

He followed an old footpath through the trees toward the dark building. The night air was clear and less stifling than earlier. The old barn was a light red with white trim and the exterior boards were made of wide, rough-cut lumber from the mill. With the yard light at his back, his shadow against the barn wall grew taller as he got closer to the building. There were two double doors on the front, each about five feet wide with horizontal planks held together by cross braces. A long, wide board served as a latch and hook that kept the door closed. Chuck grabbed the latch and lifted, then pulled at the right side door. It opened with an ear-piercing squeak from the hinges, "Hope that doesn't scare Gail."

When the door was just wide enough to slip through, he looked back at the house, and then stepped inside the darkness. He reached and found the light switch where he remembered it and pushed it upward. From the overhead ceiling, a neon shop light sputtered alive and the ballast transformer started humming angrily.

The barn was twenty feet wide and thirty deep. There were no interior walls so the back of the exterior boards was visible in several places; one could see where red paint had dripped through a few of the cracks between boards. The frame of the building, constructed from heavy oak cut into four by six inch studs, was firm and solid. Matt often said the barn would be a safer place to hide during a tornado than the house and he was probably right.

Taking up much of the open floor area was a car, a 1951 Chevy. Matt had been restoring it for several years and it was almost finished. It was beautiful with a deep, charcoal black coat of paint and full chrome bumpers. Over each side of the windshield were shade hoods that gave the illusion of the car having eyebrows. The car once belonged to his mother's sister, Chuck's Aunt Claudia, the one he'd been telling Gail about earlier.

On one wall, a selection of farm and garden tools hung each using nails or railroad pegs. Something there caught Chuck's eye as he scanned across them slowly. There were two empty spaces among the tools. He could tell the tools had recently been there because their faded outlines had faded the wood behind them. Stepping closer he checked the dirt floor underneath the rack to see if they had fallen there. Nothing, so he moved closer to check the outlined shapes of the tools and recognized a shovel and pickaxe, or mad axe as he called them, was missing.

"Why would Matt not put the tools back up?"

His brother was a stickler for taking care of work tools and unlike many others, when he finished with a tool he returned it to the proper storage place. All the other tools were hanging there so only those two implements were missing.

The graveyard, Matt had told him that there might be a paper inside their Grandfather's casket to prove everything. Had he done something so gruesome? "Matt?" Chuck said aloud. "What on earth have you gotten into?"

The barn door hinges suddenly squeaked loudly and the door moved open a bit wider than before. Chuck spun around and looked, goose bumps exploding all over his body. A small, soft white hand and fingers appeared followed by a familiar face peeping around the edges of the frame. "Chuck?" "Hey" he answered quickly with relief in his tone. "I'm over here. Come on in."

She stepped inside the barn and looked around. "Wow, I don't keep my living room this neat and straight. Matt is a real neatnik, isn't he?"

"Yea, he is and knowing that has given me a hint on something."

He moved closer to Gail and pointed at the tools on the wall. "There are a couple of tools missing from that rack. A shovel and pick axe. I don't see them propped up inside so I guess Matt left them out somewhere and that's not like him at all."

Gail folded her arms together and shivered. Chuck rubbed his hands up and down her arms and said, "You're cold? It has to be 90 degrees in here. What's wrong?"

"No, I'm not cold, I'm just, well; I'm just feeling something now but it's nothing."

He pulled her chin upward, looked into her eyes, and could see that she was upset and nervous. "Okay. What's this feeling you had that's upsetting you so much right now?"

She pulled away and turned her back. "I wouldn't have said anything if I wasn't so tired. It's as I told you before. I have this knack for sensing things around me."

Chuck placed a hand on her shoulder and gently turned her back to face him but Gail spoke first, "My mother was like this. She could pick up feelings out of a room or from an object in her hand. I've been doing it ever since I can remember. I told a couple of friends about it back in school and they laughed. I don't read feelings and emotions from someone's mind so much as I sense them from...from..."

"You sense them from objects or the emitting ions of the woodwork." Chuck said finishing her statement. "My Aunt Claudia could place an object in the palm of her hand and read or see things from it. I've tried it a hundred times and got nothing. Doesn't work for me but I do know it works so I believe you. Just tell me, what you're picking up here in the barn?"

Gail shrugged and looked around. Her eyes locked on the old car. "Something is coming from that car. It's strong too."

He turned and looked at the Chevy. "Are we talking a Stephen King and his '57 Plymouth type feeling?"

"Don't poke fun, Chuck. I thought you just said that you understand this kind of thing."

"I'm sorry. I was trying to lighten up the mood here. I didn't mean that. What I meant is, well, I do know that ESP and psychic reception is real."

Gail stepped closer to the car, placed her hand on the dark hood, "Matt loves this car. He's proud of it and so are you."

"Yes. An old favorite Aunt gave it to us and we restored it back to factory condition. Matt would not sell it for love or money. Is something coming from it? What is it?"

"A while ago as I was reading Matt's files on the computer, I felt someone's hand on my shoulder. At first, I thought I sensed it being Matt but then I realized this was an older person, much older, but the sense was of Matt somehow. The touch wasn't threatening, but the emotions behind it seemed that way."

"Then why did it scare you out of the house? When I first saw you out here I thought you had heard the barn door creaking open and got spooked or something."

"No. I didn't hear that. What scared me is that nothing like this has happened to me before. The visions I see and sense are from the past, like a recording that my mind plays back. That hand I felt on my shoulder was real but they were not of our present day and time. I guess all that frightened me so I came looking for you and saw the light."

She leaned her head onto his chest and whispered. "This sounds so silly. I know."

Resting his chin on the top of her head, Chuck said, "No. It's not silly. I could tell you all kinds of stuff that has happened around here similar to that. I wonder why the touch from the hand was assuring."

They stood there for a few moments, and then he said, "Come on, let's get our things out of the car and get some rest. You can finish reading the files tomorrow."

As Gail turned to leave, something from the car called out to her mind.

"Pick up the nickel...pick up the nickel... it has much to show you."

# Chapter 6

Gail lay in bed listening to the soft creaks and pops of an old house while thinking and trying to sort through what was happening. She was three hundred miles from home, sleeping under the same roof with a man she barely knew and wide-awake at two in the morning trying to figure it all out. What had brought her here to this moment?

It started with a nickel she bumped while paying for a pizza delivery. The sensations and images she'd received from the coin were confusing until she realized they involved Chuck and his home in Georgia. So how had fate put something together so nicely, something that brought her to the edge of Whispering Pines, something that had shoved her closer to Chuck in a way that felt odd and out of place in her life? Was she falling in love? No matter, the nickel had been the start of everything but where was it taking her and how much further did she have to go?

"Aunt Claudia? Are we there yet? How much further is it to the ocean?" the child asked from the back seat of the 1951 Chevy."

Gail sat up in bed, startled by the sound of the voice so strong in her mind. It was coming from another place. It was coming from another time and era. She was sitting in bed yet feeling the motion of the car as it moved along the highway. She could smell the salty air and hear the wind blowing through the open car windows. Then something shifted, the emotions and sensations grew stronger and called out, beckoning her to come along. It wasn't demanding or forceful, it was playful, like a child, and wanted Gail to join in and have fun. It was asking permission to take her along, deeper inside the vision.

Gail felt no fear only comfort from the sensations. She felt childish joy that Aunt Claudia was taking her to the seashore, to Tybee Island, for a day of swimming and fun.

Gail moved closer to the images and suddenly she stood on the beach of Georgia, facing the blue green waters of the Atlantic Ocean. She could feel the water on her feet and the wet sand between her toes. It was foamy water about ankle deep, lapping at her feet. The sand between her toes and under her feet was oozing in and out with the motion of the water. It tickled, felt good, so she wiggled her toes in it. When she looked up at the towering horizon before her, she could see white capped waves and seagulls flying above them. Then she saw something floating toward her, a small raft or piece of boat, and lying on top there was a body, a man, fully dressed, arms and feet tied with rope. It was Matt Veal. She recognized him from pictures around the house.

"He's okay," the voice cried from behind her. " Now come and play with us, Gail. Let's build a lake and drown the trees.""

Gail gasped aloud and the images faded. None of her visions before had called her name and never before had she sensed an effort from someone from the past, to reach her in the present. She was startled but determined to go back and understand all she was seeing. The images were confusing but not threatening. "...Come play with us, Gail."

"Okay," she thought. "Take me with you" and just that quickly, she was back at the beach, watching that which had already passed warning her about that which was moving toward her from the future. She spent the rest of that night playing in the warm sunshine and sand of the coastal beach of Georgia. She and the two boys, building sand castles until the rising tides to washed them away. Then she realized how much, how deeply she loved one of the boys, and it was right somehow, safe, to do so.

When the sun was all but gone for the day, the children cried to Aunt Claudia, "Do we have to go right now? Can't we stay just a little longer?"

In the blink of an eye, Gail was back in bed, fully awake and anxious to get the day started. Her watch read six-fifteen. A hint of daylight shone outside the bedroom window, which meant her vision of the night, the longest she had ever experienced, had lasted for over three hours. The bathroom shower running replaced the sounds of the waves crashing on the beach and she sat up in bed. Chuck was already awake and taking a shower.

Tossing the bed sheets aside, she looked down at her bare feet and there was wet beach sand around her toes and ankles.

Chuck stood in the shower thinking about the day ahead. He had awakened just before six with a dull throb in the back of his neck. The armrest on the couch made a lousy pillow. The night before Gail had asked, "Don't you want a pillow?"

"No. This is fine. I'll sleep like a baby right here."

The hot water felt good on his face and body. There was no chlorine odor coming from it because the source was a deep well behind the house, pure and unspoiled. He seldom noticed such things until he got use to the treated water coming from the pipes of Gastonia.

He cut the water and climbed out, dried off, shaved, brushed his teeth, and then got dressed.

A short time later he was at the kitchen table sipping coffee when Gail appeared looking politely sleep ruffled but still extraordinary. "Good morning. I trust you slept well?"

"Gail smiled. " It wasn't bad I just need more of it. What about you?"

"I slept like a baby," he pointed at the coffee pot. "Like a baby with colic and a dirty diaper. There's coffee over there and it's hot, black, and mean."

Gail filled her cup, held the pot up to see if Chuck wanted a refill, then whimpered, "God, is it six-thirty in the morning? I need to run outside and shake the trees."

"Why? Is it good exercise?"

"I don't know but if I have to be awake at this ungodly hour, then I'm not going to let the birds sleep."

There was something different about her this morning, something more relaxed, more positive. "Well, Gail, six in the morning isn't considered uncivilized for this neck of the woods."

"I know. My Uncle with the Dairy farm got up every morning at four but I was never able to get into that rhythm, let alone get used to the crowing rooster at sunrise. If I owned a farm like that today I'd get the rooster to send emails or something."

Chuck smiled then shifted gears. "Listen. Blake and I are going to Matt's office first thing today, why don't you wait here? Will you be okay for an hour or so?"

Gail blinked in surprise. "You don't want me to go too? I didn't trudge all the way down here to be left alone, barefoot and pregnant, in the kitchen."

Her emotions had exploded for no apparent reason. In her vision the night before she had deeply loved one of the little boys on the beach and now, looking at Chuck, she knew which boy it was. The dream had taken her into her own future and there was no looking back. The dream opened her heart and she admitted she was in love with Chuck Veal.

Gail felt a growing fear that she had just hurt him, insulted him, so to cover the flub, she added with a sarcastic smile, "Isn't that what rednecks do to their women?"

Chuck finally grinned but she could tell he was upset or at least baffled. When he finally spoke, his tone was apologetic. "What you're doing here with Matt's writing is important too, Gail. I wanted you to keep going over the files on the computer and see what's there."

"Yea, you're right," She said with some relief that the flub had passed. "I'll work on that while you two get Blake's papers from the safe."

"I want to check on something else first, or someplace I guess I should say. I think I have time before we go to the mill, but just in case, if Blake gets here early, tell him I'm at the old cemetery. I thought of something during the night. I need to check out."

Gail sipped her coffee and asked, "What cemetery is that?"

"The Veal cemetery, the one Matt got into a brawl about with the Pary family."

"Do you always think about cemeteries in the middle of the night?"

"Only this one, besides, I don't believe it has anything to do with Matt's disappearance but just in case, we don't want to overlook anything no matter how insignificant it might seem."

"That's true but what is there to see at the cemetery this morning?"

"Well, the brawl with the Pary family is mainly over timber rights along the creek, but if they know that Matt is not around anymore to interfere with that issue, then Miss Abatha might go after the cemetery. I want to ride over there and check to see if it's been destroyed. That would indicate the Pary family is behind Matt's disappearance, so, does it make sense?"

"Not entirely. What do you mean go after the cemetery? Who would want to destroy it?"

"About six months ago, old lady Pary tried to put a bulldozer in the cemetery and plow it under."

"What? That's illegal, isn't it?"

"Miss Pary didn't think so. Our grandfather was the last person buried there and ever since, the cemetery fell apart, ran down. Last time I saw it, it was covered in weeds and briars."

"Have you and Matt ever tried to restore the cemetery?"

"A few years ago, Matt tried to round up enough people to restore the place but Miss Pary caught wind of it and the entire County dropped the idea. When she tried to put a bulldozer in there, somebody let Matt know ahead of time. We never could figure out why the old lady would fight trying to fix the place and take care of her husband's grave."

"How did he stop her from razing it?"

"The law in Georgia says the land of a cemetery can be reclaimed when the youngest grave is one hundred years old or more. Our Grandfather died in 1944, which nukes that law for another few decades. Still, Matt hired a Macon lawyer to get the old gal stopped and that was that."

Curiosity perked, Gail asked, "Who gets the property after the hundred years is past?"

"Usually it's the land owner around it which in this case is Miss Abatha Pary."

"Imagine that" Gail said sarcastically.

"She went ballistic when Matt tried to restore the place and a short time later our Grandfather's headstone vanished and it had the date of death inscribed into the marble. The next youngest grave marker dates to 1890. Miss Pary bases her claim to retake the land on that grave and filed for possession."

"That's horrible. Why is she so intent on destroying it?"

"Nobody knows but in order for Matt to stop her, he needed proof of when our Grandfather died and where he was buried. He started researching and plundering the county records office and the newspaper's dead files but before he could find proof, they cut him off."

"Cut him off? You can't cut a citizen off from viewing public records."

"By cut him off I meant, the relevant records disappeared and around here you can be cut off like that. Matt's lawyer called and warned them but it didn't do any good and that is where it was left it hanging. There's a court hearing scheduled for August I think but that's the last I heard."

"Now I understand. Matt disappears and if the cemetery is being razed right now, then the Pary family already knows he's missing and why."

"Right, Gail. There might be a connection and there might not. Do you see where I'm heading?"

"Yes, I follow you. The cemetery doesn't involve money or property, does it?"

"No. There's little value in the property but I still get this nagging feeling that the property plays a side role or at least an indicator, in the big picture. So I'm going to ride over there and take a look, see if the land has been plowed under recently or something."

"That means if someone has ripped the place apart, they did so knowing Matt would not be going to be in court in August. That's scary, Chuck."

"That's what I'm thinking too," he said.

"That's a pretty good deduction, my dear Sherlock."

"I shouldn't be gone too long. Why don't you go back to bed and grab some more sleep?"

"No. I'm awake and I want to get back to the computer. Just be careful. I'm starting to not like some of the feelings I'm getting about this whole situation."

"Any of those feelings you care to tell me about?"

"Not yet, but I will if anything starts."

"Okay, just don't forget to tell Blake that I've gone to the old Veal Cemetery. He should know where it is but if not, call me on the cell."

When Chuck opened the door, the burglar alarm issued an angry beep from the living room. Gail laughed and said, "Go ahead. I'll turn it off. I remember the code from last night. That's also my grandmother's birthday except for the 1944."

Chuck waved again, smiled, and walked out.

Gail walked to the living room and over to the alarm keypad, but instead of resetting it, she turned it off, then returned to the kitchen and sat back down to finish her coffee. She was stalling; waiting to be sure Chuck wouldn't be running back saying, "Sorry, I forgot my sunglasses. Oh what are you doing out here?"

She listened as he drove away, waiting another two minutes to be sure. Putting her cup in the kitchen sink, she went to find her shoes and get dressed. When she stepped out the back door of the house, a feeling of guilt washed over her mind. Why did she need to be so sneaky? Why couldn't she have told Chuck earlier about the dream and the images from the car? She could have shown him the sand on her feet but that was an issue her own mind had yet to resolve. Never before had anything like that happened to her.

She shrugged off the feelings, looked around slowly and then took a deep breath of morning air. The sun, barely above the distant tree line, was a pale yellow ball and climbing. From behind the barn, off in the woods, she saw a glittering reflection of sunlight on water. It was coming from the water of the pond. She gave her mind one last chance to turn around and go back inside but she couldn't do it, "Okay, let's go see what you were trying to hide from me last night" and started down the steps toward the barn.

She felt better for telling Chuck what little she did about her psychic ability but in the same breath, she was glad she hadn't told him too much. She got her cake and ate it too.

Chuck had said his Aunt, the owner of the Chevy in the barn, had ESP or psychic ability too. Was she now linked to such a person from the other side and if so, why? She had never met anyone with the same ability in this life, let alone the other one.

In the early morning sunshine, the barn looked tame and innocent compared to the dark and eerie of the night before. The huge double doors looked majestic and full of character. When she arrived before them, she lifted the wooden catch off its cradle and pulled on the right side door. The hinges creaked loudly and the darkness inside receded.

The first thing she noticed was two glass eyes about eight feet apart, glaring at her from inside. It took a few seconds to realize these were the headlamps of the 1951 Chevy. She stood in the doorway reaching outward with her mind, expecting and waiting for something to return as it had the night before. Then she felt it, it was still there, and it was again itching to get into her head. "Too weak" Gail thought, and she stepped into the barn.

The inside smelled musty, old, and gas and oil vapors from the car were strong but clearing as the doorway opening allowed. She moved forward to the car placing her hand, palm downward on the cool metal of the hood. She opened her spirit to the energies and memories and waited. The wait was extremely short.

Memories flooded her, good memories of happy times. The car's owner, Aunt Cindy, was buying the car from a local dealer. She had ordered it special, black, solid black, with bright chrome bumpers, fender skirts, and sunshades over each side of the windshield. She paid for it in twenty-dollar bills.

Gail knew this car wouldn't become the proverbial vehicle owned by a sweet little old woman who only drove it to church on Sunday. Aunt Cindy was going places and she was taking her two nephews with her in this car. She wanted to tell them something; she wanted them to know the truth and try to understand her reasons for hiding this dark secret from them for most of her life. She wanted to tell them, to explain to them, but had to find the best way and time.

When the pain in her chest struck that day while outside gardening, her first thoughts had gone to the boys and why she hadn't already told them. She knew the heart attack going on in her chest would not relinquish. She was going to die in the next few seconds and it was now too late, too late to tell the boys the truth, the secret that had haunted her life, the secret that would now leave her restless in death because she had waited too late to tell the boys.

Gail removed her hand from the car and gasped. The flood of visions and memories was stronger than any others she had experienced. But there was more she needed to see and she knew it. Slowly, she returned her hand to the car and immediately saw Aunt Cindy driving down the road and the two children with her. She took them everywhere, the drive in movies, swimming at the creek, and of course, that trip to the beach at Tybee Island. All this flashed before Gail's eyes.

The kids loved her back too. She was their favorite Aunt, but again Gail sensed something dark and ashamed in her spirit. She knew the woman had something deep and dangerous hiding inside but from her own far and distant past. Something negative, frightening, something that had haunted her until the day she died of the heart attack. Then she spoke, not about, but directly to Gail.

"Tell the children please, they need to know the truth."

The sound of her voice so real, so clear, so close, scared Gail, and she quickly removed her hand from the car again. "The truth about what, can you show me this truth?"

"Pick up the Nickel...pick up the nickel... it has much to show you."

She needed to go back inside the vision again. There was no other choice now. She slowly put her hand back on the hood and again, sensed the children, Matt and Chuck, riding in the back seat. They were happy, standing on the floorboard with their arms clasping the top of the front seat before them. Then she saw them at the seashore putting seashells and starfish in the trunk, and then she saw Matt Veal lying on the beach hurt, bleeding, but alive."

"Tell the children please, they need to know the truth. He's alive and needs to know the truth." Then she saw Chuck in the red Jeep driving down a dirt road and the voice said, "Tell him the truth. He must know the truth."

This, Gail realized, was the message. The negative feelings of the night before had come from Aunt Cindy and for her entire life, she had kept something hidden from the children and now she wanted them to know. But what was the secret?

The visions faded, leaving her with nothing but the sensation of the cool black metal hood on a car that was once the pride of 1951 Detroit.

"Touch the nickel...touch the nickel... there's much to see."

Gail was startled back to full reality when a truck horn sounded from the front yard of Matt's house. "It must be Blake and he'll be wondering what I'm doing out here in the barn."

She stepped outside, closed the door and dropped the heavy latch in place. She was turning the corner of the side yard and met Blake coming from the opposite direction. They almost ran into one another. "Oh..." she gasped.

"There you are, Gail. Sorry, but you didn't answer the door so I thought you might be out back, taking out the trash or something."

Gail regained her composure and smiled. "I was out back, yes. Sorry."

"Where's Chuck? He in the shower and didn't hear the door?"

"No, Blake. He had something he wanted to check before going to the mill. He will be back soon. Come on; let's go sit on the front porch and I'll explain it. I'm dying to test that old swing out there."

# Chapter 7

Chuck looked around at the countryside, as far as his eyes could see, and everything in view held a reddish tint. The trees, bushes, even the cows in the pastures, all wore the same red squalor of clay dust. "It hasn't rained in a while" he realized.

To a stranger, the cemetery would be impossible to find. Chuck parked the jeep on the edge of the dirt road, as close to the rain ditch as he dared, and got out. The humid morning air struck him in the face almost sapping his breath away. "Darn and its only six-thirty."

For a moment, he changed his mind about going, and then reversed. He was already this far into the venture so he stepped across the narrow road and jumped the ditch. Grabbing the top strand of a rusty fence with one hand, he took the fence post with the other, stuck the tip of his shoe through a lower wire loop, and then swung his body up and over. The fence creaked with tension but held his weight.

He and Matt use to play in the fields and woods nearby as kids, especially among the tall grave markers in the cemetery. They would romp and stomp, barefoot and brave...always picking up cuts and scrapes from briars, broken glass, and barbed wire fences. It was a wonder they hadn't died of lockjaw from blood poisoning.

With a glance back toward the road, Chuck started across the field of knee-high grass. When he was ten years old and crossing such a field, he never bothered about where he stepped because at such an age, dangers were all but nonexistent. Today, even with shoes on his feet and wearing long pants, he took enough time to spot possible hiding place for dangers and cow dung. He was nearing the right edge of the pasture headed toward a clump of old oak trees about twenty yards in the distance. The field he now crossed belonged to the Pary family.

He looked for an elm tree that once stood at the north corner of the cemetery but it was gone or he wasn't in the right spot. He reached the fence and saw a chest high tree stump that served as fence post. Somebody cut the tree hoping to kill it because the base was absorbing the wire and lifting the fence off the ground, as it grew. He could see where a dozen rows of fence strands had grown into the bark of what was once an elm tree.

Flicking at one of the strands with his finger, he remembered how he and Matt often attached copper pennies to a tree and watched them over the years as the tree absorbed them. Staring at the stump, he recalled how Matt, always the more daring, would climb as high in the tree as the reach of limbs allowed. Then, with the skill of a monkey, he would swing from branch to branch, limb to limb. He could put a Georgia fox squirrel to shame. "What have you gotten into, big brother?" Chuck spoke aloud.

The words echoed through the woods and softly faded in the distance. He looked for a clear area to cross the vine-coated fence, found one where a game trail crossed and then led off in the general direction of the old graves. He followed it deep into the tangled vines and thorns.

The entire area, overrun in places with vines and briars, kept him wary of rattlesnakes or wasps. Either could easily hide among the undergrowth. Yellow jackets, especially, favored building their underground hives beneath such ground cover and could be vicious if disturbed. Nonetheless, the urge to see the cemetery was stronger than the urge to turn back, so he kept moving forward, cautiously, but forward nonetheless.

The path led into the trees and then deeper into woods beyond. A cloud of bugs and insects skittered everywhere in the air around him. One sudden explosion of winged motion sent him backwards several steps. It was nothing but harmless bugs disturbed by his intrusion. He waited a second, catching his breath and wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead. "I wish I was ten years old again. I would've already been there and back by now."

With a deep sigh, he edged forward again. It took thirty cautious steps to find the rusted gate of the old Veal Cemetery. It wasn't much of a gate anymore. Just a knee high pile of broken bricks, rusty metal, and strands of wire the game trail followed through. On the opposite side, it veered off to the right, still headed toward his Grandfather's grave. "How convenient" he grumbled, and stepped through the gate opening and into the cemetery for the first time in twenty years.

***

Deputy Sheriff, Bill Jacobs, on his way to a late breakfast after working the night shift, was tired and short tempered. He had answered two major emergency calls during the night. One was to a pair of fighting drunks at the juke joint near the river. The other was to a husband and wife who were enjoying their own drunken weekend binge. He separated them and stopped the fight and as usual with those two, neither would press charges against the other. "I can't have him arrested for hitting me, officer. He's gotta' go to work Monday morning to feed the youngins."

There was little he could do except warn them and leave. Two hours later, they were at it again so he locked them up and called a relative to come care for the small children, one still in diapers, for God's sake.

"That was one crazy night," he thought.

The Police radio in Jacob's car crackled. It was the dispatcher, Brain, calling for a unit to respond to the Pary estate. Miss Abatha Pary was reporting a trespasser in her south field, driving a strange car with an out of state tag.

Jacobs lifted the mike and said, "Brian? I'm only a couple of miles from there. I'll take that call."

"Roger, Jacobs." The dispatcher chimed.

"I wish that kid would stop. That joke is older than I am."

He steered the heavy patrol car off the graveled pavement and into the mouth of a narrow dirt road. The tires belched twin clouds of thick red dust into the dry air behind. Jacobs's thought, "Probably some out of state visitor who stopped to take a leak in the bushes."

Such things happened a lot in West Creek County because the Interstate passing through had no public rest rooms for 40 miles east or west. Many travelers, caught between the rest stops, would pull off the highway, find a nice, deserted looking dirt road, and head for the bushes.

As Bill's patrol car rounded a sharp curve, he saw a red Jeep Cherokee parked close to the ditch. He pulled up behind, noting the car's body and tires showed little signs of heavy traveling on dirt roads. The car carried a North Carolina tag. Across the bottom it read, "First in Flight." First in the bushes after forty miles of empty Interstate and floating bladder.

Picking up the radio mike, he called the tag information into Brian and sat back waiting. It took a long, anxious two minutes before the response came. "No wants and no warrants. Vehicle registered to Charles E. Veal. Gastonia, North Carolina."

Jacobs took a deep breath, acknowledged the report, and got out of the car. He glanced across the field toward the clump of trees and underbrush where he knew the cemetery would be. "I hope this is going to be a nice, peaceful, visit, Chuck."

***

From inside the cemetery gate, Chuck saw a familiar chest high and whitewashed tombstone. "Well?" He thought. "This one is still here. What about the others?"

The undergrowth was thick and heavy. The marker was the only one visible and barely visible among the vines. Brushing back a few, Chuck read the inscription. "C. T. Hobbs. Born 1846 Died 1890."

Following the game trail with his eyes, Chuck estimated his grandfather's grave would be about fifteen or twenty yards further along the path. The top cover, handmade from sun baked Georgia clay, would be laid flat with the ground and the marker was missing. He and Matt had threatened to put a new one up but such things managed to drift to the back burner of the stove. Before long, the years would stack up higher than the weeds and briars.

Chuck swatted at the gnats near his eyes to clear the air, took a deep breath. He felt better because the cemetery was still here and walked forward down the rabbit trail, but his emotions turned to anger when he reached his grandfather's grave. There were signs of freshly dug dirt scattered among the weeds. Someone had been digging in or near the grave and recently. "For God's sake, why would anyone do this? Would Matt?"

For ten minutes, he walked around looking and checking but found nothing. "I'll find out who's been here and why." He said and turned to leave.

A deep-seated, mental itch hit him and he knew that he wasn't alone anymore. Goose bumps rose on his arms so he started walking back toward the gate. As he passed the Hobbs grave marker, a deep voice startled him, saying, "It's not a good place for a stroll, is it Mr. Veal?"

Chuck stumbled backwards a few steps snagging his heel on a loose vine. He almost toppled and the voice cautioned, "Easy there, Chuck. Getting jumpy in your old age, ain't you?"

A tall man stood with the rising sun to his back. His figure was blocking the game trail out. Chuck squinted into the sun, trying to shade his eyes with one hand. The person wore a light brown uniform with a broad, round hat. Trying to hide the unexpected surprise, Chuck called, "Sorry. I didn't hear you walk up. I thought I was alone."

"What are you doing, Chuck?" a familiar voice chided. "Don't tell me you're teaming up with Matt to give old lady Pary another heart attack."

The figure stepped forward and the face cleared the shadows. Chuck attached the voice to a name, "Lord all mighty. Bill Jacobs. It's the Po'lice."

Jacobs laughed. "Not only the Po'lice but head cop too. I'm Chief Investigator of the county which means I take all the dangerous calls like chasing spooks through the cemetery."

Chuck stepped forward and the two men hugged and shook hands warmly. Jacobs motioned around and said, "You'll get snake bit out here like this. What are you doing? Are we still hunting for that confederate gold?"

Chuck smiled because, as youngsters, he, Jacobs and Matt had often searched for the proverbial hidden confederate gold in the cemetery. Some people, even recently, thought it still buried in some area of West Creek County.

The hidden confederate gold at the Veal cemetery was part of the lore of the County. An old confederate soldier buried there protected it. Late at night, one could see the man, standing picket at the gate. Chuck's smile turned to a frown as the seriousness of the visit returned. "I'm looking for Matt. He hasn't called in over a week now and I'm worried. Have you seen him lately, Bill?"

Jacobs, genuinely surprised, said, "Matt? I just saw him, oh, maybe two weeks ago in town. If you're looking for him then what are you doing out here in this rattlesnake's den?"

"I'm serious, Bill. I checked with the Sheriff's office this week and got nothing. Matt hasn't called or been in touch with me and I don't know why."

"You think something's happened to Matt? Well, what's happened? Did he get drunk and fall off a bridge again?"

Although the words were intended kindly, Chuck didn't smile. As teens, the three of them had raided old man Fowler's moonshine still one Sunday morning while he was in church. Matt had found it a few days before while hunting. With Jacobs and Chuck in tow, they "confiscated "several pint jars of the clear, bitter liquid and drank most of two. Matt either jumped or fell from the mill creek bridge into beaver creek. Chuck, a good bit tipsy, dove in afterward to save his brother. Jacobs not sober enough to care, also jumped in to save both of his drunken friends. The two, would be heroes had almost drowned before Matt swam over and pulled them from the ice-cold waters.

Chuck looked seriously at Jacobs and said, "He's missing, Bill. Something is wrong."

Jacobs' face twisted and he swatted at the gnats around his eyes. "That can't be. I heard he was gone somewhere for a couple of days. I just assumed he was driving up to see you in North Carolina. I was working graveyard shifts so I never heard anything about him leaving only that he'd left. I'll admit it sounded strange but figured he needed a break from things around here."

Chuck shook his head "He didn't come to North Carolina. The last time we talked he was all excited about, uh, something, but he didn't mention coming up to see me any time soon."

Jacobs pulled the hat from his head and ran a sun brown hand through his hair. "When was the last time you heard from him?"

"It's been over a week or ten days and he didn't just fall off a bridge someplace. Something's happened."

Jacobs plopped the hat back on his head and looked skyward. "You said you called the Sheriff's office. Who did you talk with, Brian Mimbs the dispatcher? Did you ask him to file a missing person on Matt?"

"I talked to a guy named Mimbs and told him I was looking for Matt. Sheriff Brooks called me back the next day and said about the same thing you just told me."

Jacobs shook his head and motioned him to follow. As the two men retraced their steps back to the field, he said, "Well, I haven't seen a report but I'll check on it for you. Now come on. Old lady Pary is going to have a duck when she finds out who it is down here. I guess I better go talk to her."

Chuck fell in step beside Jacobs and then, pointing back at the woods said, "The graves are still in there, but...."

Jacobs looked curiously, "Those graves better be in there. Miss Pary was going to plow them under but Matt got a court order and stopped her. I think the case comes up in Swainsboro next month."

"It's in August. That's what Matt told me over the phone. I was afraid she might have gone ahead and ripped the place apart anyway."

Jacobs stopped and faced Chuck with a wary glance. "Nobody around here would defy a Macon Judge, just like nobody around here knows that Matt is missing. A state court order isn't something even Miss Pary would tangle with unless she was dead right and in this case, she knows better."

"That's right but what if the person who had stopped them was no longer around and in the way. She could go ahead and reclaim the cemetery. How would it strike you, if you had walked in back there a minute ago and the cemetery had been plowed under?"

"I'd start arresting somebody after I busted some heads, and not because Matt is missing either. It's the law and Miss Pary can't touch the place until a judge decides the status of the youngest grave."

"You know who's in the youngest grave and about the year he was buried, don't you? Didn't Matt use our grandfather's grave to stop her?"

"Yea but his grave marker has disappeared and there are no recent dates on the others to stop her. The local Magistrate is trying to over ride the judge's orders right now, but I haven't heard anything on it lately."

Chuck glanced across the barren field. It was late July but saw nothing planted. He pointed, "Government crops?"

"The federal government pays the farmers pretty good not to plant a field these days."

They walked along in silence for a moment and then Chuck asked, "When did all this happen with the cemetery property? Was it back in March? April?"

"Yeah, around the first of March I think, or somewhere along in there."

"I know that whatever has happened to Matt will not point directly to the fight over the cemetery but the property was a player piece in this puzzle."

They crossed the old fence again and then jumped the road ditch. Jacobs fussed over his once shiny black shoes and then said, "Chuck? Miss Pary can't legally stop you from going in there but at least do me a favor. Don't go back until this mess gets to court next month. Okay?"

Sudden anger surged through his mind and he snapped, "What if I decide to go ahead and clean the place up this weekend? What would be wrong with cutting a few bushes down?"

"Clean it up?" Jacobs barked and then tilted his hat backward. "What on earth for, but waiting a few more weeks won't make much difference. Now don't you get all fired up about this like Matt did, besides, cleaning up that place will be a major job. How long are you going to be in town?"

"I'm not going back to North Carolina until I've found Matt."

"Okay," "Do what you've got to do but stay out of the cemetery for me until next month, okay?"

Chuck sighed. "Okay, I'll stay out but I'm going to keep looking for Matt.?"

"Well, now you've got me helping. If you'll excuse me, I have to go talk with Miss Abatha right now. She saw your car out here and called it in."

Chuck thought for a second, patience thin, but common sense prevailed and he agreed. "Okay, Bill. I have some things to check out this morning. Are you going to be around town someplace?"

"I've got to run home and grab some sleep. I'll be back on shift around six this afternoon but as for Matt. You have me helping too, as of right now. If something happened to him, we'll find out what and why. Okay?"

"Thanks. I'll be at Matt's place if you find out anything."

"Okay but don't do anything without calling me first. There's still a chance he's off somewhere and fine. I'll put an APB over the wire for him shortly. If he's laid up somewhere in a hospital or something, we'll find him."

Chuck walked to his car, stopped and said, "That's pretty farfetched, and you know it. If he was in a hospital he would have called by now. It's the "or something" I'm worried about."

Jacobs stood watching Chuck drive away in a cloud of dust. His guts turned flips and he didn't like the feeling. Climbing back into the patrol car, he grabbed the microphone, "Brian? This is unit fifteen. I took care of the trespasser so I'm on my way to Whispering Pines to talk with Miss Pary."

"Roger, Jacobs" the voice popped back.

"I am going to ring that boy's neck," Bill said aloud.

# Chapter 8

Whispering Pines Estate was a huge structure with four massive columns across the front and large, bay windows facing the yards. The driveway, lined with tall, thick oak trees, meandered in a curved fashion.

Jacobs parked the patrol unit in the front drive and walked to the front door. When he rang the bell, a middle-aged woman opened one of the two giant doors and stepped back. Jacobs removed his hat, "Hello, Miss Emma. I wonder if I could see Miss Pary for just a moment."

The woman motioned him inside. "Would you wait here please?"

A moment later, she returned and said, "Miss Pary is on the back porch. This way, please."

Jacobs followed her down a long hallway into a brightly lit sunroom and then, out through a screen door to the rear porch. Abatha Pary was standing in front of an easel, brush in hand, and turned briefly when Jacobs and Emma stepped outside. "Miss Pary, Deputy Jacobs would like to see you a moment."

"Thank you," the elderly woman said without taking her eyes off her work. Jacobs waited until she stopped her work and asked, "Did you catch him?"

"I found him, Miss Pary, yes ma'am. He's gone so there's nothing more to worry about. That's a beautiful picture you're painting, Miss Abatha. You surely have a talent."

Ignoring the compliment she snapped, "I will stop by the courthouse and sign a complaint later today."

Jacobs, exaggerating his southern politeness and charm, replied, "Well, no ma'am. I didn't arrest him I said I found him. You see..."

Her high-pitched voice shrilled, "I don't appreciate words games, Mr. Jacobs. I'm sure you're aware of my specific orders. Any trespassers caught on my property are to be prosecuted. Why aren't you carrying out that order?"

Taking a deep breath, Jacobs said, "I couldn't arrest him, Miss Pary because he wasn't breaking the law. The man was visiting the old cemetery and he has a legal right to do so. The law gives him open right of way to and from the cemetery."

Miss Pary turned and faced Jacobs with a cold, angry stare. "I don't need lessons in the law, Mr. Jacobs. Trespassing is trespassing. I own that property including the snake den they call a cemetery. No one is allowed on my land without permission."

Before arriving, Jacobs decided not to mention the Veal name but something in her attitude toward the law stuck in his throat. She assumed the law would be interpreted any she wanted. She could bend it, break it, or rewrite it and she was trying to order Jacobs around as though he were an employee. Jacobs chose his next words carefully. "The person was not trespassing, Miss Pary. He has family buried in the cemetery."

With a wave of her tiny hand in the air she snapped, "Impossible. The only family alive with someone buried there...." Her words stopped suddenly and her expression turned dark and hateful. It was as though a dark shadow had crossed the room.

Jacobs, enjoying the sudden consternation in her mood, finished the incomplete sentence. "Is the Veal family, Miss Pary, Matt and Chuck Veal."

"You tell Matt Veal to stay away from there. The Judge is not going to stop me from taking back my land and turning it into a pig pen."

"It wasn't Matt Veal I found out there, Miss Pary. It was Chuck, his younger brother from North Carolina."

She stammered, "Chuck, the youngest?"

"Yes ma'am! He's a newspaper writer and I hear he's just about as good with words as you are with those brushes."

She turned her back and raised the paintbrush to the canvas. "You will arrest either or both of the Veal boys if you "find" them on my property again. Is that understood, Deputy, or do I need to call the Sheriff and have him explain it to you?"

Jacobs saw something in the shrubbery along the edge of the porch move. He cocked his head sideways just enough to view the area in his peripheral vision but never missed a beat in the rhythm of the discussion. "That's not true, Miss. Pary. The Judge in Swainsboro said that our Magistrate here does not have authority in the matter. The Veal family has rights to visit the grave of their Grandfather."

"What?" She shrieked. " Why don't you...." then pulled up short, stopped, caught her breath, and more calmly said, "I'll speak with someone else about this matter but you, Mr. Jacobs, can forget running for Sheriff of West Creek County when Walt Brooks retires, now, good day."

Backing away gracefully he said, "Yes ma'am, and good day Miss Pary. I'll see myself out."

Jacobs wouldn't let anyone dictate the law to him except those elected to write it, not those who bought and paid for it. The Parys held a tight rein on anything or anybody that had to go through the voters and Jacobs would never be a puppet to the family. He drove away from Whispering Pines but instead of turning left to go home, he turned right and started back toward town. "She's fit to be tied and probably setting Walt's ears on fire right now." Jacobs mumbled.

***

Chuck's voice said over the cell phone, "Hey Gail? I'm on the way back right now. So tell Blake when he gets there to ..."

"He's here right now." Gail cut in. "He was about to leave and meet you."

"Just tell him to wait. I'll be there in five minutes."

"Okay, will do."

Gail clicked off her cell and looked at Blake. He sat in a porch chair next to her in the swing. Her feet lightly pushed off the floor, rocking the swing slightly. She could see beads of sweat breaking out on his forehead. "That was Chuck on the phone. He'll be here in five minutes and asked you to wait."

"No problem, thanks. How long have you two been together?"

Gail shrugged. "We're not together, I mean, not together like that. He's my boss at the newspaper in Gastonia and I've worked with him for about six months."

Blake raised an eyebrow but said nothing. Gail blushed, "No, I'm not down here scoring points with the boss. We're just friends and nothing more yet."

Blake raised his eyebrows higher and said, "Yet? Is it getting to be more than friends ...yet?"

The remark stunned her and she searched for words. Blake apologized. "I'm sorry, Gail. That's none of my business."

She smiled. "You're an observant listener, Mr. Squires. I did say the word "yet" but it popped out before I realized how it might sound. I'm sorry too."

"Don't apologize to me. I was the one sticking his nose in where it didn't belong. I guess I'm so worried about what might have happened to Matt I pried into affairs that were none of my business. I guess I was in protective mode with Chuck. I've been that way with Matt for a long time."

"So you think I'm an inside spy for the Timber mafia or something?" She laughed.

"No, I don't think anything like that, but, I can see it in your eyes and expression that you like Chuck but you undoubtedly haven't admitted it..."yet!"

Gail was again at a loss for words. Was it true Blake could see that her feelings for Chuck were blooming? Could everyone see it? "My coming here with Chuck looks as though we have a closer relationship, so I can understand how you misunderstood, Blake."

"Your coming down here is a blessing to Chuck. I can see it in him too. There's more to his emotions about you than friendship, so don't lead the boy on, Gail."

"Did you watch after Matt this close too, Blake?"

He nodded, and then looked up at the sound of a car engine coming down the driveway. It was Chuck's red Jeep.

When Chuck turned into Matt's driveway, he saw Blake and Gail sitting on the porch talking but Gail looked slightly flushed, embarrassed. "Now what in the world are they talking about? We hardly know this guy."

The two stood and watched him park the car. They walked down the porch and then the steps and met Chuck on the walkway. Blake said, "Gail told me where you were. I assume the cemetery was still there."

Chuck nodded. "Yea, it was still there but somebody was digging around my Grandfather's grave."

"Do what?" Gail asked. "Why do you think that?"

Chuck eyed Blake a moment and said, "I don't think it, I know it. The grave is made from hand laid bricks and they've been moved and put back wrong."

Blake said, "Oh lord. I wonder if..."

When he let the words trail off, Chuck and Gail looked at one another. Chuck asked, "Blake? You wonder, what?"

"Matt and I were talking one time a few weeks ago about your family history and everything. Matt had this notion about some important missing paper that belonged to his Grandfather. He got it in his head the paper was hidden ..."

Chuck finished the sentence. "Inside grandpa's casket, buried at the cemetery, right?"

Blake looked relieved that Chuck already knew. "Yea, that's it. He talked to you about it too?"

"No, our father spent his entire life saying that. He truly believed our grandfather's legal will, the one officially filed, was a forgery and the real one had been hidden in the grave with Grandpa."

"What? I don't get it. What is there in the official will that wasn't legal? Abatha Pary was his wife and she inherited the estate. What could be wrong with that?"

"Dad should have gotten a share too but... zip... he got nothing."

Blake looked at his watch, "We better get rolling before it gets too late."

Chuck turned to Gail, "I'll explain it better later but I doubt it was Matt out there digging up Grandpa. That was some notion my father lived and died with but Matt and I never believed."

Gail took Chuck's hand, "You guys be careful. This is starting to sound a little scary to me."

The two men walked to the truck and climbed in, waved bye to Gail, and drove away.

Pulling through the gated fence of the Veal Timber Mill, Chuck saw three huge machines, forklifts, moving and feeding precut logs to the racks and saws. A fourth, yellow fork worked busily unloading a log truck parked near the length saws.

The property had three main shelters with no sides. The roofs were made of tin that kept the machinery out of the weather but offered little protection for the employees moving about beneath. Chuck could see workers stacking the rough-cut planks that came skidding out of the gang saws and down a waiting ramp.

He felt, before he saw, the chipper machine. Its sharp, high-pitched whine and thunderous rumbling gave him chill bumps. It was the most frightening machine he had ever known and he hated it.

Blake pointed toward a small, painted office building, "Thompson is going to have a fit when you walk in there. Just keep your eyes' open and watch out. He's a snake in the grass if ever one was born!"

Blake stopped the truck in front of the office and waited while a small cloud of reddish dust from the truck tires swirled past them. They got out, looked around and stepped up on the building's small front porch. The office door stood wide open. Chuck stepped through first with Blake close behind.

The office was a two-room affair with a desk and several file cabinets. The door to the other was for the bathroom... ugly white toilet next to a sink and always out of paper. The office smelled of old wood, body sweat, and machine oil. It was hot and humid inside. Chuck wondered why the air-conditioner wasn't running.

With papers scattered about in what appeared total haphazard fashion, the place looked a disaster. A pink faced, stout, (and God he's ugly) little man sat fanning with the torn cover of a phone book. His free hand was wildly shuffling through the tangle of papers on the desktop. Behind him was a computer system blank and powered off.

Chuck could see that the computer was off and judging from the coat of dust on it, had not been operational for some time. The wiry little man pretended not to notice them so Chuck spoke first. "How 'bout it" he said friendly enough.

The man stopped moving papers and took a rag from his shirt pocket. Without looking up, he wiped sweat from his forehead and asked in a twanged country accent. "Can I he'p you?"

Clearing his throat, Chuck said, "I'm looking for Matt Veal!"

Thompson, still without looking up, waved an arm and said, "He ain't here. My name's Thompson. I'm the yard boss. You got a problem?"

Chuck leaned over placing the palms of his hands on the edge of Matt's desk and peered at the greasy haired man. His eyes scanned the jumble of papers, speed-reading enough to realize that most of them were regular bills.

His unexpected movement brought Thompson's face upward and Chuck could see the apparent disinterest, disgust, and foul attitude in the man's eyes. He didn't like being bothered and let it show plainly in his expression.

Slowly, he leaned back in his chair, keeping his eyes locked on Chuck, and waited but offered nothing. Chuck didn't keep him waiting long.

"When's Veal going to be back? I need to see him."

The expression wavered briefly. Leaning to the side, he noticed Blake Squires standing just inside the door, "Squires? You got a lot of gall coming out here to this mill."

Blake, his huge body filling the doorway, said, "Why is that, Thompson? I just brought this man out here because he wants to talk with Matt Veal and if he's not here then how 'bout getting him on the phone."

Chuck added, "And if it's a long distance call then just have the operator charge it to my bill."

Thompson's face paled, his beady eyes darting back and forth from Chuck to Squires. No doubt, their presence had sounded an alarm in his brain and he was now seeing Chuck's family resemblance to Matt.

His eyes narrowed and with a slight quiver in his voice, he asked, "Who are you? What do you want with Matt Veal? I'm the boss when he's not here."

Chuck leaned further over the desk, getting closer to the man's sweaty face. "What do I want? I want to know what it is you're doing sitting at my brother's desk and bossing around our mill. I'm only going to ask this question one more time. Where is Matt?"

Thompson's face turned white, his feet pushed and rolled the desk chair backward several inches. He was in desperate need of air when he sputtered, "I told you on the phone a hundred times. He's out of town."

Chuck waved a hand across the top of the desk and asked between clinched teeth, "When's he coming back to pay these bills? Did he leave you company checks to pay these bills with?"

Thompson recovered and shouted, "That's none of your business. Now get out of here so I can get back to work."

Chuck snarled, "Then tell me this, Thompson. Who put you in charge here?"

He shrugged his stooped shoulders, "Your brother hired me to run the place. I'm the crew boss. If you want to know anything else then ask him."

Chuck moved his face to within inches of Thompson and hissed, "I will when I see him. When was the last time you heard from Matt?"

Thompson tried to lean further back but couldn't. The wheels on the chair had butted with the wall behind him. His expression reminded Chuck of a trapped, frightened weasel with eyes darting about.

Thompson leaned over to the window and yelled, "Anderson? Get in here on the double."

Squires, speaking matter of fact to Chuck, said, "Thompson told the Sheriff a few days ago that he had talked to Matt just that morning. He claims Matt passed along word that he and I were no longer partners on the Beaver Creek property and he wanted me to keep my nose out of the business."

Thompson squirmed in his chair, still wanting more room to back up further. The space between him and Chuck offered little air between them it seemed.

In a high pitched, squeaky voice he said, "Yeah. That's right, Squires. I'm glad you found out. Now both of you get out of here or I'll have you tossed out on your heads!"

With speed that shocked even Blake, Chuck reached across the desk and grabbed the front of Thompson's shirt, giving it a swift, angry tug. The wimpy man gasped and sputtered so Chuck pulled him across the top of the cluttered desk clearing a wide path through the mounds of papers.

Chuck growled, "I am going to..."

A voice from just outside the office said, "You want to get your hands off him or do I need to come on in and tear them loose?"

Chuck turned and saw a mill worker standing just behind, and several inches above, the already tall Blake Squires. In one hand, he was clasping a heavy pipe wrench.

Blake turned to the man and said, "Anderson? These men are discussing private business so I suggest you wait your turn outside. When Mr. Veal is done, I'm next in line."

The worker grinned, exposing a mouth filled with yellowish black teeth and said, "I'll rip your head off and toss it in the chipper if you say one more..."

Blake's fist, in a lightning speed swing, disappeared deep into the cotton fabric of the man's shirt. The blow caught him unexpectedly and the raw power behind it brought a deep, guttural whoosh of air roaring out from between his lips. The force shoved him backwards and off the porch. He landed in the dirt with another heavy "harumpppp." The heavy wrench he'd been holding clattered to the floor at Blake's feet. With an equally quick move, Blake slammed the door closed and pushed a dead bolt lever into locking position. He reached down and picked up the wrench, and propped it against a file cabinet.

Turning back to Chuck, he smiled and said, "Anderson has decided to wait his turn. Now what was that you were telling Thompson and please, don't keep the rest of the man's company waiting. I tend to get impatient at times."

Thompson, not believing his backup failed, was desperate. He shouted, "I'll call the law if you two don't get out of here and do it right now."

Chuck, still holding the man's shirt in his two fists, shook him and spat, "I'll save you the trouble Thompson. I'll call them because I want to know where Matt is and I want to know what you're doing here."

Thompson's hand blindly searched the desktop and found a heavy, metallic staple gun. His fist closed around it and with one wild swing, hit Chuck across the cheek and ear. The sudden blow forced him to release the grip and grab his head.

Thompson scrambled backward and regained his footing. He looked around wildly and then dove, head first, out the open window.

Blake was beside Chuck in an instant and moved to follow Thompson but Chuck shouted, "Let him go! I'm all right."

Blake watched Thompson running across the mill yard "You sure?"

"I didn't see that coming."

Blake found a towel in the bathroom, wet it and then held it out for Chuck to use on his bruised cheek. Next, he peered out the mill office window and watched Thompson yelling at a group of workers including the now recovered Anderson.

"Hey Chuck?" Blake said. "Thompson is gathering up a crowd of trouble and I don't like the looks of it."

Holding the rag to his face, Chuck stepped to the window beside Blake and watched a dozen men; all seedy looking and well muscled from the harsh work of a timber mill. Even with Blake helping, there was no way he could handle that many people at once. Running was not always the best option out of a fight, but when the cards were stacked this badly, running was an option.

Chuck nodded his chin toward Blake's truck and said, "We've got time to make a run for it. The truck is just outside the door."

Blake shook his head. "Afraid not, look at the gate. They've locked it and I see a couple of guys close by."

"Can't we ram the gate or something with your truck?"

Blake shook his head irritably, "That only works on TV. The barbed wire would slice right through the windshield and cut us in half. I got a better idea," he said reaching for a cell phone clipped to his belt.

Chuck watched a trickle of sweat run down the black man's cheek as he dialed a number and then glanced back out the window. A few seconds later, he spoke into the receiver.

"Clark? Grab some of the boys and beat it over to the Veal mill. Do it on the double. Thompson has me and Chuck Veal cut off from leaving. I don't have time to do much explaining but they're planning a party for us and I wouldn't want you boys to miss it. Oh, and they got the gate locked so you had better drive Catfish's old stump buster in first. If they don't open up then just pick a spot and give them a new gate."

When Blake hung up, Chuck asked, "How far is your place from here?"

Blake shrugged and said, "It's about a mile or so. I just hope they can get here before that bunch does."

Chuck, his smashed cheek throbbing angrily, slumped into the chair, "God, something's all wrong about this. Matt would never leave a jerk like that in charge of the mill."

Blake shook his head, "Thompson is the last man on earth Matt would trust. I don't know why he hired him either but we do know that he's got control right now with all those goons backing him and judging from the way he acts, he isn't expecting Matt back here any time soon."

Their eyes locked for a moment and Blake added, "Sorry, Chuck. It's something I've been thinking for a few days or so. I just don't see how Matt could be alive unless he's laid up someplace with amnesia."

Looking for another train of thought, Chuck pointed at a huge express safe that stood squarely in one corner of the room. "I need to get your papers out of there."

Blake, not taking his eyes away from the trouble outside, shook his head. "My papers are not in there. That's not Matt's safe. They've done something with it. His box was older and there were rust spots around the bottom. That one yonder does not. That is not Matt's safe."

In partial disbelief, Chuck stepped over to the heavy door on the safe and squatted down. His fingers spun the huge dial twice and then rolled several numbers to the red marker line at the top of the indicator. After running the sequence code, he grabbed the long, silver release handle and pulled. Nothing happened. He tugged it several times. The door should have opened unless Matt had reset the tumblers and that wasn't likely.

Eying the box for a moment, Chuck rose back to his feet, "Why in the world would they switch Matt's safe?"

"Probably because my papers are inside that would tie this thing together. You realize what that means don't you?"

"Thompson switched the safe because he knows that Matt isn't going to be coming back to open it and the only way he could possibly know that is...."

"Now you're getting to the heart of the matter."

Chuck's anger flared and he snarled, "Thompson's got to know something. I'll beat it out of him if I have to. I mean it Blake. I will tear that little scum apart with my bare hands."

"I can only imagine how you feel but you better find out why they wanted Matt out of the picture in the first place. Don't you understand? They wanted him out bad enough to... to...."

Chuck finished the sentence. "...To kill him. I guess you're right but a timber lease isn't reason enough to kill somebody. I mean we're only talking what, fifty thousand bucks between you and Matt? Would anybody kill for what appears so little bit of gain?"

Blake nodded. "I know some folks who would kill for a lot less. Now try to calm down. I have one or two ideas but I can't connect any of them with Thompson yet. Right now he's the trip line that could take us to the real person responsible."

"I don't know. Murder is a serious means to an end.

Blake shook his head, "Like I said, not to some folks. Some would just as soon drop you in the river if you happen to get in their way."

Chuck took a deep breath, "I didn't mean to spill our cards here this morning. I'm sorry."

Blake smiled. "It was time to get things rolling and besides. I have more at stake here than you realize. Matt's a good friend of mine and the best business partner a man could ever have."

Nodding out the window, Chuck snapped, "Here they come."

Blake looked around, "See if you can shove that file cabinet up against the door. It might slow them down. I'll hold the window."

Thompson and eight others crossed the open yard and halted just outside the office building. Several men carried heavy tools or short pieces of lumber. Thompson shouted, "Okay, Squires. You and your buddy drag it out here or we're gonna' tear the place apart."

Blake yelled back, "What's the matter, Thompson, are you afraid to come back in here alone? Okay... then you can bring three or four of your buddies with you. We can deal with it."

Blake paused and then added, "By the way, Thompson. Did you tell your boys that my friend in here is Matt Veal's brother?"

Chuck heard several workers grumbling. Blake shook his head and said, "Telling them isn't going to help. As I said, Thompson has fired all the workers who liked Matt. The people out there I wouldn't hire if my life depended on it. They're a rough bunch and dirt dog mean."

Chuck sighed heavily "You're not helping my headache but keep them talking. It might buy us a little more time.

Thompson ordered three of the men to find a heavy log and break down the door. Blake motioned Chuck to move into a corner, away from the opening. There wasn't much room to hide in such a small (and getting smaller) office.

The heavy wrench Anderson had dropped earlier was propped against the cabinet where Blake had placed it. Chuck picked it up and waited. The heavy metal in his hand felt cold and threatening. It could kill a man in one swing.

The sound of a distant, roaring truck engine grew louder in the small office. Chuck looked over anxiously at Blake, "That's Catfish's truck. I've been after him for two months to get a muffler put on it. I never thought I'd be so proud to hear it coming."

The mill workers outside also heard the truck coming and stopped to look. A rusty looking, three quarter ton pickup with dust boiling and billowing from behind, rounded the curve on the entrance road and swung into view. The front bumper was actually a four-inch thick iron pipe that stretched all the way across the front. The entire frame formed a heavy, formidable front armor and grill. The setup, built to push away fallen trees and limbs on logging paths, was homemade. Blake and Chuck stood together at the window and watched the nearing dust cloud. From within the swirls, they could see the outline of a second vehicle following closely behind.

The two trucks never slowed for the closed barbed wire gate, hitting it with a loud metallic scream of metal against metal. The gate seemed to hesitate for a split second and then crimped, crumpled, and disappeared beneath the front of the lead pickup. Loud pistol cracks sounded and Chuck realized it was the tension snapped wires of the fence. He looked at Blake, "Only works on TV, huh?"

Blake smiled and shrugged. The second truck caught the crumbled mass of metal spewed by the lead truck and ran over it. A rear tire exploded and then shredded to pieces but the truck kept coming and there were several men squatted in the back of each vehicle.

Loose fence wire dangled from the side mirrors of the lead truck and as it braked, came hissing through the air toward Thompson's crowd out front. They scattered quickly clearing the path for the second truck that was riding a blown tire. It warbled toward the office building and as it slowed, riders in the back started dropping off, truck still in motion, and each man holding a heavy tool or board in hand.

The scene looked more like a gang war about to erupt. A burly man with sun-darkened skin and short, curly hair, stepped out of the driver's side of the lead truck. He held a 12-gauge shotgun clutched in his arms and swung the barrel level at the crowd that was now gathering back around Thompson. The two, distinct, dark and ugly holes on the tip of the shotgun's business end spoke loud and clear so nobody moved... nobody spoke a word.

The curly haired driver shouted, "All right, Thompson. I wouldn't advise anybody getting in the way of this scattergun. I've cleaned out a whole covey of quail with it before."

Thompson screamed, "I'm going to have you arrested. Look at that gate. That's a thousand dollars you just ruined."

Blake and Chuck stepped out onto the office porch. Blake shouted, "Just how much damage were you and your goons planning to do on our heads, Thompson?"

Chuck added, "If you want to call the law then just go right ahead. At least you can explain your lies about talking with Matt Veal. Matt is missing and you know it."

Several of Thompson's workers glanced sharply at their boss. Chuck shouted again. "The fact is, Thompson, I'll have you down at the Sheriff's office pretty soon anyway on suspicion of murder."

"Murder" Thompson cried. Who's dead? You can't pin anything like that on me. I talked with your brother three days ago like I said."

"You're a liar, Thompson." Chuck snarled and you're not good at it."

Thompson took a cautious step forward but the barrel of the shotgun gun tracked with his motion. He froze, eyes glued to the dark holes on the end of the gun.

Chuck pointed a finger and hissed, "You want to climb my wall, Thompson? Come on and do it right now. Just me and you"

Chuck was mad and knew that if Matt was dead then Thompson was involved somehow.

"What?" Thompson screamed. "I don't fight crap like you and there are laws about threats. I'll...I'll..."

Chuck cut him off. "You'll what, Thompson. You'll get the needle in the arm up in Jackson prison for killing Matt. That is, if I don't get you first."

Turning to the rest of the crews, Chuck shouted, "Y'all hear that? You're working for a liar and a coward. Take that home in your next paycheck."

One of Thompson's men shouted, "We don't know you from a hill of beans, mister. But if your buddy there with the bird gun will lay it down, we'll see who's a coward and who ain't."

Clark suddenly tossed the shotgun to a young man who stood nearby and shouted "Bird gun, Anderson? Since when do you shoot birds with double ought buckshot? I got a pair of nice wad cutters in that gun."

Several of the workers backed up warily. Clark, with hands on his huge, wide hips, cried, "You know something? You got a mouth on you, Anderson and I think my foot will fit down it just about right."

Chuck stepped forward to say something, after all, it was his fight, but Clark and Anderson had already moved toward one another. The other men formed a circle around and started shouting.

Anderson, a foot taller and thirty pounds heavier than Clark, glanced over at Thompson. Thompson nodded. He faced Clark squarely and snarled, "This will be easy."

Chuck glanced at Blake and saw a glint of humor on the dark man's face. "Blake? This is my problem so let me handle it."

Ignoring the remarks, Blake shouted at the young man now holding the shotgun. "Catfish, if anybody interferes, you give them both barrels."

Anderson swung a few punches that Clark ignored. Both men had grown up around the rough and tumble life of timber mills. Neither were strangers to a brawl. Clark's cool, calculated, and cautious movements were upsetting Anderson's concentration. Unknown to Chuck only, Clark had a personal reason to fight Anderson.

The heavier man lunged at Clark's mid section, intending to pick the smaller man up and slam him into the dirt. Had the move been successful, the fight would be over. Wary of Anderson's longer reach and size, Clark easily sidestepped and the larger man roared past, blindly flailing at empty air.

Clark caught him with a fist to the back of the neck as he passed that cracked wickedly in the morning air. The blow sent Anderson sprawling face down in the dirt, puffing wildly.

Clark turned shouting, "What's the matter, Andy? Can't take a little push every now and then? It's too bad there wasn't a chipper door right there where you just landed."

Chuck snapped his head and looked at Blake. "What did that mean?"

Blake shook his head and whispered; "I'll explain it later." The first sign of worry appeared on Blake's face.

Anderson slowly rose to his feet and growled, "I'll kill you Clark. Just like our chipper chewed up your brother and spit his hide out on the crappy pile."

Clark's face grew darker, "My brother was pushed into that chipper, Anderson. You know it because you pushed him."

Chuck grabbed Blake's arm and half cried, "What's all that? His brother was the one killed here?"

Blake nodded. "That's the one."

The workers were yelling excitedly. Anderson got to his feet slowly, rubbing at the back of his neck. With a snarl, he moved closer for another round. Clark, with a deep, dangerous determination on his face, made the next move.

He faked a hay raking swing with his right fist and Anderson moved his head away to avoid a blow that, he didn't realize, wasn't coming anyway. When his head moved away to the left, it collided with Clark's right fist that had been secretly closing in from the same direction. It was a boxer's perfect sucker move and it worked. The sound of the lick thudded like an axe and Thompson's second in command crumpled at Clark's feet.

Several of Thompson's crew lunged forward but Catfish, shotgun level and steady, yelled, "Don't try it. This thing might go off."

Stunned and wary, Anderson raised to all fours. Clark stepped in with a vicious knee jab, hitting him squarely under the chin. The blow flipped the larger man over and blood started gushing from a broken nose and cut lips. Anderson was out cold.

Blake jumped from the porch shouting, "Okay, Clark. He's had it."

With fiery eyes, Clark roared, "He killed my brother and now I'm gonna kill him."

Blake stepped through the circle of men and grabbed Clark's arm just as a heavy logger's boot was about to smash Anderson's head. He barked, "I said, that's enough. We're going to get to the bottom of everything soon enough."

Blake hauled his foreman away from the motionless body. Thompson screamed, "I'm gonna have you locked up for this. I'm calling the sheriff right now!"

Chuck, still standing on the office porch, grabbed Thompson's arm as he tried to pass and said, "Go ahead Thompson. I'll wait. I'm serious. In fact, I'll make the call for you if you want."

Thompson wrung his arm loose and stumbled backwards. "I don't know what you're talking about, Veal. This isn't your affair. It's not your mill. This place belongs to Matt and I'm the boss until he gets back! "

Chuck stepped closer again, "I'll find out what's happened to Matt. I have a copy of his will and just in case you are wondering, I get everything including the mill, timber property, and outhouse. One of my first orders will be to fire you before they put you in jail for murder."

Thompson slipped past Chuck and stumbled through the office doorway. He let him go.

Blake pointed at one of Thompson's men and shouted, "Get him out of here before I turn Clark loose. If Thompson does call the Sheriff, be sure and tell him I'll be at my office for the rest of this afternoon. Otherwise, I'll be seeing him shortly anyway if he cares to wait."

Blake held Clark until another worker pulled Anderson away, and then he half pushed him toward Catfish and said, "Take this guy back to the mill. I'll be there in a minute."

# Chapter 9

Twenty minutes after the fight ended, they all sat in Blake's mill office. It was similar to Matt's office only larger. Catfish and Clark sat on a front seat taken from a truck before being scrapped. It substituted well enough for a sofa. Blake sat behind his desk watching a couple of men fixing the damage to one of the trucks. Catfish looked at Clark and said, "You whupped Anderson real good. He never got a lick in on ya, did he?"

Blake interrupted. "Clark? You have to settle down. I know your brother's death was more than an accident but if you kill that guy then the Sheriff will put you away for good."

Clark shrugged, "I don't care what they do. Anderson killed my brother and I know it. I just don't know why."

Chuck raised an eyebrow, "Why was your brother working for that guy in the first place?"

Clark looked at Chuck, "He was gonna quit if Mr. Veal didn't show back up pretty soon."

"What happened? How did your brother fall in the chipper?"

Clark snapped forward and screamed, "He was pushed. I know my brother, and Mr. Veal knew him too. Keg could walk a two-inch log across a fifty-foot gully. That's why it was his job to clear the jams near the mouth of the chipper. He was good on his feet."

"What did the sheriff say when you told him your brother was pushed?"

"What do you think? He said I needed a witness and ain't none of that bunch gonna speak up because Thompson handpicked 'em all. Keg was the last man there hired by Mr. Veal."

"Why do you think he was killed? What did he see or do?"

Clark shook his head slowly. "I don't know he must have known something or saw something he wasn't supposed to see. He didn't say anything to me about it. I figure he found something bad on Thompson. All I do know is they killed Keg and Anderson is the one who did it."

Catfish spoke up. "Clark? You know Keg wasn't too careful about the crowds he ran around with. Don't you remember when he was busted that night for helping unload the truck full of dope?"

Chuck looked over at Blake and raised an eyebrow. "Is that what this is all about? Is Thompson into drug trafficking?"

Blake shrugged. "I don't think he'd be working for a timber mill if he was into that. There is too much big money in that kind of stuff. That and he's hardly smart enough to stay alive with the type of people you would have to deal with. You know what I mean?"

"Keg wasn't a dope runner or nothin'. Fact is he called me the night he got out of jail and told me the only reason he done it was because a man had offered him two hundred dollars for an hour's work. For that kind of money I might have gone too."

Chuck asked, "Is there any chance that once he did the job, maybe he said too much to the cops?

"Keg might have tried something stupid like that to save his own hide from jail. Maybe that's why they got Anderson to push him into the chipper."

Blake stood up, "Okay, Clark. You and Catfish get out of here. There's still a lot of day left with more work to do than we got sunlight."

As the two were about to leave, Blake stopped them, "I want both of you to know that I appreciate what you did. It saved our hides from a beating. Be sure and tell the boys I appreciate it and lunch is on me down at the greasy spoon today. Tell Bubba to put it on my tab."

Clark smiled, "You would have busted some heads whether we got there in time or not, boss. Besides, I'd like to meet the man who could climb your outhouse. You had 'em under control real good and the only reason we come on over was to not miss the fun."

When the two were gone, Chuck sighed, "Blake? What in the world is going on? Clark's brother died at the mill and, well, I mean, for sure Matt wasn't into dealing with drug traffickers."

"You know as well as I do that Matt would never have anything to do with something like that."

"Then we don't know if that's why Clark's brother was pushed in the chipper. Was it drugs or was it something to do with Matt? I just don't get it."

"Well, your guess is just as good as mine. Let's not forget, we don't know for sure if Keg was pushed or if he fell."

"Clark seems convinced and so does Catfish. Who is this guy, Catfish? He looks familiar."

"His name is Catfish Jacobs. He's Bill Jacobs' first cousin."

Chuck was surprised. Blake nodded. "That's him and let me tell you. Catfish is a square shooter. He's young but he's hard working and I like the kid. He's one of the best machine operators I've ever seen. He's got the magic touch with anything mechanical. He can drive a skidder, a bulldozer, or anything else that needs operating. He can drive 'em and he can fix 'em when they break down."

Chuck looked at his hands, "What about that truck load of dope? Do you have any idea who, around here, would be behind that?"

"Some folks think the Sheriff runs the operation. I've also heard a few other names mentioned, but you know how that kind of stuff goes."

"Yea, I know, so how big a load was it and who caught them unloading it?"

Blake thought a moment. "F250 Ford with a camper and it was loaded down with about half a million dollars worth of uncut heroin. Somebody tipped off the feds because they were waiting on that truck for a couple of days."

Chuck whistled softly. "Wow. That kind of money isn't small time."

Blake agreed. "I don't know if that has anything to do with Matt or not. I just can't see how it could."

Chuck raised a hand and ticked off a finger for each thing. "So we got the cemetery land dispute; we got the timber property rights dispute; we got one of Matt's employee's dead from a fall in the chipper after being arrested during a drug haul. We got Matt missing and nobody knows why or where."

Blake added, "You also have the family history that Matt was working on too. If that panned out it would shake West Creek County rather hard."

Chuck stood, "That family stuff is too old to be part of whatever is going on right now. I better get back to the house and see how Gail is doing on that research. Do you figure Thompson called the Sheriff?"

"Yea, he probably did but the Sheriff isn't going to bother with it."

"Well, I'm going to go take a nice cold shower and see if Gail wants to rustle up some grub at the diner in town. Care to join us?"

"Is this lady something special, Chuck? You surely do light up at the mention of her name."

Chuck blushed. "Oh, well. She's a friend of mine. We work together and that's all. I asked her to come down with me to help. She has a mind like a bear trap. She's good, real good."

"Okay, but I got to pass on the invite. Catfish and I are going to run up to Beaver Creek and appraise the last fifty acres. I'll catch you later this afternoon when we get back."

# Chapter 10

Bill Jacobs entered the Sheriff's office and pounded his fist on the locked security entrance door. Normally, he would calmly wait for the dispatcher, Brian Mimbs, to notice him standing there and press the electronic lock release but patience was running low from lack of sleep.

Mimbs pressed the release and the sound of an angry bumblebee echoed through the room. A sour faced Jacobs pulled the door open and snapped, "What took you so long?"

Mimbs ignored the remark, "The Sheriff wants to see you."

From habit of command, Jacobs checked the operator's log sheet, reading over it gloomily. "Did the Sheriff get a phone call in the last few minutes?"

"Yep, he sure did. It was old lady Pary and Bubba. She was hotter than a cat out of the fire."

"That figures. Listen, I need to check something in the files upstairs. Tell him I'll be back in a few minutes."

The Sheriff said he wanted to see you immediately. I was just about to call you on the radio when you signed off outside a minute ago."

Bill, realizing Miss Pary had already lowered the boom, snapped, "Tell the Sheriff I had to check something important that he may need to see before I talk to him."

Bill wasn't about to tell Brian that his real motive was to look in the computer files and see if and who had responded to the missing person report on Matt Veal. Brian Mimbs, sensing his supervisor's tone and mood, wasn't about to push the matter beyond limits he well understood. Raising his arms in surrender he said, "Okay I've told you and that's all I can do."

The computer room was down the hall from the holding cells. Jacobs paused at the door, took a deep breath, let it out slowly and then pushed down on the door handle and stepped into the brightly lit room.

A desk, printer, computer and monitor covered most of the cramped space inside while the "brains" of the system, the mainframe unit, stood in the adjoining room. A wall with a glass partition separated the two areas. The machine operated continually around the clock. It kept track of radio transmissions, incoming phone calls from the 911 center and was networked to State and Federal sites linking all police organizations together.

Marge Shepherd, seated behind the control desk, looked up when Jacobs entered and then smiled. Bill removed his hat and said, "How's it going, Miss Margie?"

"Slow, as usual, Bill. How goes the fight for law and order?"

"Terrible, seems like the whole world is going bad. I should have done like my mama told me and turned preacher. That way I would get to see a room full of smiling faces at least once a week."

She grinned, "Preachers also have to marry and bury many of those smiling faces. Their jobs ain't much better or worse than folks like you who carry the law around in a gun holster."

Nodding toward the computer monitor, he asked, "Is there anything good to watch on TV this morning?"

"Not so far. It's kind of quiet. We got a missing husband and some kids who got caught fishing in Miller's pond. Oh, and the state patrol stopped a mad, little old lady from backing up the wrong side of the interstate."

Jacobs grinned at the joke because six weeks ago, he spotted Margie backing up the exit ramp on I-16. When confronted with the vicious crime, she explained that she had mistakenly turned down the wrong ramp and needed to go back. Jacobs, being a fair and just man, had only issued her a warning ticket.

Switching to a more serious tone, he asked, "Can you check the missing person reports logged over the system during the past few weeks?"

"Sure." Margie smiled cheerfully. "Any name you're looking for?"

"Veal" He said. Matt Veal"

She hesitated and was about to say something, but the look on Bill's face locked the words behind her lips. She quietly typed the information into the computer keyboard and waited.

The computer system was busy with something else and the wait took a bit longer than expected. Her curiosity finally overrode her caution and she asked, "Matt Veal? Is he missing? I thought I just saw him in town a couple of weeks ago."

Jacobs shrugged, "I heard he was gone on business but his brother from North Carolina thinks otherwise. He filed a Missing Persons report. I need to know if we received it."

She shook her head slowly. "I don't think we have and you know me. I would have called you the moment something like that came down. I know Matt's a friend of yours."

"I know, Margie. I appreciate it. I'm hoping our computer made a goof or something. You know, maybe developed a bad case of over byte."

The monitor screen filled with information. Jacobs circled the desk and leaned closer to read from the screen. Marge could only stare, eyes wide, and whisper, "This can't be right. I've never seen this report before now. How did it sneak past me?"

Jacobs, still reading, saw where information, input from a secure station, stated that Matt Veal was out of town on business.

Margie stared in disbelief and said "Bill? I swear this is the first time I've seen that. How could I have missed it?"

Placing a hand on her shoulder, he said, "Okay. It probably came down while you were off duty or while you were out to lunch."

Margie's fingers raced across the keyboard and the screen cleared. Several seconds later another row of information appeared. She scanned it quickly then shook her head. "No. My terminal didn't miss it. It was logged and stored back to the main frame on this station so the reply came from the Sheriff."

Straightening slowly from the screen, Jacobs asked, "Can anyone else operate your console besides the Sheriff?"

"I don't think so unless they know his password into the system."

Jacobs turned to leave, "Okay thanks, Marge. I'd better go see him right now. Can you make a hard copy of that for me?"

"Sure can. Hang on a second."

Five minutes later with a printed copy of the paper in hand, Jacobs stepped into Sheriff Brooks' office. Walt was a politician first and a law enforcement officer second. For that matter, his police skills were not up to standards nor was he professional by any definition of the term. Jacobs took care of the day-to-day police operations for the department while Brooks seemed contented to sit back and play the chief.

The Sheriff, busy with some papers on his desk, didn't seem to notice Jacobs enter. "You wanted to see me, Walt?"

Looking up suddenly and acting surprised by the voice, he motioned to a chair and said, "Sit down, Bill."

While waiting for Jacobs to settle, he tossed the papers into a basket on the desk, "What in the world happened with Miss Pary this morning? I just got off the phone with her a half hour ago. She was burning my ears off...claims that you caught somebody trespassing on her property but turned them loose."

Jacobs took a deep breath, "The person wasn't trespassing. He was at the old Veal Cemetery."

Brooks leaned back heavily in his chair, turned his eyes upward in disgust, and snorted, "That again? When did Matt get back in town?"

Jacobs shrugged. "I haven't seen Matt. The person out there was his brother, Chuck, from North Carolina."

Blake's eyes widened in surprise and he snorted, "Chuck? When did he get back in town and what was he doing at the old cemetery?"

Jacobs cleared his throat. "He told me he just wanted to be sure nobody had been messing with the cemetery and the graves. He's down here from North Carolina to check on Matt, said he hasn't heard from him lately."

Walt waved a hand in the air and said, "I've already told him on the phone Matt was out of town on business...some timber deal or other. His foreman at the mill, Thompson, said Veal was looking into buying another operation someplace."

Jacobs sat quietly staring at the Sheriff until Walt asked, "Why don't you tell me this? If he was looking for his brother then what was he doing out at the cemetery?"

Jacobs lied. "I don't know but I could hardly charge a man with trespassing at a legal, public graveyard."

Brooks shook his head. "That place is not public. He was trespassing, Bill. You know as well as I do that you have to cross the Pary's south field to reach the cemetery. You should have arrested him."

Red warning lights flashed in Jacob's mind. Carefully he shifted his weight in the chair trying to stall for the seconds he needed to digest the Sheriff's obscure (and illegal) attitude, an attitude no doubt fed to him by Miss Pary.

Walt continued, "Matt Veal is out of town on business. If Chuck doesn't know, it sounds like he doesn't keep up with his brother well."

In a measured tone, Jacobs said, "Chuck says he hasn't heard from Matt in over a week and he's convinced something is wrong. I've known both of those boys since we were kids and I agree with Chuck. It's not like Matt to up and run off without telling somebody, something. I'm going to handle this as a missing person and check around...see what I can find out."

Brooks stood while taking a deep breath, "There's no need or you'll put us deeper into this hornet's nest that's stirred up already. Leave it to me and I'll quiet the old gal down."

Jacobs rose out of his chair holding up his hands, "I don't give two hoots about quieting anybody down, Walt. I'm not your campaign manager...I'm a cop. I run the investigations around here because it's part of my job."

Brooks lowered his voice and almost whispered, "Look, Bill. You know where I have to stand in matters involving Abatha Pary. Now you tell Chuck Veal I said to stay off her property and that Matt Veal isn't any more missing than I am."

Tossing a copy of the report on Walt's desk, Jacobs said, "As you well know, Walt, Chuck filed a missing person's report and I checked our files and found a copy."

Brooks raised a curious eyebrow, "Were you checking behind me or something? I know about the report because I responded to it earlier this week. I know you and Matt are friends and I didn't want you getting all bent out of shape about it. I ran out to the mill and talked to Thompson. He showed me a couple of papers and a letter Matt faxed to him so we know he's out there somewhere. He's just busy...that's all."

Jacobs shook his head but Walt cut him off from speaking. "The main thing I'm telling you is to keep both of the Veal boys off the Pary property."

Jacobs' face paled but before he could explode, Brooks added, "God, Bill. The old woman gave me an ear full about this. If Chuck Veal is that worried, I'll go back and talk to Thompson at the mill this afternoon. I'll bet he's heard from Matt in the last few days or so too."

Jacobs didn't trust his tongue so he nodded, and then turned to leave, paused and said "Walt? Do you believe everything Thompson tells you over what Matt's brother has to say?"

Brooks' eyes grew smaller and he snapped, "If Matt Veal has disappeared then Thompson would be the first person to holler but I'll ask again to be sure. Now get home and grab some sleep. You've got another night shift coming up in about seven hours."

Walking out of the Sheriff's office, Jacobs thought, "Something is wrong here and the Sheriff is either directly involved or he's covering up for the Pary family."

# Chapter 11

"Aunt Abatha?" Edie Pary asked while passing a freshly poured glass of iced tea across the patio table. "What did Deputy Jacobs want to see you about? Didn't I hear the name Veal mentioned?"

Abatha Pary glared at her niece and snapped, "Isn't it rude to eavesdrop on conversations, young lady? Besides, that's of no concern to you."

Edie lowered her soft blue eyes downward and fidgeted with her own tea glass. Her Aunt's adverse reaction didn't surprise her and it wasn't the first time. Any mention of the Veal name at Whispering Pines would draw hostility from her Aunt...or her brother, Max.

"I wasn't eavesdropping, Aunt Abatha. I was in the garden and overheard some of (most of) the conversation you had with Mr. Jacobs. It was an accident."

It wasn't a total lie. She had been working in the flower garden like she said and only bits and pieces of the discussion had drifted across the yard to her ears. It was the mention of Matt Veal that caused her to move closer to the porch, using the nearby shrubbery for stealth. It wasn't the first time she had risked listening in on conversations that included the Veal name.

Abatha, aware of the defensive position Edie was taking, sighed deeply and let her deep blue eyes sweep over the distant fields behind the mansion. When she spoke, she did so hesitantly, almost apologetically.

"One of the farm hands told me that while on their way to work this morning they had seen a strange car parked near the south field road. They saw a man plundering around the woods on the south pasture and you well know I don't allow that with anyone. I called Sheriff Brooks and he sent Mr. Jacobs to investigate. The Deputy stopped by here to tell me that he had caught the man but let him go. I was angry because he didn't press charges."

Edie raised an eyebrow, searching for words lost in her suddenly dry throat. Miss Pary added, "No, the person who was trespassing wasn't Matt Veal. It was his brother, Buck or Chuck...something like that."

"His name is Chuck, Aunt Abatha."

"I don't care if his name is Billy Graham. Neither he nor anyone else is allowed on that property without permission."

Edie tensed, growing more wary of her Aunt's disagreeable temperament. Still, like a fool, she had to say something. "Aunt Abatha? All Matt wants to do is restore the cemetery and he doesn't want to see it destroyed, as you were about to do. His grandfather is buried there."

Edie could feel the air thicken with rising tension. In a futile attempt to back step, the next string of words fired off quickly. "That's Matt's Grandfather and the condition of the cemetery is a disgrace. Let's not forget, either, that Tom Veal is not only their grandfather, he was your husband, too."

With a fury in her eyes that Edie had never seen, Abatha snarled angrily, "I married Tom Veal because I was young and foolish... and your mother, MY SISTER, was so jealous of us that she killed Tom and tried to kill me as well. It was a miracle she picked up the wrong cup and drank her own poison by mistake. I've told you before I don't like discussing this and besides, you should know the story well enough, Edie."

Edie nodded and backed away, apologetic. "I know, but I've never heard you talk of anything but the bitterness. What about the happiness, were you so in love with Tom Veal that you never married again? You were young and beautiful. There had to be other men later in life."

The mood shift in Abatha's expression amazed and shocked Edie. She could see her Aunt's mind drift back into the past and her voice lowered to a soft, almost inaudible, whisper. "I was seventeen years old and I was in love. Tom and I eloped and married in Charleston. When we returned home a week later, it was late at night and Claudia was there. She wanted to talk...and made fresh coffee for us. We sat in the study and talked...and then Tom took a large sip of his coffee. We didn't know she had put poison in the two cups intended for us. Apparently, I picked up the wrong cup by mistake and Claudia drank her own poison. She died almost immediately...Tom died in my arms a moment later."

"I'm sorry," Edie whispered softly.

Abatha snapped back and the fury returned to her face. "No. I think it's time you know how I feel about what happened back then. I realize that Claudia was your mother but that doesn't change the bitterness I feel toward her."

"Bitterness is understandable I would imagine, Aunt Abatha."

"Yes, bitterness but it's not like you suspect. Claudia was so jealous...so infatuated with Tom. She must have decided if she couldn't have him then no one could have him. I was the one supposed to die that night, Edie...not your mother."

Edie reached across the table and held the now trembling arms of her Aunt. "Don't say that, Aunt Abatha. I'm sorry I brought this up again and thank you for being so honest with me about it."

The trembling lips whispered, "Honest? Am I being honest, Edie? My own sister poisoned my husband and then tried to kill me as well. She was so jealous, yet, yet..." The words trailed off into a mumble.

Edie simply couldn't find the right words and sat staring at her Aunt's teary eyes.

Abatha finally spoke again. "Don't think I was naive or blind either about that. Claudia had tried to start a serious relationship with Tom several times. Do you understand? Tom Veal liked the attention. He was so devious he let her believe and get her hopes up. He toyed with her heart and feelings. I've often wondered if he ever told her he would break off his relationship with me."

Edie shook her head. "I'm sorry. I never realized..."

Abatha cut her off. "When Tom married me, it must have broken my poor sister's heart. It was more than she could handle and she snapped mentally. That's why she did what she did. Tom just as good as killed her, I swear...I swear, Edie, I will drive the tractor that pushes his grave away and then build a pig sty built over the spot."

Edie, feeling the real power of her Aunt's fury for the first time in her life, was stunned at the hatred pouring from the woman's heart. This was it. This was why her Aunt had never remarried. It was the darkness inside. It created a brick wall no man afterward could penetrate. The love for her sister had been great and now, Edie was witness to the fury and rage locked in the woman. She felt pity at the agony Abatha had carried around for so long.

Abatha stopped talking, stopped crying, and even stopped thinking it seemed. Then, as though a switch flipped, Edie watched her Aunt's eyes clear and return to normal. The sudden transformation was astonishing and frightening.

Diverting her eyes, Edie watched two field doves racing along the edge of a nearby pasture. She wanted to ask one last question but knew the moment was gone forever. The rear door opened and her brother, Max, stepped out on the patio.

"Aunt Abatha and Edie" He said with a slight bow toward his Aunt and a barely perceptible nod to his sister. "I've got to leave for work. They need me at the construction site and I'll probably be late getting back this evening."

Miss Pary nodded. "How much longer before the project will be finished?"

He smiled, kissed his aunt on the forehead, and said, "Soon, Auntie. Just a few more weeks and we'll be ready to close the gates on the dam."

Edie looked at her brother and asked, "Didn't the Judge issue a holding order? What happened to that?"

Max's face darkened, "It's been dropped. I have received a copy of the release letter from the Veal Timber Mill. We can go ahead and close the gates on schedule."

Edie raised an eyebrow and asked, "Why is it so important to finish this project on time? It's been over three years since you started it...what difference will a few months mean?"

Max fought to control some hidden anger, "A few months can make a huge difference, my dear sister. I have to have the gates closed before the fall rains. If I miss that, it could take well into next year before there is enough water to support a fast fill. We can't wait or I'll lose money."

As he talked, the calmness returned to his voice although the explanation was nothing more than an attempt to hide, from their Aunt, the seriousness of the rift between them. There were few warm feelings shared between brother and sister, especially since she had begun seeing Matt Veal.

Edie looked warily at her older brother and said, "I just don't understand the big rush. Your people are working around the clock. Is it the money you've invested that's driving you or is it a test of strengths between you and Matt Veal?"

Max snapped, "I've invested the money well, Edie. It will earn a fine return on the lake front property investments from the sales."

Saying no more, Max arrogantly bowed and walked away. Edie and Abatha watched quietly as he left.

"Edie, your relationship with your brother is not doing well. What is the real problem between the two of you? Is it Matt Veal?"

"My relationship with Matt is none of his business." She restrained from adding "Or yours either.

"I'm sorry if we don't get along that well, Aunt Abatha."

The elderly but elegant woman stood, placed her glass on the table and said, "He's your brother, Edie. You should love him like no other human being alive and I know that deep down inside, you do love him like that...and more."

Edie stared. "Do I love Max? Yes."

"Now," Abatha said with finality. "If you'll excuse me, I've got a painting to finish this afternoon."

Edie nodded. She wasn't surprised that her Aunt knew the true situation between her and Max. She watched the elderly woman walk to the far corner of the porch where an easel and canvas awaited.

For a long moment afterward, Edie sat and watched the doves darting in and out of the sun-scorched fields. It was their morning feed time and they were such plain brown, yet beautiful birds, wild pigeons.

Slowly, she rose from the chair and paused. It was then and there she decided what would have to be done and quickly. The best place to start, she realized with a cramp of anxious fear, was to make a phone call to a number that she already knew by heart.

# Chapter 12

Blake Squires and Catfish were bouncing and rattling around inside the cab of the pickup truck along a heavily rutted timber road about eight miles north of the Beaver Dam site. Catfish, in his laid back southern country accent, said, "These here trees do look good. I bet most of 'em is on the high side of thirty years old."

Blake was also admiring the heavy stand of trees. He couldn't help but wonder why anyone would want to flood such beautiful land and sloping valleys. He could see turning it into a subdivision with million dollar homes but not 50 feet beneath the surface of the water.

He steered the truck around another deep rut in the road and said, "The trees are in good shape too. No pine weevils or blight. We can start bringing in equipment Monday because I'll have my copy of the court order by then. That will keep the gates of the dam open until November like we originally planned."

"Where you gonna' get those papers? Your place got busted up pretty good in the robbery, didn't it?"

"There are copies we just have to find them."

They looked at each other and Catfish smiled but the smile turned to a frown when the truck rounded a sharp curve in the trail and before them stood a rough looking figure of a man in the middle of the road, feet planted firmly across the center rut. Blake had to swerve the truck into some high weeds to avoid hitting him. When things stopped bouncing and jerking, he snapped, "Who in the devil is that?"

Catfish turned and looked back. "That must be Ed Barton. I heard he's been hanging around up this way for a while. He's an old trapper I think."

Barton, as Blake could see, was not an old man. His clothes were ragged, his hair was unkempt, and the man hadn't shaved in several months. There was also something strange about the man's appearance. Nothing fit the stereotype of a trapper.

Blake backed the truck out to the road again and stopped. Barton, grinning from ear to ear, stepped up to Catfish's window, lifted a dirty hand, and said, "Yo. How ya'll doin'?"

"Are you okay? I didn't see you until I was around the curve. Sorry."

The reek of stale animal skins and rotted flesh drifted into the truck's cab. Even the rough and tumble Catfish flinched at the odor. Barton, if he noticed at all, ignored him and replied. "I'm just dandy. How 'bout ya'll?"

"Are you Barton?" Blake asked.

"Depends on who's asking,"

I'm asking. We heard you were up in these parts. Why were you standing in the middle of the road like that?

Barton shrugged "I'm just out gatherin' my trap lines. I had to cross the road here somewhere and this was it. If I'd a heard yawl coming' I'd of stepped out of the way. Now don't you boys go back to town and tell nobody what I'm doing up here. Okay?"

Catfish spoke. "Ed? You're gonna' get caught one of these days. There's laws 'bout trappin' critters out of season."

The man spat tobacco juice on the ground beside the truck and shrugged. "Ain't nobody caught me in 22 years so that don't worry me none. A man's gotta' make a living and besides, they're fixing to drown most of the critters that don't move out of here. For that matter, what are you fella's doin' way up here?"

Blake pointed at the tree line, "We're cruising timber. We'll be coming in here next week to cut it before the water covers it up."

Barton spat again, this time in distaste. "You can come get your trees out of the way easy enough but that dam is gonna' cost me half of my best trap routes."

Catfish was in pain from the smell. He wiped the sweat from his forehead saying, "Let's get to rollin', Blake. It's gettin' hotter than a snake's back in the sun inside this here rust bucket."

Blake tossed a hand up to Barton, "We better go. We'll see you later and if you need a lift back to town you can catch us on the way out."

"Yea" Catfish cried. "But you gotta' ride in the back of the truck."

"I appreciate it, but I don't need any lift. The fact is I know where my own pretty blue car is hidden just in case I take a notion to ride."

"Really? You got a car stashed away up here somewhere? Well, it must be stolen or something or else you'd be driving it right now."

"That's exactly what I figured...it's stolen and stashed down at the bottom of the creek down yonder."

"If it's at the bottom of the creek it sure ain't gonna' take you no place."

"Blake held a hand at Catfish asking, "Where on the creek, Barton?"

The man spat, thought a second, "Well, I found it 'bout a week ago. I reckon I should have told somebody. Whoever put it in the creek tore up one of my best trotlines in the process ripped that sucker right out of the tree I'd hung it from."

Blake asked again, "Where, Barton?"

"It's just above turtle bend. Ya'll know where that's at?"

Catfish shrugged when Blake looked over with raised eyebrows. "How far is it from here, Barton?"

The man pointed a dirty finger down the logging road, "Just follow this here cow path about another mile. That'll put the creek just off in the woods to your right. You'll see where an old timber bridge crosses. If you walk down stream about 30 yards you'll come to a sharp bend. That's turtle bend...can't miss it if you tried. You can see the car underwater from the bank if'n the light is right and it's blue as all blue blazes...probably sittin' under ten feet of water but that's changin' fast. The creek is risin' pretty fast these last couple of days."

"Rising? It's too dry for that, Barton. You must be mistaken... but thanks. We'll check it out in a few minutes."

As the old truck rattled and squeaked away, Catfish looked at Blake, "What's all the excitement about an old car in the creek?"

Blake shot him a firm look. "Matt Veal drives a blue Trans Am."

"You figure this car old Barton is talkin' about belongs to Matt?"

"Let's just go see if that car at the bottom of the creek is blue or not...and there's something else bothering me."

"What's that?"

"Barton said he didn't hear the truck coming. Well, either he's deaf or he's lying. A person could hear this clanking, squeaking pile of rust coming from a mile away."

Catfish laughed. "That's fer sure."

Beaver creek was thirty feet wide as it passed underneath the wooden timber bridge. The water was a mysterious, dark black, typical for deep natural springs in a swamp. At first glance, the bridge looked passable and sturdy enough to hold the truck but Blake made a mental note to inspect it more closely from the base before sending any of his heavy equipment across. Running water was a funny thing and could cut the foundation out from underneath a pile support.

He parked the truck and looked around. Catfish remarked, "I don't see how anybody could have driven a car down that way because the bank aint wide enough."

"Yea, but Barton did say the creek was rising. If that's true then a week ago, it was much lower. Let's go take a look."

They got out of the truck, looked around and then started down the soggy creek bank. In one place, the tree line was less than four feet from the edge of the water. Catfish shook his head in disgust, "They'd never get a bulldozer past here, let alone a car."

Blake pointed at the water line. "Look. The creek is running higher than normal. I don't see any high water marks on the trees so the creek must be rising. That would make the bank wide enough to drive a car down or have it pulled by a tractor or something."

"I'll have to admit that if I wanted to get rid of it then this would be the place. Another year or so and where we're standing right now is going to be fifty feet under water."

They walked on. When they reached a place where the creek made a sharp curve, Blake looked around, "Barton said it was at the curve. I guess this is where he was talking about."

They stared into the water but the surface was moving too fast to see with any depth. Then, where the bend sharpened, Blake spotted a glitter of bluish light from beneath the surface.

He pointed, "Something's under there, Catfish. It's about fifteen feet out. Do you see it?"

Catfish leaned forward, "Yep...just barely...but I can't tell what it is. The water's too deep."

"You got a bathing suit with you?" Blake asked.

"I take it ever place I go... been wearing it since the day I was born" he said and started stripping off his clothes.

Blake, keeping his eyes glued to the spot in the water, waited while Catfish stripped down to just his shorts and started out into the water. When he was standing knee deep he yelled, "Where to, boss?"

Blake pointed then said, "Light refracts as it travels through water. I learned that as a kid. I use to gun fish with a .22 rifle. If you aimed directly at what you saw in the water, you would miss it a mile. You have to aim below the target.

Catfish waded a little deeper into the water and shouted, "God all mighty. This water is cold as all..."

"Catfish, you ain't had your bath this month no how, so get moving."

The creek water was surprisingly cold considering the air temperatures even in the shade were hitting 90 degrees. Blake saw chill bumps on Catfish's back. "Just ease on over toward the bend and poke your head underwater. It won't take but a second to look."

"Poke my head into this cold stuff?" Catfish shouted. "Shoot. I'd rather poke it into the south end of a north bound...."

Catfish suddenly disappeared beneath the water's surface. Blake smiled because he had already seen the darker shades of the water and figured there had to be a sharp drop off where the creek bottom had eroded away. He thought Catfish had seen it or would at least have felt it with his toes but he didn't and had fallen well over his five foot six body height.

His head popped back up to the surface with a stunned expression on his face. He cried, "Lordy. I'm swimmin' in ice. The darn bottom drops off like a rock along in here. I didn't see that. Did you?"

Blake shook his head; he would never admit otherwise... and pointed again for Catfish to keep moving. "It's along in there so take a look"

With a deep breath, Catfish disappeared beneath the surface. Blake watched the whitish outline go deep and then vanish. Tiny bubbles burst on the water's surface and the seconds ticked away. Blake started to worry because such cold water could cause muscle cramps. Almost a minute went by and Blake bit his lower lip. Just when he decided Catfish was at the verge of drowning, his head reappeared on the surface. He drifted in the current before finding a protruding tree root to grab and hold onto. Still gasping harshly for breath he yelled, "It's here and it's Matt's car."

He waited a few seconds, then pushed off from the root and swam back toward the Blake.

Blake extended his hand and pulled him out and onto the sandy banks. Still breathless, Catfish stated, "That is Matt's Trans Am down there. I tried to open the door but it's stuck closed. I didn't have enough breath left to look around inside much. The winders are down but the door wouldn't budge."

Blake took a deep breath and let it out slowly. With one hand, he scooped a handful of sand up and tossed it at the water. "That's okay. You did look inside real good? Didn't see anything?"

"It's empty, I'm pretty sure. There ain't anybody in there that I can see. Don't know about the trunk? You 'reckon there's somethin' in the trunk?"

"I don't know but we have to find out" Blake said feeling his guts sinking deeper.

He stood and walked a short distance away as Catfish got dressed again.

"I guess the first thing we do is call Bill Jacobs and then we call Chuck." Blake said. "I sure don't want to be the one who makes that phone call."

Catfish watched Blake reach for his cell phone and flip it open. "I don't know if that cell phone will get out of this here low bottom swamp or not. I had trouble with it on that Tankerton job last month just south of here."

Blake checked the phone for signal strength, saw none, and said, "I'll drive back up the hill over yonder. Maybe the phone can hit the tower from there."

Blake looked back at Catfish, "Stay here until I get back."

#  Chapter 13

Chuck pulled into Matt's yard and parked near the front walk. Even with the air conditioner running full blast, he was sweating. The fight at the mill had flustered his thinking and not everything made sense. Now he had to explain all that happened to Gail. The real problem was, he wasn't too sure about how or where to start.

He got out of the car and walked to the front steps. The hiding block for the key was out of place so he bent over to straighten it just as Gail opened the front door. "Hi. I see you made it back. I put the hideaway key back under there."

Chuck walked up the four steps and onto the porch. She could tell that something serious must have happened judging from rumpled look of his clothes and cut on his face. "What happened? You've been bleeding?"

He stopped, leaned over and kissed her. He didn't know why only that his emotions were starting to leak out and he needed to kiss her. Gail pulled back slightly afterwards just enough to look up into his eyes and ask, "Who hit you? What happened at the mill? Did you get Blake's papers?"

Chuck motioned "Come on inside and I'll tell you all about it. We've got to figure out what's going on around this crazy place."

He led Gail down the hall to the dining area. Motioning her to sit at the table, he went to the overhead cabinet near the sink and took down a glass, filled it with water from the faucet, then drank quickly. He filled it again and drank that as well. Gail said, "Don't drink so fast or it might cramp your stomach. Let me get something to put on that cut too. Where does Matt keep the iodine?"

Chuck turned around facing her and pointed at the bathroom. "In there in the medicine cabinet but get that tube of cream for cuts. I don't want my face painted up red from Mercurochrome."

Twenty minutes later, after detailing everything that had happened, including the fight between Anderson and Clark at the mill, Chuck sat back in his chair and thrummed his fingers on the table top "I just don't get it. Why would Matt hire a jerk like that? He never told me anything about this man, not a word."

Gail shook her head. "Maybe he was just testing the guy to see what kind of character he was. I did learn a few things from his notes on the computer. Care to hear about it?"

"Yea, sorry I was so snappy there. What did you find?"

"As everyone knows, Matt was having trouble with the Pary family. From what I read, it was mainly trouble over the timber lease but he also wrote about the cemetery and how he was trying to stop them from plowing it under."

"Yes the Pary family. It seems as though all roads lead back to the Pary family. God I am so sick of those people."

"Well, that's not all. How much did Matt tell you concerning the new information about your Grandfather's murder?"

Chuck waved a hand in the air. "He wouldn't tell me about it over the phone but he did seem excited. But that has nothing to do with why he disappeared. That murder is an old family yarn. Our dad chased that coon up and down a hundred different dead end trees. He died convinced that Grandpa's will, leaving everything to Abatha Pary, was a fake. So my dad went to his grave convinced that we owned at least half of Whispering Pines Estate but we needed proof."

"I read all that in the files, but did you know that Matt found, or at least, he said he found, a place where he is sure the original will could be hidden?"

Chuck sat up. "You mean buried in the casket with our grandfather? I seriously doubt that."

"If you read it the way Matt has it written, you might understand his theory a little better. You know that Abatha Pary is supposed to be the grieving widow and how her sister was the one who poisoned her husband and tried to kill her too."

Chuck swirled his eyes upward and said, "Yes. I know all about that. What is your point? What has all this to do with Matt?"

"You asked me to come along and help investigate and that's what I've been doing in Matt's files. If you don't want to hear my theory then..."

Chuck took her soft hands gently, "No. I do need your help especially now. I'm sorry, I guess my head got whacked harder than I realized this morning. Now what were you going to say?"

Gail cleared her throat, "Matt's thinks Abatha is the sister who gave poison to Tom Veal and his real wife was Claudia, not Abatha."

Chuck looked stunned. "Do what? You mean Abatha was the jealous sister all along and she was not his wife? That isn't possible is it? To forge a wedding certificate and then my grandfather's will after she murdered them, how could she have done all that and gotten away with it?"

"I don't know but Matt thinks she did just that. From what I understand, Abatha Pary was quite an eyeful in those days and this was a small farm town even back then. Her influence with the law even back then would mean no autopsies or Medical Examiners to deal with. Also, Matt checked with the records department in Charleston, South Carolina. Tom Veal was married there a week before he was killed and he married Claudia, not Abatha Pary."

Chuck sat speechless, then uttered, "If that's true then Abatha Pary didn't inherit Whispering Pines. My Grandfather's surviving son, my dad, would have inherited."

"That's a multi-million dollar estate, not chump change. It could have something to do with Matt's disappearance, don't you think?"

"If Matt discovered a marriage certificate and could prove ownership to Whispering Pines, well; Abatha Pary would go to jail and Max Pary would be out on the street, flat broke and destitute. He just might kill someone to protect him and Abatha."

"Now you're starting to see my point. As you said, everything is leading back to Whispering Pines. The cemetery and the timber war could be distractions but not the cause of why Matt isn't here right now. Look at it this way. If you take Matt out of the picture then all the Pary problems go away in one fell swoop. The timber lease that's blocking a million dollars in profits and above all the getting rid of Matt protects the murderer, Miss Abatha. She lives out the rest of her life at Whispering Pines, dies and then Max Pary and his sister get everything."

"That explains why my snooping around is causing so much trouble. God, Gail. Are they so stupid they've forgotten I'm Matt's brother? I wouldn't sit back and not come running at the first sign of trouble. I did."

"Maybe they didn't expect you here so soon. Most brothers, who live far apart, might go two or three months without calling or visiting one another. It's only been a week in your case but imagine if three months went by first? The dam would have already backed up the water and flooded the timber and the cemetery would be gone too."

Chuck opened his mouth to say something else but the shrill of the telephone ringing cut him off. He and Gail eyed one another for a second, and then Chuck said, "I'd better get that."

Gail watched him pick up the receiver and say hello. "Hey Blake, yea Gail's here with me. What's up?"

She watched his expression pale even more than before so she rose from the table and went to his side. Chuck took her hand and whispered, "They've found Matt's car."

***

Bill Jacobs lay in bed resting but sleep wouldn't come. The bedside clock read four pm. "God" He mumbled. "I've got less than three hours to get some sleep before my next shift starts."

The mystery of Matt's disappearance was keeping him awake. "Something isn't right," he kept thinking. "And I keep getting this feeling that the Beaver Dam project has something to do with it."

He gave up, rolled out of bed and started getting dressed. "The Sheriff will pitch fits but I'm going to do some looking."

***

Max Pary's office at the Milan Company was located a few hundred feet east of the dam site. Jacobs pulled the Police cruiser into a parking space and shut it down. Two other vehicles were parked nearby, a gray corvette that belonged to Max Pary. The other car he didn't recognize."

Jacobs walked across the small parking area and stepped up on the porch of a mobile office trailer. He pulled the door open and stepped through the opening. It felt cool inside yet humid and musty. The smell wasn't bad but neither was it pleasant. A young girl, typing on a computer, looked up. "Hello, Deputy Jacobs. Can I help you?"

"Hello." Jacobs removed his police cap. He stepped to the front of her desk and felt cold air blowing across the desk from a window air conditioner unit. "I need to speak with Max Pary a moment please."

She looked surprised and said, "He's down at the construction site. Do you want me to page him for you?"

He thought a moment. "Well, that's okay. Maybe you can help me. What's the scheduled date for closing the gates and letting the water back up?"

The girl glanced nervously out the window, hesitated, and then replied, "Next Tuesday morning is what I understand. Of course, we've been holding back three feet for a month now. The cement trucks use a lot of water for mixing and pouring the concrete so the state gave us a permit for that."

He followed her gaze out the window, "I didn't realize they could do that without flooding some property up stream."

She shook her head side-to-side, "We're not holding that much water. It's all in the permits that were approved by the state and federal management regulations six months ago."

"I understand that part. What I mean is, the Tuesday date for closing the gates. I thought they had to wait until December 1st so the timber could be logged out from up stream."

"The people who were going to cut the timber released the property."

Jacobs felt the blood draining from his face. He glanced back out the window and noticed several pieces of heavy machinery moving about with a cement truck unloading near the dam. He looked back at the secretary and decided that the girl's smile was not real or sincere. It seemed almost painted on her face. She blustered and said, "Why don't you let me call Mr. Pary to the office? He can answer all your questions better than I."

Jacobs shook his head "Why would you make him stop what he's doing just to tell me the same thing you just did? That's okay."

The smile on her face faded and she stammered, "Well, I just thought that you..."

He cut her off. "I didn't mean to sound nosy or anything and this isn't an official visit. I was just out this way and decided to stop by and see how things were going for the project. I've got some plans to buy some property on the lake when she's up and steady."

The smile returned, "You'll need to see Mavis down at the Pary Real estate office. She's in charge of selling the property rights around the lake. There are building restrictions so everything will have to meet size and specifications"

Tipping his hat, Jacobs smiled, "I understand. We don't want any neighbors on the lake towing in an old beat up mobile home now would we? Thanks for the information."

As he backed the patrol car away from the office, his mind clicked furiously. For one thing, the water level near the dam appeared to be a lot deeper than three or four feet. Had the gates already closed? Also, if Matt Veal had relinquished timber rights upstream then he must have done so in the past week, but how if he was out of town?

Jacobs, his mind made up, turned the patrol car back toward town and mumbled, "This is going to cost me my job."

***

Max Pary stepped into the office a moment after Jacobs had driven away and asked the secretary, "What did he want?"

"He was asking about some lake property. Guess he's ready to go fishing because he wanted to know when the main gates on the dam were going to close. I tried to tell him nicely that he would hardly be able to afford any of the property on his salary."

Max looked out the window and watched as the distant patrol car sped away back toward town. Without another word, he stepped into his private office and closed the door behind him. Plopping down at his desk, he swept up the phone receiver and dialed, warily, leaned back in his chair and waited for an answer. A young, male voice snapped over the telephone receiver and said, "Sheriff's office, Mimbs speaking."

"Let me speak to the Sheriff and you can tell him this is Max Pary calling."

A moment later, Walt Brooks' voice came on line and said, "What can I do for you today, Mr. Pary?"

Max leaned an arm on his desk and snapped, "You, Walt, can get rid of that nosy Deputy of yours before the sun goes down. Jacobs was just out here asking a bunch of questions about closing the gates on the dam. Now I'm smart enough to know that you didn't send him out here to do that."

Brooks snapped back, "I had no idea he was going to see your Aunt this morning either. Now you're saying he was out at your office? I'd have stopped him had I known."

Pary clenched his teeth. "Okay, Walt, I believe you. Now you're going to do as I tell you, so listen closely."

Walt barked back, "I don't take orders from you."

Pary sneered into the phone, "Would you care to call my aunt and tell her that?"

Again the line was silent for a moment before the Sheriff replied, "I've got limits, Max."

Pary laughed, "No more limits, Walt, because you are going to do everything I say, understand? Now here's where you start."

***

Sheriff Brooks, looking weary and angered, gave Jacobs little time to step into his office and close the door before he opened the barrage. "Now what in hell is this all about at the Dam?"

Jacobs shrugged. "I tried to discuss it with you this morning. I'm running investigations and it's my job to check around and ask questions."

Brooks leaned forward over the desk and said sternly, "Anything that involves the Pary family you will do nothing without consulting me first. That old gal gave me pure fits this morning and Max Pary just kicked my butt a little while ago. Are you crazy?"

Jacobs snapped, "What about? All I've done is ask some questions. What's so terrible about that?"

Brooks went pale. Between clinched teeth he snarled, "I want Chuck Veal to leave town today and I mean it. This is none of his business. If his brother is missing then let him go look someplace else."

Jacobs couldn't believe his ears. "What? You can't run somebody out of town like that."

"I can do what I want in this town." Brooks pointed a noticeably shaking finger at Jacobs and added, "Now go tell him to get out of town. I swear if you go near the Pary's place again about any of this, you'll be looking for another job within ten minutes, do you hear me?"

Jacobs stunned but cautious, stood glaring down at the man. Something was seriously wrong and he knew it. So now, the Pary's influence was coming to bear and nobody seemed interested in Matt's disappearance. He reached for the badge on his shirt. He was going to call it quits. He wanted no part of a crooked cop. "I'll tell you what, Brooks, I'll find out what happened to Matt Veal with or without this badge."

The phone on the Sheriff's desk buzzed and Brooks snatched it up and barked into the receiver. "What? Do what? Are you sure? Okay. Tell him I will be out there in twenty minutes. No. Jacobs is here in my office right now and you tell that guy I will send anybody I want to send. Jacobs is off duty at the moment."

Bill stood watching the Sheriff's face turn three shades paler. With a touch of panic in his eyes, he hung up the phone and said, "The switchboard just got a call from Blake Squires. He thinks he's found Matt Veal' car."

Jacobs leaned over and grabbed the desk for support "Where at?"

Walt shrugged. "Someplace up on beaver creek; said the car was under water. It's probably just some old Junker somebody pushed off in the creek up there."

Jacobs turned to leave and Brooks called, "Didn't you just quit?"

Without slowing Jacobs said, "Let's just call it my two weeks' notice."

Blake met Jacobs at the entrance to the old road that led to beaver creek. The Sheriff followed in his own patrol car. Blake climbed in the front seat then Jacobs asked, "Are you sure?"

He shrugged and said, "Catfish swam out to the car. He thinks it's a blue Trans Am and the kid knows his cars."

Jacobs clenched his fist and struck the steering wheel. "God, I hope this isn't what I think."

Blake whispered, "I hope we don't have to find Matt's body. I just don't know if I can control a few people around town if that happens."

Jacobs nodded, trying to maneuver down the narrow logging road and talk too. "I know, but we need a body to confirm a murder if that's what happened."

Blake pointed over his shoulder behind them. "What's he doing out here? I told them to give you the message."

Jacobs nodded, "I got it, but Walt is the one who passed it along to me."

Blake shook his head. "I don't trust that man, Bill. I don't trust him one bit."

The heavy police cruisers made hard work of the deeply rutted road, often dragging the chassis of the vehicle. It took 10 minutes to reach the old timber bridge at beaver creek. Catfish stood waiting in the shade of the trees. Jacobs could see that his hair was tossed and damp.

Sheriff Brooks' unit slid to a dusty halt just behind Jacob's car. Catfish stepped over as the three men climbed out of their vehicles and said to Jacobs, "I think it's Matt's car. It's a blue Trans Am."

Brooks joined them at the front of Jacobs' patrol car and snapped, "You think? You made us drive all the way out here because you think?"

"Show me," Jacobs said ignoring the Sheriff's remarks.

As the four men walked the bank of the creek, Blake said to Jacobs, "After I called, I phoned Clark over at the mill. He's on the way with a skidder and dozer. We'll need them to drag the car out of the water."

Jacobs nodded. "Thanks, Blake. That'll help. We've got to be sure it's the right car!"

Sheriff Brooks asked suspiciously, "How'd you stumble into this part of the woods? This is posted property, Squires."

Blake eyed Jacobs before turning to the Sheriff. "Veal and I own the timber rights on this property."

Brooks stopped walking and snapped, "We've been all through that before, Squires. Now I want to know just what you were doing up here. This land is condemned for the beaver creek project and you were trespassing."

Blake spun quickly and Jacobs had to grab him but it didn't stop him from hissing at the Sheriff. "I have a certified copy of the agreement and there's another copy in Judge Harlow's office in Macon. I've requested a new verification of the court order to keep the gates open until all the trees are cleared."

Blake's words and actions shook the man. He knew that Jacobs' firm hand was the only thing that held him back. Gruffly he started walking again, right past the two and up to where Catfish stood waiting at the edge of the water.

When Brooks was out of earshot, Jacobs whispered, "Take it easy, Blake. He's crazy now. I think Max Pary got hold of him."

When they reached the spot where the Sheriff and Catfish waited, Brooks looked at Catfish and asked, "How did you just happen to find the car? Were you out for a nice cool dip in the creek and stumped your toe on the bumper?"

Catfish replied, "Old Ed Barton, the trapper, told us about it."

Brooks was not buying any of it. He eyed Catfish. "I'll talk with Barton and we'll see about that."

The intimidation was plain enough and Jacobs felt a quiver of anger from deep inside. The Sheriff was trying to make the wrong deal out of the whole thing or maybe he needed to play it this way.

Blake pointed to the glinting metal beneath the water and said, "See it?"

"Blake? How long will it take Clark to get that equipment up here?"

Squires checked his wristwatch, "Give 'em another half hour. The dozer will be the slowest but we're going to need it to clear a spot through the trees down to the creek. She's running way too high for this time of the year. When we get the tractor in here, we can get a cable on the car."

Catfish shivered, "Who's gonna' swim out there and put a cable on?"

All three men looked squarely at Catfish. His smile turned to a frown, "You mean I got to go back into that water?"

"Don't worry, Catfish. I'll pick you up and toss you half way there. That will save you some work."

"Oh my gawddddd..." was all he managed to say.

Brooks barked, "Squires? The county is not going to pay you for this."

Blake spat into the dark waters the spittle missing Brooks' leg by inches. He snapped, "So? You think I'm doing this for you?"

The Sheriff saw how close the spittle had missed. With a sneer, he hitched his thumbs into his gun belt and tugged upward. "I'm still wondering what you had to do with this. If that is Matt Veal' car then it means he's dead. You're his business partner so you are now my prime suspect. Maybe you wanted this job solo. That's a pretty good motive for murder I think."

Catfish pointed, "Somebody's coming down the creek yonder."

All eyes turned and saw Chuck Veal and Gail working their way along the bank. Walt snapped, "Now what's he doing here? Who called him?"

Blake said, "I did."

Brooks eyed him coldly and then yelled, "This is police business, Veal. It's none of your affair."

Chuck, holding Gail's hand and helping her walk the tricky bank, ignored the Sheriff and asked Blake, "Is it Matt's car?"

"Catfish recognized it. There isn't another Trans-Am like it in the state."

Brooks barked, "If that is your brother's car then the man who put it there is standing right here. For that matter, who's to say you and Squires aren't in this together? Kill your brother and according to what you told Thompson at the mill this morning, you get the timber business all to yourself and Squires gets the half million dollars these trees will bring."

Chuck stepped forward toward the man with lightning speed but Jacobs quickly stepped between the two. With a hand on his shoulder, Bill said, "Just hold on, Chuck. That's what he wants you to do. Give him an excuse and he'll arrest you."

"He's already under arrest as of right now. You too, Squires. I'm going to...."

Jacobs spun, pointing an index finger in the Sheriff's face. "You'll stand here and keep your mouth shut, Brooks, and if you say one more word about arresting anybody I'll handcuff you to the nearest tree. You got that?"

Brooks paled and searched for words that wouldn't come. Blake added, "And I'll be sure the tree he uses is floating down the creek, too."

Jacobs turned to Blake, "You be quiet too, Blake. I ain't slept in the last 35 hours and I'm in no mood for any of this. Now all of you just shut up."

"Jacobs? You are fired, give me your badge and gun right now."

Jacobs faced Brooks. The sheer anger and snarl on his face froze the man in place. He growled, "Fine with me but until we get a look inside that vehicle under the water, you will keep your mouth shut and stay out of my way. You got that?"

A short time later with the evening sun half way to the horizon, the low rumbling sounds of heavy equipment reached the banks of the creek. Blake turned an ear, "That's Clark with the dozer and tractor. Catfish show him where we need to cut a path down to the banks here.

Catfish left. Chuck watched the young man disappear. Gail, standing beside him and squeezing his hand said, "Why don't you and I go wait back at the car?"

Chuck shook his head. "No. I'm going to be here when they pull it out."

Blake stepped closer and told Chuck, "Catfish could see inside pretty well and he's pretty sure it's empty. Don't know about the trunk."

"Blake?" Chuck asked. "Who did this? Was it Thompson?"

Shaking his head, Squires said, "I can't see Thompson having the brains or the gall to pull this off alone. There are too many other things involved for a two bit hood like him."

"I just came from the Beaver Dam project office. The secretary said they're going to close the gates Tuesday morning. But I'm telling you something. The water is backing up right now. I think the gates are already closed."

Blake said, "Well that does tell us something, however, Thompson received a faxed letter from Matt in which he rescinded the timber rights."

Looking squarely at the Sheriff who was some dozen yards away out of earshot, he added, "He also told me to stay out of his business."

Chuck said, "Matt is a man of his word and if he gave Blake his word to form the partnership on this timber project then he would never back out. Besides, it appears to me that he would have needed a partner and then some, to cut this much stuff on such a short time table."

"Yea he and I were going to hire more crews and equipment to handle the job. Brooks said it was half a million dollars in trees but I figure closer to 700,000 or better."

"You guys better be prepared for the worse. If Matt is down in that car then our beloved Sheriff here will try to pin this thing on the two of you. You've already heard him say as much."

Chuck snarled, "That's not going to stop me from finding the real killer. Besides all that, I think you're out of a job too, Bill and what we need right now is some outside law enforcement help."

Jacobs bit his lower lip, "I got a friend with the State Patrol. She's been trying to get me to apply for a couple of years now. I can get her to start the ball rolling for a state investigation."

Blake raised an eyebrow, "She? I only know of one female smoky in this area. Is that the one you mean?"

"Yea she's the one."

Brooks walked back closer and snapped, "Veal? I suppose you will be doing all this from jail?"

Gail chimed in. "I'll take care of it for him or will you arrest me too, Sheriff?"

The sound of a cranking then racing diesel engine echoed through the underbrush and trees. It grew closer until Chuck could see the tractor cab as it pushed trees and underbrush out of its path. Close behind followed a backhoe tractor with Catfish perched up in the drivers cab.

Blake stepped away and started directing the job. The two pieces of equipment quickly opened a narrow road to the creek and the dozer pushed several tons of dry dirt from the hillside down the bank forming a hard packed road down to the edge of the water. On that, Catfish drove the tractor down stopping a few feet from the water's edge. He locked the brakes and climbed down leaving the tractor engine idling. Blake stepped to the front of the tractor and released the catch on a front mounted cable and winch. With Catfish helping, they pulled several feet of metal cable clear. Catfish took the end of it with one hand and waded back into the water only this time with all his clothes on.

When he reached the drop off, he struggled a moment trying to keep his head above water and draw more cable. Blake was busy feeding it out when Catfish called for it. A moment later, he waved at Blake and then sank beneath the surface.

Almost two minutes passed before his head reappeared and he gasped for breath. "Okay, Blake. I got the hook on the rear chassis but go-slow. The car is stuck in a wash out on the bottom and it's jammed in there hard. It's not going to pull too easy until you clear that bank."

Blake nodded and signaled Clark who climbed into the tractor cab and pushed the fuel control fully forward. The engine grumbled loudly and belched black smoke from an equally black exhaust pipe. The wench on the front started to turn slowly taking up slack in the cable. Blake motioned everyone back. "If this thing snaps you'd best be out of the way."

Everyone, including Blake, stepped further back and to the side and waited. Catfish drifted to the opposite bank where he caught a tree root to hold against the current.

The cable snapped rigid and the tractor engine emitted a deep growl. The front wheels of the machine sank deeply and Clark idled down then stopped. Blake checked the problem and yelled, "We can pull it out later with the Dozer. Go ahead and get the car out."

Clark nodded and once again shoved the fuel setting higher. The engine snarled again and then rumbled but the wheels sank no deeper. The first few feet of cable wound back onto the wench and just when Chuck thought the tractor was about to be drug into the creek, the cable started slipping around the coiler unit. The car was moving across the bottom and toward the bank. Catfish motioned to Blake that everything was okay and Clark kept it going.

Mud clouded the waters near the center of the creek and air bubbles boiled to the surface. A moment later Chuck saw the first blue colors rising to the surface and soon enough the white striped trunk spoiler that belonged to Matt's car came into clear view.

It took ten minutes with tractor and bulldozer pulling and tugging to get the car high enough up the bank and out of the water. Chuck moved toward it but Blake stopped him. "Let them get some slack in the cable first. It's too dangerous right this second."

Muddy creek water poured from inside the car through the open windows that told Chuck Matt wasn't the one driving. He always drove with the windows up and the air conditioner running to help keep dust and dirt out of the car's interior. Also, the glass T-top cover was missing.

With a wave of his hand, Blake signaled Clark to slacken on the cables. When the taught iron wire fell to the ground, the engines on each machine dropped to idle speed, coughed, then died. Blake turned to Jacobs, "You want to take a look inside?"

Sheriff Brooks, who had stood back watching the entire time, suddenly raced past the men and peered into the front of the car. His face said nothing. Chuck stepped up beside him and looked down. The water was still knee deep on the floor and a cringe of pity flipped through his heart. Matt would pitch a fit if he saw the car right now. Still, he wished Matt were there pitching that fit.

Brooks scanned the interior, stepped back and said, "It's empty." He pointed a finger at Catfish and snapped, "Get a pry bar and open the trunk."

Catfish didn't move. Instead, he looked at Blake who nodded. The young kid scrambled to the toolbox on the dozer and returned with a heavy metal bar. He stopped and looked at Blake once again. "Go ahead, Catfish. Open it up."

Gail, who had stepped to the driver's side of the car, shouted, "Wait a second. The keys are still in the ignition. Why don't you use them?"

She reached inside to the steering wheel and Brooks snapped, "Don't touch anything, lady this is a crime scene and there might be finger prints on them keys."

Jacobs said, "Get the keys, Gail. I don't see any reason to damage the car any worse by ripping open the trunk. Besides, there might be prints on the trunk lid that we would smear with the crow bar."

When Brooks said nothing more, Gail pulled the keys from the ignition switch and closed her grip around them. The images flew out of the keys and into her mind.

Some strange man, not Matt, was driving the car and felt worried that someone in the community might see him at the wheel. Everyone in West Creek County knew the car and knew that nobody drove that Blue Trans Am but Matt Veal. Another vehicle was following him closely, a big truck of some kind, a tow truck? It was dark, middle of the night, and Gail strained to see a face but all she could distinguish was an outline. The man driving was large even while seated down lower at the wheel. He was heading for a place to hide the car. Then the images were gone. Nothing more came from the keys.

Gail turned and handed them to Jacobs. Bill looked at them for a long moment, flipped them several times searching for the round head trunk key, then pinched it between finger and thumb. He walked around to the back of the car, pushed the key into the trunk slot and twisted. It wouldn't move and felt gritty and sand filled. He wiggled the key a few times in the socket, prayed that it wouldn't break off if he twisted harder. The key swiveled clockwise a half turn and the release catch gave a loud click. The trunk lid popped upward a few inches spilling water out of the new opening.

Jacobs looked at Chuck and Blake. Gail move closer to Chuck's side, took his hand and said softly, "He's not in there."

Jacobs took a shallow breath and tugged at the lid. The trunk swung upward with grit-filled hinges complaining all the way. Jacobs leaned over and peered down. There were several inches of creek water and a few scattered bits of paper otherwise, the trunk was empty.

Brooks, after walking over and inspecting it, half sneered, "See? I told you there was no body in that car. Somebody probably just stole it and was afraid it was too hot to handle so they dumped it here in the creek. That's all there is to it."

Jacobs shook his head. "If that's true, Brooks, then where is Matt?"

"Like I've been telling you from the first, he's out of town on business. Somebody stole the car from his house. Case closed."

Chuck, still staring into the empty trunk space, said "Sheriff? Half-hour ago you were going to arrest us for murder and now you're back to Matt's out of town? If so then, how did he get there? Did he walk?"

Blake said to Clark. "Go ahead and tow the car on up the hill. I'll send Bobby's wrecker out here later to pick it up."

Brooks snapped, "This is a police matter, Squires. I'll have the car towed to the impound yard at the courthouse."

Chuck took a few steps toward Brooks. "You just said nothing is wrong, remember? Matt is out of town on business. So why are you impounding the car?"

Brooks pointed an ugly finger at Chuck, "I'm only telling you one thing, Veal. You leave town and you do it right this minute. If I see you around West Creek County, again I'll lock you up. You got that, boy?"

Chuck drew back to swing but Gail stopped him. He growled instead "You're looking at 200 pounds of boy, Sheriff, and I'll go anywhere I want and do anything I please."

Jacobs stepped closer, "Let it go. There's other ways to start an investigation. Matt has friends in a lot better places than inside Max Pary's deep pocket where this man comes from."

Brooks stood gawking but knew better than to say more. He turned to leave but snapped, "You leave that patrol car right where it sits, Jacobs because you are still fired. Squires, you get your machines away from that car. I'm impounding it as of right now. Veal, I've warned you, if I see you again..."

Chuck interrupted. "It'll be through a jail bars, Sheriff, but you're not going to like which one of us is on the inside looking out. You're not going to like that at all."

Brooks stomped away almost losing his balance and falling into the water. Chuck looked around at Blake, Jacobs, Catfish, Gail, and Clark. "What now? Where is Matt?"

Blake shook his head in disgust. "I don't know, Chuck. I do know that whoever put this car here wasn't worried about anyone finding it. That only means one thing."

"It means that Matt is either laid up hurt someplace, or he's...he's...,." Jacobs couldn't put it into words.

"Dead" Catfish finished.

"He's not dead. Matt isn't dead and I know it." Gail muttered.

Blake bit his lower lip, "I sure hope you're right, Gail. Okay, guys, let's clear out. By the way, Clark, how did you get the tractor and the dozer down here with only you driving?"

Clark spat into the creek and said, "I loaded it on the trailer and pulled it with the Cat."

"Good thinking. Okay. Catfish, help him load back up and ride with him? Bill? They can drop us off at my truck. I'll take you home if you want."

Gail said, "No. Let's all go to Matt's place. I'll fix us something to eat. We need to plan what to do next." Everyone agreed and turned to leave.

Catfish looked at Clark, "I ain't riding on that cat with you driving."

# Chapter 14

"So where's Matt? " Chuck asked everyone seated around the dining table in Matt's kitchen.

All faces looked around but no one said a word.

"Chuck?" Jacobs finally spoke. "Let's hold off on trying to guess where he's at and think about some other stuff that might show us a place to look. Such as why Miss Pary had that duck I warned you about earlier this morning."

"What did she say?"

"She called Sheriff Brooks after I left and raised all kinds of hell because I didn't hang you in a cell for trespassing. Later today, I stopped by Max Pary's office at the dam. I asked about the water level and stuff. So that might be the reason Brooks seemed so anxious at the creek. He wants to call Max Pary and tell him that the problems are solved about finding the car."

Chuck looked uneasily at the wall clock. "We still have to consider the cemetery issue too. I don't know why but it seems a lot more relevant now in my mind. What's their real problem with the cemetery, I mean, it can't be worth much, not compared to the thousands of acres they own. She called the law on me this morning for being there. What is she trying to hide? What doesn't she want anyone to find? Did she think I was out there to steal her cows or something?"

"Does it matter what she thinks? She goes ballistic, calls Walt, and Walt goes ballistic. He's catching pressure from the Pary household at Whispering Pines right now and you and Matt are the direct cause."

Gail asked, "Where's Blake and Catfish? Are they coming over?"

"They just stopped by the mill to drop the equipment off. They'll be here before too long."

"Well, right now I only know one thing for sure. We are not going to find out what's happened to Matt by finding his car. The place to start will be to find the person who took his car and put it in the creek."

"You don't know this, Bill, but Blake and I went to the mill this morning. It was just after you and I talked at the cemetery. We put our two cents on record with Thompson plainly. I didn't want to spill the beans of our intent so early on... but they gave us no choice. There was a nasty fight between Clark and Anderson."

"I bet Anderson will be sore for a month then."

"Clark beat him down into the dirt and was about to stomp his head with a jack boot. I swear I think Clark would have killed him if Blake hadn't stepped in."

"Just be glad Thompson didn't call us out there. Brooks would have charged Clark with assault and battery."

Gail spoke up. "Well Chuck owns half the business so why can't he just walk in and fire Thompson?"

"First he would have to prove it. With the Pary, influence in the local legal community it would be hard to prove anything the Pary family didn't want proved. Something like that would take a herd of outside lawyers and courts to even get the ball rolling in the right direction and Thompson would bankrupt the place long before you could get your hands back on it."

Chuck glanced down into the glass of iced tea before him as he said, "Do you honestly think Matt would hire somebody like Thompson to do anything more than sweep floors if he hired him at all?"

"No, but you have to prove Matt didn't hire him."

"I'm going to find out what's happened to Matt. Judging from the way things are starting to look, I'm scared to death of what I'm going to find. Some of the answers, I think, are hidden right there at the timber mill."

Gail nodded. "We also better check into this Milan Company that Max Pary owns. We need to know what's behind this Beaver Dam project."

"When I rode out there earlier this morning some secretary told me they hadn't closed the gates yet other than to draw three feet of water for the construction needs but there's something not right about that. The water is already a good ten or fifteen foot deep. You could tell up at the creek that it's been rising. This isn't the time of year for it. I'm suspicious that the gates are already closed. I'd have to know what I was looking for, but if I could get closer maybe I could prove it, but Max Pary isn't about to let that happen."

"If that's true and the gates are closed, then Max Pary already knows that Matt isn't going to be coming around bothering him about violating the court order."

"The court order is suspended. I don't know how or why, only that the green light is back on to start filling the lake and I think they've gotten off to an early start."

Gail asked, "How did they pull this off so quickly? Was it the supposed faxed letter from Matt?"

Waving a free hand Chuck said, "That and a few crooked lawyers and a Judge right here in West Creek County. The letter is a fake and we know it. It must have been a good enough fake to close the gates. Another thing too we need to consider. Even if we prove the letter is a forgery and then get, the mill away from Thompson...is any of that going to lead us to Matt? Where would we look for him?"

"The people behind all this are smart. They are smart, but not perfect. I can see a hundred ways to do it better. If they have done it quick then there has to be a mistake somewhere. We just have to find it."

"That's what I've been thinking too. This deal with Thompson taking over the mill is sloppy, not well thought out and neither is the scam against Blake."

"I remember a month back when Thompson spread it around that he was Matt's new foreman. Nobody disputed his word including me."

"Bill? You should have seen inside that office. It was like a pigpen. Thompson is either a fool of a business manager or he's out to bankrupt the place. If that's true, he'll run it down until Max Pary can buy it from the court or something. I'm not sure I could get control in time or raise the cash I would need to prevent all that."

"The one thing bothering me is why Thompson? He doesn't have the kind of brains or money needed so what's in it for him?"

"Thompson is a snake of some kind. He knows something about Matt. If I can prove it, I'll have him on the short end of a stick."

Thumping his fist on the table, Chuck added, "I could make him squeal all the way to Atlanta about who and why if I could get my hands on him for five minutes."

Gail placed a hand over Chuck's fist, holding it pinned to the tabletop. Chuck placed his other hand on top of hers saying disgustedly, "You know? I can't believe the people around here. Didn't they smell a rat when my brother just up and left without saying a word to anybody?"

Gail whispered softly. "I can't help it. I can sense Matt all over this house. I almost know him already but I don't sense he's dead. He's alive somewhere and I just know it."

They let a few moments of silence pass then Jacobs said, "Most folks around here probably haven't thought about Matt being gone yet. It's only been a week or so. You have to remember that West Creek County is a farming community full of some fine, hard working people. They gossip a lot but they mind their own business. If you back one or two of them into a corner you'll have the whole kit and caboodle standing against you. Matt, and now you, shoved the Pary family. That's what everybody else is seeing. In their minds you're the villain here, Chuck."

"I know, I know, things are pretty bad right now for those fine farming folks. Some of them are on the verge of disaster with debt and bad crops. The farming economy has gone to pot."

"True and let's not forget the majority are dependent on the Pary's money in some way or other. They own the bank. They say who gets credit to buy seed from their stores. Come harvest time, guess who owns the cotton gins and peanut silos?"

"How did Blake's business stay afloat here in West Creek County? I mean, him being an outsider, a black man in the middle of redneck country, and for whatever reason, he takes sides with Matt."

Gail interrupted. "The proper name is African American."

"Sorry, ma'am, we are not politically correct."

"Matt had a lot to do with it. Squires showed up one-day fresh out of the Air Force. You already know the mindset for some of the hard-core people in this area. They think blacks are supposed to be dumb farm hands and little else. Blake let them know different. He was a Captain in the Air Force, a fighter pilot in Iraq, I think. He has a college education. When he first showed up in West Creek County, Matt hired him but realized there was more to Blake than met the eye. Next thing you know he bought some of your brother's older machinery and went into business."

"No doubt this timber partnership was the epilog of Matt doing business with Blake to help him get established, right?"

"You got it. Blake might have made it so but who can say. Matt taking him on as a partner was good insurance for both of them."

Something rattled outside in the back yard and everyone at the table jumped. Jacobs stood and unsnapped the safety strap on his 9mm. He and Chuck stepped quietly to the kitchen window and looked outside. Chuck whispered, "It could be a dog in the trash barrel or something."

With all eyes peering out the back window, no one noticed the big shadow of a man moving down the hallway toward them. Jacobs started to relax and stepped back from the window. "Yea it was probably just an old dog or coon in the trash can. I wonder what's taking Blake and Catfish so long."

A deep, casual voice spoke behind them and said, "Did somebody mention my name?"

Jacobs spun quickly on the ball of his right foot while his right hand grabbed for his holstered gun. The motion was clumsy and awkward because the police holster was riding high on his belt.

Chuck also turned at the sound of the voice and just as Bill's gun snapped loose and cleared the holster, he cried, "Hold it, Bill."

Blake stood in the doorway of the kitchen, leaning against the doorframe. A large, sly grin stretched across his face. He finally said, "I wouldn't advise pulling that trigger Bill. It could get a man like me all riled up."

"Anything that big and quiet would never lie. You better put the gun up before your finger cramps and we end up with a kitchen full of wild bear."

"I almost didn't look before I fired. I guess I'm too tired to be carrying one of these things around."

Another voice called from outside the kitchen window, "Is this a private party or can just anybody come crashin' in?"

Jacobs and Chuck flinched again. They turned and saw Catfish standing just outside the kitchen window. He was clutching a double-barreled shotgun and holding it level with the window.

Chuck stammered for words and finally managed, "Looks like Matt's secret hiding place for the key isn't a total secret. Blake? Why didn't you just knock? Are you trying to get us all killed or something?"

Blake tossed the spare key through the air to Chuck and said, "I saw a strange truck parked just down the road. I wasn't too sure of what to expect when I got here so I figured it was better to be safe than sorry."

Jacobs, moving to unlock the back door for Catfish, said, "What kind of truck was it, Blake? Did you notice the tag?"

Entering the room Catfish snapped, "Yeah. It was Alabama. White F-150 Ford with a king cab. Got a big V-8 360 with..."

Blake interrupted, "Okay, Catfish. We just wanted to know what it looked like. Not a mechanical breakdown."

The four men moved toward the kitchen table and waited as Gail sat down. Blake looked at Chuck, "I guess I better warn you Clark is down near the pond. I told him to check around to see if he can spot who's driving that truck. While we wait on him, have ya'll figured out anything yet about what to do next?"

"I need a restraining order on the Beaver Run Creek project so I can protect the timber for you and Matt."

"That could be a major problem for you, Chuck. Blake? What happened to your copy of the contract?"

"It was stolen two weeks ago when somebody broke into my office. Matt's copy should be locked up in his safe at the mill but right now we don't even know where the safe is."

Jacobs had a knee jerk reaction. "What do you mean by that? The safe isn't at the mill office?"

"Oh there's a safe in the office but I promise you it's not Matt's. Somebody has switched them."

"He's right about that. It's not Matt's safe. I know the combination and I tried it this morning. It didn't open the safe."

Jacobs cast a confused look at Chuck, "Thompson stole the safe to get rid of that contract?"

Nobody spoke until Catfish asked, "What about that polecat, the Sheriff? I hear a lot of bad things about him and most of it involves drugs and stuff."

"I've seen some things that I ignored or was told to ignore. I don't know for sure but I think Walt Brooks is into something big, deep, and wide. Most important of all, it's way over his head."

"Bill? Could he be involved in murder? "

Catfish shifted uneasily in his chair, "He's pretty fair with folks who don't run against the Pary grain but Matt not only ran against it, he attacked it with a chain saw. Nothing about him strikes me right somehow."

"Me either, Catfish, but, I've seen the Sheriff crack a lot lately. He's under some kind of heavy pressure. Ya'll saw how he came apart this afternoon up at the creek. Did you notice how he calmed down when we didn't find Matt's body in the car? He didn't know if it was in there or not, which means, he doesn't know what's happened to Matt."

"Scratch one possible suspect," Chuck said.

The harsh shrill of the telephone exploded in the room. Gail jumped nervously and looked around at the others. "Sorry, guess I'm jumpy too."

All eyes turned back to the instrument as it rang a second time. Chuck walked across the kitchen and answered. "Hello?"

A soft, feminine voice on the other end asked, "Is this Chuck Veal?"

Chuck glanced back toward the table, fully aware all eyes were on him. "It sure is. Who's this?"

The female voice replied, "My name is Edie. Your brother, Matt, was a friend of mine. I need to see you, alone, as soon as possible. I might be able to help you find out what's happened to Matt."

"What makes you think anything has happened to Matt?"

The tone of voice became impatient. "I'm not playing games with you, Mr. Veal. I can help if you'll meet me tonight?"

Chuck looked at the others seated around the table, "Okay. When and where?"

"Do you know how to find the Old Mill Creek Bridge off Claxton road?"

A mental picture emerged in Chuck's mind. The bridge was about two miles east of town on a secluded back road. "Yeah, I know where the place is. What time?"

"Eleven o'clock, please come alone."

"Why is that so important?"

"I can't talk any longer," She said quickly. "Just be there at eleven o'clock."

The receiver went dead. Chuck slowly returned it to the wall mount. A deep nagging fear lifted in the back of his mind. Edie Pary, Max Pary's sister so why did she want to help and above all, what did she know about Matt's disappearance?

Blake spoke first. "You look kind of nervous. Did somebody threaten to chop your head off or something?"

He moved back to his chair, leaned his hands on the backrest, and "Did Matt know a woman named Edie?"

Catfish gave a short gasp, "Uh oh."

Jacobs raised a curious eyebrow. "Yes. I never could figure that out. Edie Pary, that's Miss Abatha Pary's niece."

Catfish added, "And Max Pary's sister. I heard around he was fit to be tied when he found out his precious sister was gettin' sweet on Matt. He made a couple of threats around about it but Matt never bothered the little snake none."

Blake wanted to know, "Was that her on the phone just now?"

"I guess so or at least she said her name was Edie and that she and Matt were friends. She wants to meet with me tonight, said she might be able to help. That means we're not the only ones who know something is wrong."

Jacobs gave a low groan. "Chuck, right now I just don't know if I would trust any of the Pary's. That brother of hers is a terror."

Gail asked, "Would Edie and Matt being together have set her brother off enough to hurt Matt?"

"That's a thought I hadn't considered" Jacobs said.

Catfish chimed in. "I ain't tryin' to change the subject here, but I heard one of the boys talking a while back, one that Thompson fired. He said when he got to work one morning some of the heavy equipment wasn't where they parked it the night before. A front end loader and a fork lift."

Blake eyed Catfish. "Go on."

"When he mentioned it to Thompson, that pink faced geezer went right through the roof. Here's the real catcher. That happened just the day before Clark's brother was pushed in the chipper."

Jacobs snapped, "Keg fell in the chipper, Catfish."

Catfish shook his head firmly. "Ain't likely, Bill, that ain't likely at all! We done told you that a million times."

Chuck didn't want any more confusion to play into the mystery. Impatiently he asked, "So what has that got to do with Matt?"

Catfish added, "A guy told me his crappy hole was gone."

Jacobs snorted, "Catfish? Are you in the same cornfield with us? We're talking about Matt Veal."

Gail asked, "What's a crappy hole? Is that a fishing place for white perch like Lake Norman in North Carolina?"

Catfish grimaced. "You ain't been around a timber mill much, have you, ma'am? A crappy hole is a place dug into a waste chip pile. It's so the guys can use it like an outhouse. This feller told me that when he got to work, his favorite crappy hole had been covered up. He figures it happened during the night."

Suddenly blushing, Catfish apologized, "Sorry, Ma'am. I just couldn't figure any better way to explain it in front of a lady."

Jacobs said, "I don't get it. What has that got...?"

Blake broke in, "The fork and pay loader had been moved during the night and a crappy hole in the wood chip pile was covered up?"

Catfish nodded and Blake turned suddenly to the others, "I think I know where the safe might be. They hid it in the sawdust pile. Thompson must have buried it there rather than risk being seen hauling it away."

Jacobs, suddenly grasping the implications, said, "Is that it? But that place has seven or eight huge sawdust piles and most of them are as high as a two-story house. Even if we could get on the yards, we can't just start digging into every one of them. It would take weeks."

Blake thought for a second and turned back to Catfish. "Did he say which pile?"

Catfish stood. "I can call him and find out. He might be pretty drunk by now, as late as it is and all."

Chuck looked at the wall clock, "But it's only seven o'clock, Catfish."

"For a drinking man like him this is real late in the day. The fact is he'll be passed out cold by 8:30 tonight."

"Call him," Blake pointed to the phone.

Everyone sat and watched as Catfish called. "Hey Bumpkin are you sober? You are? Man you running late. This is me Catfish. Naw', I 'preciate it but I got things to do tonight. Maybe Saturday night we can go shoot a few at the pool hall. Listen, you remember raising sand about your crappy hole gettin' covered up before Thompson fired you? Well, tell me something. Which chip pile was it? Yea, I think I know where that's at. Yeah, okay. It's the one closest to the storage shed. Okay, thanks bubba. I do 'preciate it; huh? Oh, no reason, I just thought about it and was wonderin.' I ain't full of crap either; Okay, catch you later."

Catfish hung up the phone, smiled, and returned to the table. He looked at Blake "It's the one by the old storage shed."

Blake's eyes lit up brightly. "I'll bet the safe is hidden under or in that pile. It's got to be."

Chuck said, "How do we get it out?"

"I can hot wire a pay loader. Start that sucker right up in two seconds with or without the key."

"Catfish," Blake said, "The key is probably hanging on the wall in the office and the lock on the office is made of brass. It keeps the honest folks out but nothing more."

Jacobs turned a pale white. "Now wait just a minute. That's illegal. Maybe I can get a warrant and search...."

The futility of his idea registered in his mind and on his face before he finished the sentence. He bit his lower lip in disgust.

"Don't forget Bill, we'll be digging in a sawdust pile on property that I own. We are not going to be doing anything illegal. Now what time will Thompson lock the place down?"

Blake answered, "I think Thompson leaves about nine or ten and there are no houses close by. Matt use to have a night watchman but Thompson fired him."

"You can't do this. If you get caught, before Chuck can prove ownership, then Brooks will put yawl in jail."

Catfish grinned. "What do you mean by ya'll, Bill? Ain't you gonna' drive us over there? You still got that Police radio in your pickup, so we'd know if they were coming to get us before they got there. Wouldn't we?"

Jacobs jerked at the thought. "Me? Who's going to bail you guys out of jail if I'm caught out there digging through the sawdust pile with you?"

Blake, a serious expression on his face said, "If any of us get caught out there what makes you think we'd live long enough to reach a jail?"

"Besides that," Gail reminded them. "The Sheriff fired Bill this afternoon down at the creek."

The room fell silent as each person digested the idea and dangers involved. Chuck broke the silence. "Somebody ordered Thompson to get rid of that safe and the papers in it. Unless he was told specifically how to get rid of it, hiding it in a chip pile sounds just stupid enough for something he would do."

"I think you're right," Bill said. "If he's hidden it in the sawdust pile then we've got a good starting point to find out what's happened to Matt and prove Blake's rights to the timber."

"My problem is, I promised to meet Edie at eleven."

Blake thought a moment, "Okay, you go meet her and then get back here quick as you can. If we find the safe, I'm going to move it somewhere where you can get into it later. We'll blast it open if nothing else."

Chuck, pointing toward the security touch pad in the living room said, "I know the combination and so do you Blake."

"Gotcha, Chuck. I know the combination."

"If you find the safe then you open it right there, grab all the papers and then bury it right back where you found it. That will keep them from knowing we have the real paperwork and might give us the upper hand."

Jacobs gave a deep sigh of resignation. "I'm caught between a rock and a hard place."

"That makes sense. At least they couldn't claim we stole the darn thing."

Catfish said, "It's about like Blake just told you. They ain't about to report catching us out there if they do catch us. If' they get their paws on any of us, we'd never live through the ride to the jailhouse."

Chuck stood. "It is a pretty dangerous stunt so I need to be there. Does anybody know how I can get in touch with Edie Pary? I'll stall her off until tomorrow or something."

Blake shook his head. "Nope, you go ahead and see what she can tell you about Matt. Maybe she can help. We'll go clean out that safe if we're lucky enough to find it."

"Yeah, that would be the best thing, Chuck. You go ahead and I'll tag along with them just in case they are spotted. If that happens, they'll call it in on the Sheriff's radio and I have a scanner in my truck."

"Okay. I appreciate what you guys are trying to do. Just get in and out as quick as you can. If you aren't back by two in the morning I'll come looking."

Catfish whispered, "You be careful yourself, Chuck. I don't trust none of the Pary's beyond the hog pen, especially that gal's brother."

Gail looked around and asked, "What about me? Do I go with you or with them?"

Chuck shook his head. "We need you by the phone."

Gail stood up, placed her hands on her shapely hips, "I'm either going with you or with them and that's final, Chuck Veal. I'm not going to sit around while the man I love is in trouble."

She said it. She finally said it; the words echoed through Chuck's mind at lightning speed. He tried to move his lips but nothing came out. Bill, seeing the shock on Chuck's face, loudly cleared his throat and stared out the window. Catfish softly whispered, "Golll leeeee. I thought he already knew that."

Blake smiled. "The man is always the last one to find out."

An owl hooted outside near the rear yard fence. Blake stood up, "That's Clark. I'll let him in."

A moment later, Clark stood in the kitchen shaking his head. "I couldn't find anybody around, Blake. I circled back up to the road but just before I got there, the truck started up and drove off real quiet like. I couldn't see who it was driving because of the trees and bushes but I would swear I saw a Government Tag on that thing. You know, kinda like the one they have on the game warden's truck."

Everyone stood around looking at each other.

***

Gail, Blake, Bill, Clark, and Catfish left Matt's house a little before ten o'clock while Chuck, with a little extra time on his hands, drove to the interstate truck stop for gas and a cup of coffee. "One thing about truck drivers," Chuck thought noticing the full parking lot. "They know a good eating joint when they find it."

He spotted an empty stool at the counter and sat down. A waiter placed a cup of coffee in front of him, smiled and asked, "Can I get you anything to eat?"

"No thanks, just Coffee."

A jukebox was in the rear corner of the restaurant with loud, blaring music that did little to sooth his frayed nerves. He let his eyes scan the room but all the faces were complete strangers. Near the last row of booths, he spotted a gray uniform and shiny hardware. A female Georgia State Patrol officer sat nursing a steaming cup of coffee and staring blankly out the window beside her table. Chuck lifted his cup and walked around the crowded tables to the booth. The young woman looked up and Chuck asked, "Do you mind if I sit down?"

The officer's eyes implied she wasn't anxious for a visitor. Chuck added quickly, "I've got a problem I need to ask you about. It's my brother. He's missing and the West Creek County Sheriff Department refuses to help me find him."

The mention of West Creek County's Sheriff drew a curious look from her expression. She waved a hand to the vacant spot across the booth, "Have a seat."

He sat down too quickly and a sloshed coffee on the tabletop. He reached for a napkin from the silver holder but missed and sent it plopping over into the officer's nearly empty plate. Chuck tried to smile and reached for the napkin bin. Their hands bumped together clumsily. Chuck finally motioned, pulled the holder out of the plate, and shook his head in disbelief. "I'm a total wreck. I'm so sorry."

A glint of humor appeared on her smooth face but she said nothing. Chuck removed a napkin, wiped the spill, and started explaining, "My name is Chuck Veal. I live in West Creek County. No, I mean, I'm from West Creek County originally. Right now I live in North Carolina."

She waited. Chuck, suddenly short on words, had to search for a way to explain everything. "My brother has lived around here all his life and I haven't heard from him in a week so I drove down to find out what's going on."

As Chuck took a sip of his coffee, she spoke for the first time in a tone that seemed soft but firm and businesslike. "Did you say the name was Veal? Are you related to Matt Veal?"

Chuck nodded. "He's my brother who's missing, he owns Veal' Timber Company. Do you know him?"

She smiled, "Sure, I know him well. He recommended me to a friend of his in Atlanta that helped me get this job. Now tell me. Why do you think he's missing?"

Chuck lowered his eyes to the cup, "He hasn't called me in over a week and we found his car at the bottom of Beaver Creek this afternoon. I'm worried sick and I keep getting all this crap from Walt Brooks, the Sheriff."

"That's just about all you're going to get out of the Sheriff's office. Almost his entire department is being run down and under by the man. Bill Jacobs is the Chief Deputy. He's a good cop and he knows Matt well. You need to see him and forget about Brooks."

Chuck shook his head. "I did see Bill and the Sheriff fired him this afternoon down at the creek after we pulled the car out of the water."

Her eyebrows rose in surprise and she nodded. "Good. I've tried to get him to change over to the patrol with us but he was determined to ride it out at home."

"Bill was fired for trying to help me find Matt."

"What do you mean? What is going on over there in that County office?"

"A lot more than any of us know about, I'm afraid. It's a long story."

She raised her eyes and glanced out the window as a tractor-trailer rolled past. "I can only imagine. So what can I do to help you?"

"Matt's timber business, right now there's some jerk running the place that shouldn't be there. I don't know what to do. Most of the local people think Matt is out of town on business. Maybe finding his car will wake them up but we need more help on this from the outside."

"I'm sorry but there's nothing I can suggest you do other than call the Georgia Bureau of Investigation. I know a few of them and I'll see what they say. If you've found his car that proves that a crime has been committed so maybe they'll step in to investigate."

"I know but the Sheriff is sticking with the Matt is out of town story. I guess you've also heard of a man named Max Pary?"

She leaned forward, "Mr. Veal? Your brother and Bill Jacobs are good friends or I wouldn't be telling you this. Max Pary is probably the biggest crook in the state. I've heard all about Matt having problems with him over some business situations involving a timber lease north of Beaver Dam."

"Blake Squires is Matt's partner in that deal. He's helping me look for Matt. We've got to figure a way to stop Pary from closing the gates until the timber can be cut."

"Good luck. That man would commit murder before he'd let somebody best him in a business deal."

When the words crossed her lips, their implications struck home and she paled. "I'm sorry. That was a stupid remark."

Chuck said, "That's okay because that's what I'm worried about. We know that Matt did beat him in a business deal."

Her face reddened. "It was just an expression. I'm sorry."

A heavy set man wearing a yellow and black cap on his head, stepped through the door of the cafe, searched around for a moment until spotting the booth where Chuck and the officer were seated. He yelled for everyone to hear. "Hey smoky, there's a guy on the CB radio just hollered for you. He said there's a Chevy doing figure eights in the middle of the interstate."

All eyes in the room turned toward her and Chuck. She shouted back, "Okay thanks. I'm on my way."

She grabbed her hat and stood. Chuck asked, "What did that guy say?"

She smiled, straightened her cap and said, "Drunk driver, weaving in the road. Listen, Mr. Veal. You call Bill Trebbit at the GBI office in Atlanta and tell him I sent you. Explain everything to him. I'll do some checking around too. Where are you staying, Matt's place?"

"Yea...would you call me tomorrow if you find out anything?"

"Sure thing, I'll be in touch."

He watched her leave. A trucker walked by the booth, "You can forget that little lady, old buddy. She's a hard nose gal with a badge."

Most of the customers were still staring at Chuck when he walked out the door.

Twenty minutes later, he turned the Jeep onto Old Mill road that led to the bridge where he was supposed to meet Edie Pary. It wasn't a road so much as a logging path used mainly by hunters. The bridge ahead was an ancient, wooden structure that spanned Beaver Creek. The last time Chuck saw it, probably 20 years or more, it was near collapse and untrustworthy. By now, he figured, it had probably rotted away and fallen into the creek below.

As he eased the Jeep along, he thought about Gail saying that she loved him. She just blurted it out in front of Blake, Catfish, Clark and Bill Jacobs. What would they do when they returned to work in North Carolina? Company policy didn't allow dating among employees in the same department and for a manager like Chuck, to be seeing an employee under his supervision, well, that was grounds for removal. "I'll transfer her out to another division or something or I'll get Marty to move me upstairs and let her have my job." Chuck decided.

His mind went back to the immediate problems, mainly the safe and what the others were going to do at the timber office. Were they taking a big risk? What if someone did see them and call the Sheriff? Thompson must have hidden the safe because he couldn't get inside the thing. If they were lucky enough to find the safe in the sawdust pile, their job of taking back control of the mill was over and done.

Chuck's mind snapped back to the logging road ahead now barely visible through the thick cover of weeds and grass. One thing he noticed, there was no one ahead of him or he would see the tire tracks in the dew moistened weeds. Chuck, it appeared, was the first person on the road in a car in a long time.

In places, the weeds thinned out enough to see yellowish looking sand that covered the tire ruts. There were no tracks visible. The jeep lost traction and spun for a moment but Chuck eased off the gas and pulled on through the soft area. A half-mile further along the dark wooden planks of the old bridge appeared in the Cherokee's headlights.

Surprisingly enough, it was still standing but the rotted looking timbers spoke volumes of danger in crossing the bridge. "I wouldn't even walk on that thing let alone drive," Chuck thought.

He saw a blur of movement near the left side of the road a short distance ahead. It might have been an animal because these woods were full of large creatures. Nonetheless, a cold feeling moved across his mind and he wondered, "Why would she pick a place like this to meet?"

It was spooky and eerie and the car's headlights caused dancing shadows in all directions. He suddenly felt scared and worried about meeting this woman in such a deserted place. He had no idea who else might be involved or why, but above all, why would Max Pary's sister be so anxious to help him? Why would she be on his side and not that of her brother?"

Chuck eased the Jeep forward and saw the front half of a vehicle backed into a small side slot area near the bridge. "How in the world did she get down here? She didn't use the road I just came in over."

The parked car was dark colored with only the front half-visible and the rear backed into some bushes. Chuck drove a few yards past the car and stopped. His eyes scanned the nearby trees and underbrush for signs of trouble but saw nothing. He took a deep breath and cut the engine.

The car, parked in what appeared to be a road junction, was one he had never seen before. "Somebody must have cut a road to get out and around the bridge. Wonder where it comes out on the highway."

He switched the Jeep's lights to parking position and a dark, gloomy blackness engulfed the area. He opened the door and stood, looking around intensely. He wondered if anyone was hiding in the shadows... and why. In situations like this, the darkness could be his best friend but it could also be his worst enemy.

The driver of the other car got out and moved quickly into the reddish glow of the Jeep's taillights. A soft, feminine voice whispered, "I'm Edie Pary."

"I'm Chuck Veal."

"I'm glad you came" the voice said. The smell of expensive perfume drifted across the night. Everything seemed surreal to Chuck at that moment.

"Mr. Veal? I know this seems odd, my calling you and all, but I want to help."

"Why? How do you know Matt? Are you friends or something?"

She hesitated, searching for words. "I...I... Yes. Matt and I were good friends, Mr. Veal."

Chuck noted that she referred to him in the past tense. A distant quail called crisply and the sound of water slapping against the old bridge pilings reached the road above. A night owl hooted and a quiet rustling sound of a small animal scurrying away mixed into the din of sounds around him.

The woman's outline was nothing more than a shadow but a nicely figured shadow. Her face remained hidden in the darkness. The soft voice was strained, frightened, and trembled slightly as she spoke. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked you out here in the middle of nowhere like this. I just didn't want to cause any more trouble for Matt.

"Okay, Edie. What can you tell me that might help?"

"Matt told me before he disappeared that he was going to the old Veal' cemetery and dig into his grandfather's grave."

A slow roll of thoughts tumbled through Chuck's mind. That might explain the freshly dug dirt he had seen that morning. "Why would he do that?"

"I told you we were friends. He explained his plans to me the night before he went to the cemetery."

"Edie, why would Matt want to dig up our grandfather's grave?"

He heard something stir in the nearby bushes. Had she jumped at the sound? He couldn't tell in the dark.

"Matt thought somebody was using the cemetery to hide drugs. Did he tell you any of this?"

Chucked lied "Parts of it"

Edie nodded. "I tried to discourage him, told him to call the Sheriff or something."

Chuck waited, saying nothing. Edie continued, "I've learned a lot about you from Matt. He talked about you all the time."

Chuck felt the hairs on his neck rising. Something was wrong about the whole setup. "You didn't tell anyone where you were going tonight, did you?"

"No. No I didn't tell a soul."

Chuck hoped she was being honest or "Oh lord, she's the bait and I'm the fish."

"Edie why are you afraid for anyone to find out you and I are talking? Have you got a jealous boyfriend or something?"

She shook her head slowly. "No. It's nothing like that. Matt was my boyfriend. My brother, Max, tried to stop me from seeing him because he thought it degraded the family."

"Degraded? His Aunt married my Grandfather. Wasn't Abatha Pary Abatha Veal for a week?"

Edie tensed and her words suddenly became defensive. "Aunt Abatha never used the name Veal that I know of. Besides, I'm not like my brother or my Aunt. I don't judge people because of their name. I was in love with Matt and now he's disappeared."

There it was again, past tense. "Do you have any idea what happened or who might be responsible for Matt's disappearance?"

"No. I've heard talk, related to the Beaver Dam project. Talk about how he ran over the property owners upstream. I don't keep up with his business dealings that well."

Chuck sensed something or someone watching him from behind. He tried to ignore the sensation and kept talking. "You said that the last time you heard from Matt was before he went to the cemetery?"

"Yes. He called and told me he was going there later that night. I begged him not to, I begged him."

Why haven't you called someone higher than our local Sheriff to report Matt's disappearance?"

In the taillights glare he could see her eyes grow larger in surprise and she half cried, "No. The sheriff... My brother and family would never...."

"Okay, Edie. I'll try to understand your position in this thing but have you told me everything? I already know about the Sheriff and his ties with your brother but if you cared for Matt..."

"Oh Chuck," Her voice trembled noticeably now and she stepped closer. "I love Matt, more than anyone will ever know. It's just that...that..."

Her dark figure shuddered, her head leaned toward him. He let it fall on his shoulder. The tears were warm and moist on his shirt. He realized that if she was acting then it was good, very good.

Something ruffled again in the bushes behind him. He wanted to turn but she was crying deeply and trembling.

"Edie, they found Matt's car this afternoon at the bottom of Beaver Creek."

She raised her head and started wiping at the stream of tears on her cheek. "I know. I heard. That's why I decided to go ahead and call you."

Chuck stole a quick glance over his shoulder. He could almost feel something behind him but the darkness was total and thick.

"Okay, Edie. I think Matt made it to the cemetery. I was there this morning, the weeds and vines are thick, and I could see where someone had been digging at my Grandfather's grave. The catch is, the path going in hasn't been disturbed in some time but there was fresh red clay scattered around and the grass was trampled down in places."

"Did you check the back path?"

Chuck did not understand and said, "There's only one opening into the cemetery and it's about clogged with vines and briars." Again, he turned, glancing into the darkness behind him, but still saw nothing."

Wiping at tear-stained eyes, she said, "Matt found an animal trail that enters the cemetery from the woods and not across the field. Your grandfather's grave is in the middle of the path."

"You mean coming in from the pine thickets? There's a game trail that runs through there?"

Edie nodded. Chuck brushed at his neck with one hand. The hairs were standing almost straight out. "The nearest road is a good quarter mile away from the cemetery if you go that way."

"I don't know if that's it or not. Matt didn't tell me specifically. He only said the back way and a game trail. That's all I know."

Suddenly the sound of tromping hoofs and the rustle of bushes and limbs startled both of them, then scurried away into the night. Chuck took a deep breath and let it out slowly. It had been a deer after all.

"Edie, you've got to help me. Tell me everything. I can't do this alone."

"I'll do what I can but I just know that something awful has happened to Matt. I just know it."

Standing alone with Edie on the deserted road, Chuck felt the slow realization sink in deeply. It struck full force. Matt, without a doubt, had to be dead.

"Matt is alive" Gail's voice echoed in mind.

The hairs on the back of his neck prickled again. Something was still in the bushes behind him. That something, he realized, was probably what spooked the deer. He grew tenser, anxious, and some inner sense started to warn him to be wary. Then, a voice screamed from deep inside his mind, shouting, " _"Pick up the nickel... pick up the nickel.""_

He spun quickly just as a dark figure broke from the trees and lunged toward him. There was something in the person's hand. Was it a board?

Edie gasped with what seemed real surprise or well rehearsed acting. With one hand, Chuck shoved her harshly aside, which cost him the split second he needed to avoid the falling weapon. The blow caught squarely on the top of his head and his mind exploded in terror and pain.

The last thing he remembered was hearing Edie's screams while he lay crumpled in the roadway with something warm and sticky trickling down the side of his face. He was bleeding from a large gash in the top of his head.

# Chapter 15

Bill Jacobs stopped the truck short of where the front gate to the mill office once stood. The area beyond appeared deserted with a lone night-light shinning from the edge of a storage building thirty yards away. Blake was seated at the window with Gail between them, pointed to a huge pile of wood chips, "Is that the one, Catfish?"

From the jump seat in the back of the king cab, Catfish replied, "I think so. It seems about right. Let me and Clark out and we'll go see. I don't like it back here."

Jacobs cut the ignition and his eyes scanned the area again. Blake opened the truck door and lifted the back of his seat to let the two men out. Jacobs also climbed out, helping Gail in the process. He could feel his heart thumping so loud he was afraid the others might hear it. They were all playing a risky hand of poker, a hand they could ill afford to lose.

Gail whispered, "Even if we find the safe and Blake's papers are inside, it still might not be enough."

"It's a good start," Jacobs said. The strain on his face was apparent. He noticed a distant light and asked, "Is that a house over yonder?"

Blake shook his head. "No. That's a light from my place. It's a guard light on top of the chipper stacks."

Catfish came trotting back out of the semi darkness and pointed to a big yellow machine, a pay loader with a giant scoop on front. He said to Blake, "That one should do it."

"Can you start it up without the key or wrecking the ignition switch? If we break into the office they'll know somebody was here."

"Shoot yea, Blake. I'll have that rust bucket running in no time"

"Just be sure you've got the right chip pile and put that loader back exactly like you find it."

Catfish disappeared into the darkness. A sudden flare of light splashed across the sky and Jacobs jumped, thinking it was car lights. Blake pointed upward, "That was lightning, and a good rain will wash out our tracks."

"I was in a gun fight a few years back with a state trooper killed standing right beside me. That's different from being here. On the firing line I can handle my own but as a thief, I'd die of a heart attack."

Blake shrugged. "I'm here for Matt whether it's right or wrong. Sometimes we have to take things like this into our own hands."

Blake motioned for Gail, Clark, and Jacobs to follow. They crossed the rugged dirt road and walked through the gate opening onto the lumberyard. They stopped at the base of a huge wood chip pile. Gail looked upward, "God. That thing is fifty feet tall or more."

Jacobs whispered, "It'll take all night to move this thing."

Blake shook his head. "Not with Catfish driving that loader. Have you ever seen him work one before?"

"Never thought much about it. When we were kids, old Catfish use to fix just about anything around that broke so I guess we just expected that of him."

Blake pointed to the flashlight Jacobs had carried from the truck. "Let me use that thing a minute. I want to check the pile. Maybe it's sturdy enough for Catfish to cut a furrow. If so then we don't have to move the whole thing."

Jacobs passed the light to Blake and stood with Gail. Together, they watched Blake disappear around the pile. He carried a holstered revolver stuck down the back of his pants and it was starting to feel heavy and uncomfortable. He wondered why he'd brought it in the first place. He worried whether he could use it here and now if the wrong persons confronted them. He finally decided that yes, in defense, he would use it.

"Where did Blake go? I don't see him."

"I don't know, Gail."

Clark spoke. "He's checking the chip pile to see where best to start digging."

A moment later Blake's voice asked as he reappeared from out of the darkness. "I wonder what's taking Catfish so long,"

"He'll get it." Jacobs said. "Catfish would make one heck of a car thief."

The sound of a slow whirring engine starting filled the night air. "Never would it sound as loud in the daylight." Jacobs thought. The engine hit, misfired, and fell silent.

Blake whispered, "Come on, darn you."

The starter whirred again and the engine sputtered to life with a low, steady, rumble. Blake sighed, "There she goes."

The engine speed picked up to a higher whine. Jacobs said, "That'll send 'em running if nothing else will."

The pay loader jerked and started moving toward them. Blake used the flashlight to direct Catfish to the center of the pile. He well knew it was going to be a rough and dangerous job. He just prayed the safe was shallow, not too deep inside or it would be harder to work it out from beneath the hard packed wood chips.

"Clark? See if you can get that forklift going. We will need it to drag the safe out here if Catfish can find it. If you can't hot wire it, then switch out with Catfish and he can get that one going too."

"Shoot Blake, who do you think taught that boy in the first place?"

Watching Clark head off toward the machine, Blake turned toward Catfish and his machine. He signaled for him to cut a furrow, an open tunnel so to speak. The kid understood, and spun the machine into position. Blake cupped his hands to Jacobs' ear and shouted, "Ya'll take the truck and go stand watch way outside the main gate. Don't let anybody in, not even Thompson..."

Jacobs nodded, took Gail by the hand, and raced for the pickup. He could always claim he had just arrived and was checking on all the late hour commotion. Then, he tossed the idea sheepishly, he was in all the way, and would see it through.

Catfish eyed the pile cautiously and then steered the heavy machine into the mound and set to work. One wrong move and the whole pile would collapse on top of him.

Blake kept one eye on Catfish and the other on Clark. Another lightning flash overhead meant the storm was getting closer. Could they beat it? "I darn sure hope so." Blake prayed.

A second diesel engine came to life and Clark waved at Blake. "Good deal, Clark. Now get over here and help him."

Catfish and Clark worked steadily. The front tires skidded once on a muddy section that sent the blade skidding into the newly created hole before Catfish. Ten minutes of work disappeared in a small avalanche of chips. A moment later Clark, in the larger machine, misjudged the width of the tunnel and the pan cut a deep gash into the delicate wall. He waited for several precious seconds to be sure the pile was stable again before continuing.

Blake didn't complain. He knew that no other humans on earth could drive with the skills of Catfish and Clark. One accident for either was equal to fifteen for any another operator. Huge drops of sweat ran down Catfish's forehead. Steam started rising from the exposed chips because such huge piles of wood would generate tremendous amounts of heat during the decay process and some areas deep in the pile would be hot. That didn't make the job any easier for man or machine.

Blake tried to help guide Catfish and Clark along but more often than not, the wiry kid knew more about the business than he did and Clark simply followed Catfish's lead. All Blake could do was stand watching and praying for the pile to stay put and not collapse on either man.

The seconds turned to minutes, fifteen of them before the blade of the Catfish's machine struck something metallic. An angry wail of metal against metal screamed out across the dark night. Catfish was deep inside the tunnel with walls forty feet high on either side. There was little room to maneuver but Catfish tried to grab the safe with the scoop. The safe was too large and his attempts pushed it deeper into the pile. Clark whistled and motioned for him to move aside. His machine carried the larger scoop and might be better for the grab. Catfish backed his machine out then watched as Clark moved into the opening.

Clark deftly worked the controls on the loader getting its blade wedged underneath the safe. When he raised the blade and safe, a small avalanche set off around him but nothing serious. The machine jerked into reverse and slowly Clark backed out of the tunnel.

Blake couldn't see from his vantage point until Clark cleared the pile into the open space, then spun the machine around and rumbled over toward him. On the inside edge of the huge scoop was a dark black and silver, metal box. It was Matt's safe.

Blake prayed that the machine's teeth hadn't damaged the dial or any of the internal mechanisms on the locks. Clark lowered the pan, cut back on the fuel control, and waited.

For Jacobs and Gail, waiting at the main gate, time stood still. They were worried that at any moment Sheriff Brooks would drive up and catch them.

"Bill? Have you ever considered running for Sheriff?"

"Me? I've been asked several times to run against Brooks but the problem is, the last two people who ran against him were defeated and then pretty much forced out of the county. The Pary influence is a decisive blow with the voters. Besides, I've never believed that politics and police work should mix. It is bad for everybody involved, especially West Creek County."

"You're an honest man which is something this County could use."

"Now how on earth would you know that I'm honest? My straight innocent good old boy looks?"

"Your hands" Gail said sincerely. "A person's hands speak volumes about them."

They jumped when the angry scream of metal against metal echoed out of the mill and into the woods nearby.

"They found the safe or that machine just blew an engine."

Gail said, "They found it."

The safe, situated perfectly in the pan, seemed to wait for Blake to open the lock. He glanced up to the cab where Clark sat sweating and grinning like a proud little child, and gave him thumbs up.

The dial and tumbler appeared unharmed so Blake climbed up into the open scoop pan and squatted beside the huge box. Taking a deep breath, he held the light on the dial and started by giving it several free spins to clear loose dirt and wood chips away. Then with sweaty fingers, he rolled the first digit upward to the red mark at the top of the dial. The dial numbers were dirty and hard to read so he had to go slowly. When the last "4" appeared, he took a deep breath and tugged at the release handle. It didn't budge.

"Come on, baby. You can do it."

He tried to remember in which direction he'd spun the first digit. Was it clockwise or to the left? The flashlight slipped out of his sweaty hand and fell to the ground below the pan. Catfish picked it up and tossed it back.

He had to thump it several times before the bulb came back alive. "So where was I?"

He cleared the dial once again with several fast spins and started over. At the end of the sequence, the release handle again thudded against their inner metal locks. With a sinking fear he tried to comfort his nerves by remembering that if all else failed, they could still move the safe somewhere else.

Catfish grew weary and kept glancing to the leaning pile of chips and the narrow, threatening tunnel dug deep inside. The crest of the tunnel's walls were fifty feet high in places leaned outward over the path he would travel in covering the safe back up. The whole job would take several hours if either ridge collapsed. "That is," Catfish thought. "If either ridge collapses while the machine was outside and far away. If it collapsed while he or Clark was inside then there would be no worries about putting things back in place. Somebody would die.

Blake rolled the last number, four, to the top of the dial and decided that if this round didn't work, they would load the safe on the back of the truck and leave. With a hearty jerk, he snatched at the release handle and felt it give upward. Something inside the box clicked and the heavy door opened a small crack.

A huge weight lifted from his shoulders and his legs were cramping from the strain. He stood and signaled to Catfish and Clark just as a heavy clap of thunder rolled off the southwestern sky. "It's open."

Bill and Gail listened to the pay loader's idling engine and could only wonder. Had they found the safe? Did the combination work? Were all the papers inside? Maybe the machine had broken down. The thunderstorm was moving closer. Bill looked around at all the nearby, hundred foot tall pine trees. Each one could be an open invitation for a bolt of lightning. "Gail? Why don't we go see what's going on?"

She stood back as he opened the truck door. She climbed in and Jacobs followed. Then, an angry growl from the backhoe's engine told them that the machine was moving again.

"Bill? They're back at it again. Do you think they're still searching?"

"I don't know, Gail. We'll give it a few minutes and go check."

Clark returned the now empty safe to the approximate spot he had found it in the tunnel. The chip pile trembled when several short blasts of wind from the approaching storm whipped through. The whole mountain might collapse at any moment so they would need to work quickly. Clark backed the machine out and Catfish, his machine already loaded with chips to start covering things up, waited for him to clear the opening. Once Clark was out, Catfish used his machine as a battering ram several times along the outer edges of the pile. The tunnel folded inward, collapsing downward and covering up their invasion. Clark gave Catfish thumbs up. Now, to just smooth over the chips they had dug out and all would be back to normal.

The next sharp explosion of lights in the sky, followed by an instant report of thunder, meant the storm was directly overhead. There wasn't much time left and a hard sudden rain might spell trouble in the soft dirt of the yard. The machines moved quickly to fill the last of the exposed chips.

Blake stuffed the papers from inside the safe into a cardboard box, including some cash he found in a bound packet. Chuck had told him to clean out the safe and that's what he'd done.

Much like Catfish and Clark, Blake realized the rain was an immediate danger to bogging the machines into the mud. If only it could hold off for another fifteen minutes then a rain would be a blessing and wash away their tracks and signs of the pile being disturbed. He turned the flashlight toward the main gate and gave three short flips on the switch. After Catfish and Clark had each made another run with a pan full of chips, he signaled again and then fussed for not warning Gail and Jacobs to keep a watch back their way too.

Jacobs scanned the overhead skies and the approaching storm. He was conscious of the exposed position and the heavy metal fence that enclosed the mill. Gail said, "Over there."

His eyes followed to where she pointed and he saw three quick winks from a flashlight beam. It was Blake signaling. "Let's go."

Starting the truck engine, he dropped the transmission lever into drive and spun the wheels. The truck made a snappy and harsh circle then nosed back toward the mill yard. As they barreled through the gate, Blake motioned and Jacobs pulled the truck up next to where he stood. He opened the door and shoved the box full of paper into Gail's lap. Jacobs asked, "Are the right papers in there?"

Blake shrugged. "I don't know. It's too dark to tell and right now, Catfish and Clark are in a pinch. If that rain hits it's going to sink those tractors up to the cabs."

Gail asked, "Why are Catfish and Clark so anxious to risk their lives for something that doesn't concern them?"

Neither Jacobs nor Blake would answer. A moment later, small drops of water started spattering on the windshield of the truck. "Darn," Blake hissed. "Can't the rain hold off another five minutes?"

Jacobs heard the Sheriff's voice over the police scanner and he wondered what Brooks might be doing out so late. Had someone called about them being at the mill? Blake also heard the radio crackling with police lingo and thought he recognized the Sheriff's voice but his mind was busy with Catfish and Clark.

Every muscle in his body was struggling to help push the last few loads of chips back into place. It took another anxious five minutes and that was when the downpour struck. While Clark returned his machine to where he'd taken it from, Catfish made the final touches to the pile then moved his own loader back to the spot where he'd found it. He cut the engine then jumped down and raced back through the rain. Blake already had the door open and waiting. He crawled into the back cab next to Clark and said, "That's got it. Now let's skedaddle out of here, ya'll."

Clark said teasingly "We would have been gone ten minutes ago if your slow butt had gotten out of my way."

#  Chapter 16

Chuck Veal was on the ground with one side of his face lying in soft sand. His shirt was soaked and sticking to his back with something tapping on it softly every now and then. Each tap felt cool and refreshing but the irregular rhythm was irritating and keeping him awake. He didn't want to be awake right now. "Shut up and go back to sleep" his body screamed.

"Okay. Tap... tap tap... Tap... I can't sleep with all this commotion going on. Will you people quiet it down out there? Knock it off? Where am I?"

It was the first question that cleared his mental fog. The next question answered the first. "Why am I lying in the woods, on my stomach in sandy dirt with drops of rain falling on my back?" Oh, that explains the cool taps, its rain, but not falling fast.

Chuck opened his eyes and blinked several times until some semblance of sight returned. He looked upward and saw a set of red glaring eyes staring down. They weren't threatening eyes, just huge and out of place. Everywhere else he looked, there was nothing but shadows or total darkness. His attention returned to the eyes. "They're not eyes; they're tail lights, your tail lights, the rear tail lights on your Jeep." Did I check the oil before we left North Carolina?

North Carolina? Yes, and Gail, Matt's missing, Edie Pary, somebody snuck up behind me with a sledgehammer or something.

Like a tiny leak in an earthen dam that grows faster and wider, the mental dam blocking Chuck's consciousness suddenly burst and a wall of memories flooded his thinking. "I've got to get up and get out of here."

Pulling his arms beneath him, he tried to push up but the effort caused a stomach-churning wave of pain that rippled up and down his upper back and neck. His head felt as though it was ready to explode, but he had to move. He had to get up, to go find Gail and Blake and tell them, tell them... and tell them something. Wasn't there something he needed to tell them?

The dark world around him suddenly exploded in blinding white lights followed instantly by a pistol shot crack of thunder. It was a storm, a thunderstorm and he was lying on the ground in the middle of the woods. All around him were thousands of tall trees, and the parking lights of his jeep were on and killing the battery.

The next flash and ensuing cannon report shook the ground beneath him. He decided he was entirely too close to nature and needed to get out of there. Another lightning burst held the world in view for several seconds and he could see his car, driver's side door hanging open. He had to reach that door and get out of the storm.

Ignoring the pain, he pushed and pulled his unresponsive body up then toward the car. The pain was blinding and there was no strength, no energy, to make his body respond. His knees buckled under the weight and he went face down in the dirt again. The sand felt cool and good next to his hot face so he relaxed and let his mind fade away saying "I'll just sleep a while right here."

Lightning struck a tall tree close by that shook the ground beneath him, jarring him back awake. The air filled with the sharp odor of ozone from a close lightning strike. Chuck said, "I'm in serious trouble here." He raised his head and the sand stuck to his face. Struggling once again to his feet, he touched the front of his shirt with the palm of his hands to wipe away the dirt and felt something sticky and warm. "It's Blood? My blood?"

With the other hand, he reached out for the rear section of the car to steady himself. He waited for the dizziness to go away. Another prolonged lighting flash lit up the area well enough for him to see his destiny. A huge sweet gum tree had fallen and its trunk lay sprawled across the road behind him, blocking the way from which he had come. God is pouring gas on my predicament fire, isn't he?

Since that direction of the escape was blocked, his next option would be to drive forward, but the bridge? The old bridge was that way, wasn't it? Please Do Not Exit Using The Entrance Door.

Glancing sharply ahead, he waited for the next lighting flash. When it appeared, he saw the dark outline and tracks of the old 60-foot long wooden bridge. No way, Jose! Maybe he'd better just walk out back to the highway. Was it three or four miles? Yea, right Chucky. You can barely walk ten feet to your car so what difference will another short three or four miles make?

He could also stay and wait for rescue. Gail, Blake, and Bill knew where he was and why. They would surely come looking in a few more hours and in the meantime, he could get some sleep. "Wake up boy, you're bleeding to death," his father's voice said sternly.

"Dad am I going to die?"

Some unseen hand suddenly pushed him and he stumbled and staggered down the side of the car using both hands on the metal for support. "So far so good." he laughed as delirium started to set in. A sharp flash of lightning and instant, pistol crack report of thunder exploded in the woods close by, too close by, so close that he panicked and made a lumbering jump for the open door of the Jeep. With a loud grunt and cry of pain, his hands grabbed it and held on for dear life. He twisted sideways, and collapsed onto the front driver's seat.

Inside the car, there was some protection from the lightning and rain... the rain? Why was the rain still hitting him? He looked around, with a shaky hand, reached, and pulled the door closed and the rain stopped.

"Unusual weather we're having, aint it?" the cowardly lion proclaimed.

With his left hand, he felt the top of his scalp; it was moist, tender, and there was a huge bump there. He pulled the hand away and looked. It was soaked in blood. "God?" he cried. "I'm bleeding. I'm gushing, big time. I don't want to die, not here, because...because that's what somebody wants me to do."

"Then let's get out of here," his father said from the seat beside him.

Chuck looked over at his father and cried, "Dad? If I go that way, the bridge will fall... London bridge is falling down... falling down... falling down.

"Chuck? If you stay here, you're going to die. Now crank up the car and let's get moving. Half the day is already wasted..."

Chuck reached for the ignition key and twisted. The engine starter was slow to crank. The battery was weak from the drain of operating the parking lights for such a long time. "How long have I been out?"

He spoke to the car, "Come on, and get me out of here, will you?"

As the last possible amp of current flowed from the battery, the engine caught and sputtered to life. Gentlemen, you have started your engines." Chuck cried.

"Hey, pop? Why didn't you call before coming? I'd have gotten us some tickets to the Braves game for tomorrow night."

"Let's go, Chuck. Half the day is wasted already."

Chuck's hand found the headlights switch and pulled. The small knob clicked under his fingers but the world outside the car remained dark and empty. He leaned forward in the seat, peered through the rain-spattered glass, and saw nothing rain-spattered glass.

"Chuck? That was the hood release. Pull the light switch, son, and let's get out of here."

Chuck located another switch and pulled. The dark narrow world in front of the car came to life and he stared out at the black, ugly mouth of the bridge. Some voice from his childhood cried out "Ladies and Gentlemen; in the center ring, performing a death defying feat of unparalleled bravery is "Chuck and his flying Cherokee."

The design of the bridge, made with strength in mind and not beauty, had nothing built in so far as safety because there were no side rails. Through the fogged windshield of the car, Chuck peered out through fogged thinking at the black and rotted timbers that made up the road track section of the crossing. Didn't Burt Reynolds and Sally Fields jump over a bridge like this in _Smokey and the Bandit_?

A heavy plank laid across the frame from right to left, or was it left to right, with long, thicker planks about a foot wide at right angles and running across the lower boards and forming a tire track frame. The boarded tracks were spaced wide for huge log trucks. In other words, the wheelbase spacing of the planks would be too far apart for his car to fit safely. The Jeep's tires could slip off the intended framing and the weight of the car would be on the smaller boards, not intended to hold such weight.

"Hey dad, I wouldn't be able to cross this thing in broad daylight unless I had a hole in my head the size of Canada."

"Chuck? You've got a hole in your head the size of Canada. Now get this car moving, son. Do it right now."

Chuck nodded and then focused his eyes on the bridge again. The right side tire tracks looked solid enough for the length of the span but the left ones were sagging lower, downward, starting about half way across the sixty-foot length. There also appeared to be several track boards missing entirely on that weaker side as well.

Shaking his head slowly he grumbled, "This thing is never going to hold me up."

His head was now fully screaming in pain that seemed to grow worse with each heartbeat. He said, "Well Pop? Hang on."

With his right hand, he pulled the gearshift lever into drive and the car squatted lower as the transmission system engaged. It reminded him of a cat crouching to pounce across an unusually wide and open expanse. The brakes creaked loudly as his foot released the pedal, and the car started inching forward.

When the front wheels bumped the first of the old planks, a sharp crack echoed through the trees from somewhere underneath him. "Hey dad would you get out and take a look? That does not sound too good. Maybe I need to move over one way or the other."

"It's okay, Chuck. Just ease her up on the bridge slowly. It'll hold."

He pressed the gas pedal down further until the front of the car popped upward several inches, and the first weight of the automobile lifted onto the bridge. Chuck hesitated, then inched the car forward more, listening as each board along the track creaked and groaned under the dead weight of the car until the rear wheels tapped the bridge. Another extra tap on the gas and the rear of the Jeep popped upward and rolled on to the tracks. The full 4700 pounds of Jeep was fifty feet in the air.

The thought of falling into the darkness below made Chuck look out the side window but he could see little but treetops and darkness. "Dad it's not going to hold...it's not going to...."

"Get moving, Chuck, right now."

He eased the car forward, inch-by-inch, feeling the bridge start to tremble beneath him. Had it started to sag? "Mr. Bridge? At least let me get half way across before you kill me."

He urged the car forward a little faster, still trying to feel the old timbers through the steering mechanism. The rain grew heavier, blurring the world through the windshield into an image of senseless, watery squiggles. He thought about turning on the wipers but couldn't remember where the switch was located. Besides, the car was now starting to tilt to the left at a scary 20-degree angle or so. If one tire slipped off the wet and thicker track boards, the car would most likely fall through the weaker planks and the game would be over.

Another pistol shot of cracking timbers and the structure seemed to jump, groan beneath him and shudder. The bridge tilted several more inches only this time, downward. Chuck hit the brakes and froze in horror. He was half way across with another good thirty feet of span ahead of him only now it looked uphill to reach the safety of the other side. At that moment, Chuck thought it might just as well have been thirty miles instead of feet.

He gasped suddenly, out of breath. Why am I out of breath?

"Stop holding your breath." his dad cried.

Gasping harshly, he took a deep gulp of air and then shifted his body weight to lean even closer to the windshield. The effort sent sharp new pains up the back of his neck and his vision blurred worse than before. Or was it the heavy rain on the windshield? "Dad? Help me out here. Please?"

The car shuddered again, more violently, and fear became fact. The bridge wasn't going to hold any longer. The game was over. Games over...you lose...please deposit another twenty-five cents to play again.

He fought down the panic... the senseless urge to slam the accelerator pedal to the floorboard. "Hey dad? You think I can hit the other side of this bridge with the car? I bet I can make it skip three times across the water. Dad? Dad? Where did you go?"

Risking a glace away from the bridge, he looked at the empty seat beside him. "Dad? Come back, Dad. Don't leave me now."

"I'm right here." His dad said from the back seat. The old man reached over Chuck's shoulders and flipped a switch on the dash that activated the Jeep's four-wheel drive unit. "Hit it Chuck...do it right now." His father said.

Chuck nudged the gas harder with his right foot...Or maybe it was the wrong foot... and the engine strained more heavily but the car didn't move. Through the rain-splotched windshield, he could tell the center of the span was sagging worse and the far side of the bridge was moving upward.... Going up...third floor... He watched the world sliding away, getting lower with each second that passed.

He pressed the gas harder. The front wheels broke traction and spun on the slippery wood. "Hey, we got to' climb, baby so let's climb out of here."

He eased off the gas until the tires stopped spinning on the wet boards. Again, he tapped the accelerator pedal and the car started to pull forward.

Another loud crack echoed from beneath the bridge only this time it was urgent and angry. The old wood simply could not hold it together any longer. Chuck screamed, "It's going to go, Dad. The bridge is finished and we're going to die."

"Hit it, Chuck...hit it now...and hit it hard."

He slammed the accelerator to the floor. The wheels barked angrily, tearing into the wood and emitting a shower of splinters and blue tire smoke. Chuck cried, "Fly, Big J. Come on and Fly."

The car jumped forward with the sounds of the bridge crying in death throes, cracking and shattering beneath the wheels. The rear wheels plunked into an empty area where the front wheels had knocked the boards out and dangled there a moment. The forward momentum of the car was enough to carry the vehicle over and across the last few feet of the span. The Jeep's tires at last hit the soft sand on the other side of the bridge and drug the rear of the Cherokee off the falling timbers and onto the surface of the logging road, but Chuck forgot to stop.

The car was safely across the bridge now but was gaining speed, zipping wildly along the narrow road. "Hit the brakes, Chuck." his dad shouted.

Chuck's clouded mind repeated, "Hit the brakes? What for...let's get out of here."

"Do what I told you, son. Hit the brakes."

His left foot found the pedal and pressed but the car kept moving forward. Then he realized that his right foot was still holding the gas pedal all the way down to the floor.

Bushes and trees flew past the windows and the road ahead was nothing but a blur of watery motion. With great effort, Chuck forced his right foot away from the accelerator but kept his left in place on the brakes. The automobile skidded sideways and slid to a stop.

With a last, loud, groan and cry, the bridge folded in the center and collapsed. The aged structure disappeared into the watery darkness below and nothing remained but a wide, gaping black hole in the old logging road where the bridge had once spanned Beaver Creek.

Chuck never heard the crash nor did he see the gaping hole that night because sitting behind the wheel of the stopped Jeep; foot locked on the brake pedal, he had passed out cold. An unseen hand flipped the four-wheel drive button to the off position.

More time passed until Chuck realized he was moving again heading out of the woods only now there was a life shaking fear that engulfed his mind and thinking. There was only one screaming thought and that was to get far away from the lightning. Who's driving? Me?

He didn't know where, when, or how, but he was moving and that seemed good enough until suddenly there was no longer a road in front of him. His cloudy mind realized the logging road had finally intersected with a highway...a paved gravel road. "Good. He said. "Now I can relax."

And so he did, at least until a set of bright headlights filled the windshield in front of him, which forced him to steer his car away from the quickly closing lights. The Jeep skidded on the wet pavement but Chuck was able to recover and get things moving straight again only further over to the left side of the road. The lights shot past him. "Wow. Boy is somebody on the wrong side of the road." he snickered.

The rain was falling in sheets now but his feverish mind had yet to consider turning on the windshield wipers. His only concern was to flee the streaks of white death shattering the night around him and to find a nice place to curl up and go to sleep. ("I could use forty winks," said the Cowardly Lion)

A large bolt of bright, blue, flashing light appeared in his rearview mirror along with two white eyes each winking off and on in sequence. Was it pouring rain? Why didn't the rain put out the blue bolts of fire behind him? Why don't you turn on the windshield wipers?

The wiper switch was on the turn signal lever on the left side of the steering wheel. Chuck pressed it but the wet world before him didn't clear. He started hearing a soft "tick tick tick tick" sound in the car and now a bright green blinker indicator arrow on the dash flashed off and on, in rhythm with the clicking sound. (Right hand...left hand...that hand is my hand.) He began humming happily with the "Tick tick tick tick."

"Chuck? You better stop the car." His father said.

Chuck looked across at his dad who simply sat there smiling, and said, "Hey pop? I have a good idea...but I can't remember what it was. Hey Dad? Do you remember what my idea was? Do you remember? I can't."

His father reached over to the steering wheel and said, "Yes, Chuck. I remember your idea but right now, let's get the car stopped. Then, I'll tell you all about it."

Moments (or was it hours?) later someone was holding a bright light in his face, shinning it directly in his eyes. A voice behind the light was saying, "Geeouodarar?" (What was that you said?)

"Get out of the car, Veal, right now" Sheriff Walt Brooks shouted.

"Hey. It's my car. Why should I get out?" (And why did I park it at such a strange angle?)

A rough hand grabbed him by the arm and snatched him into the rain. The cold water felt good on his hot face. He took the sleeve of his shirt and wiped at his forehead. It came away bright pink. He asked the voice, "Hey...didn't I put on a blue shirt this morning just before I left... left... where did I left from? North Carolina?"

The voice spoke again but the words were still tangled and the light hurt his eyes. The rain was washing the words coming from the voice behind the light away.

A sudden crack of lightning flared overhead. Chuck screamed and tried to break loose from the grip of the voice. He wanted to scramble under the car but the hand wouldn't let him go. He screamed again and tried to jerk away. Something struck his chin and he realized the lightning and the voice behind the light were going to kill him...he knew they were going to kill him.

***

As Jacobs was pulling away from the Timber mill yard, Blake scanned the area one last time looking for any remaining signs they had been there.

"Good. The rain will wash most of the tracks away and resettle the woodchip pile," he said.

As the truck cleared the main fence, the police scanner blared in the closed vehicle. Catfish called, "Can't you turn that thing off?"

"Bill" Blake asked. "What do all the code numbers mean? Are they coming after us?"

Jacobs grinned. "No, that's the Sheriff himself. It sounds like he has one of Catfish's friends for drunk driving. That'll keep him busy with paperwork at the courthouse for a couple of hours at least."

They listened to the chatter as Brooks called out the make and model of the erratically handling vehicle he was pursuing. "The suspect's car is a red, 2006 or 2007, Jeep Grand Cherokee. North Carolina license plates, A-L-P-H 5552."

Jacobs glanced over at Blake and asked, "Did he say..."

"Yea he did."

Gail cried, "That's Chuck's car but it can't be him. He's not drunk."

Blake shook his head. "I got a bad feeling about this, Jacobs. Maybe we should separate. I'll go check and see what Walt's trying to pull with Chuck and you take the papers..."

"No" Jacobs snapped. "You better let me handle the Sheriff. You take the papers and I'll meet you later."

Catfish said from the rear seat, "Well none of us is separating until we get another truck. Its ten miles back to Matt's place where we parked."

Blake indicated a house down the road, "Drop me off at Fennel's place. I can borrow his truck and meet you at Matt's house in an hour. If you don't show up I'll come looking."

"I'm going with Bill. If that's Chuck then I'm going to be there."

"Catfish? You and Clark go with Blake. I don't want either of you guys around Brooks, at least not right now."

After dropping the men off at a nearby house and confirming that Blake could use the borrowed truck, Jacobs pulled back on the highway and headed for the location he'd heard the Sheriff call on the radio. Three minutes later, he slowed the truck as he neared the area. Gail pointed and said, "I see blue flashing lights ahead."

Through the rain, Bill also spotted the police lights but was on top of them before he realized it. It forced him to slam on brakes and put the truck into a sloppy ground loop to avoid hitting the parked Sheriff's car.

Brooks was standing over a body on the ground and hitting the figure with his nightstick. Anger roared through the Jacobs's veins and he jumped from the truck yelling, "Hold it, Brooks."

Walt, blackjack still wavering in the air, yelled, "He's drunk as a skunk and fighting at me. Just look at him."

Brooks took aim with his nightstick for a second blow and yelled, "Where's your buddy? I saw him in the car with you now where did he run off to?"

Jacobs caught the Sheriff's arm and snapped, "That's enough. He's not drunk, Walt. My lord, just look at all the blood on his shirt will you?"

Gail appeared and quickly knelt beside Chuck. "Oh my God, what have you done to him?"

Brooks blinked several times in the pouring rain and seemed to notice the red stains on Chuck's shirt for the first time. He yelled, "He busted his brains out on the steering wheel when he hit the ditch. Serves him right too because his buddy must have run off in the woods. It was probably Blake Squires."

Jacobs helped Gail roll Chuck over on his back. His eyes were shallow and glazed and his face was a deathly white. "Chuck? Can you hear me?" Gail cried.

Brooks stepped back and said, "I'd better radio for the dogs. They can help us chase his partner down."

Jacobs snapped up to his full height and said, "The dogs can't track in rain like this and we need to get him to a hospital right now."

Brooks said, "There were two people in the car. I saw them, him and somebody else."

Gail felt the back of Chuck's head and found a huge bump and long gash. Her hand came away covered in blood. "Bill?" She showed him her hand.

Jacobs bent over, "Let me have him."

With little effort, he lifted Chuck's limp body deftly in a firefighter's hold and turned to Brooks. "I'm taking him to the hospital. He's in shock and we're not going to wait for an ambulance."

Brooks shouted something but Jacobs ignored it. Gail held the truck door open and they sat Chuck in the front seat. The sheriff stood watching while Gail crawled in the back seat and held Chuck upward in a sitting position.

Jacobs crawled behind the wheel and whirled the truck around, spattering the sheriff with loose gravel and rocks. He dialed a number on the car phone and said into the receiver, "This is Deputy Bill Jacobs. I have a man in the car and he's hurt bad. Got a head wound that is bleeding. I'll be there in about ten minutes or so."

He flung the phone down and turned to check on Gail in the rear seat. While looking away, the right wheels of the truck lost the pavement. He corrected it and raced on toward the West Creek County Hospital.

Sheriff Walt Brooks stood in the pouring rain watching Jacobs' truck speed away. "Hey" he yelled. "Come back here. You are under arrest too. Come back here."

Brooks reached inside the patrol car, grabbed the radio mike, and told the dispatcher to send a wrecker to the location. "And Brian, You better get another unit out here. I've got something else to go do."

***

Max Pary sat behind the huge desk in the Milan Company's project office. The rain thundered on the building's roof. He was worried that things might not be going as planned.

Thompson, seated in a nearby chair, quietly watched the spatter of raindrops on the office's window. Max said, "Are you sure Anderson said he followed Veal and that my sister met him out there in the woods? Why would she do that?"

Thompson shrugged. "That's what Anderson said when he called a minute ago. He also said that Veal's head is beat flat as a pancake. He's dead. He let Edie get away because that was how he figured you wanted things. It was dark and she didn't see anything."

Pary slammed a fist on the desk. "She better not have and all you darn well know that Edie is not to be harmed in any way, form, or fashion. I'll deal with her when the time comes."

Thompson nodded. "How come you didn't want Anderson to stash the body someplace? We can't have an investigation of a murder right now."

Pary pointed and snapped, "You let me do the thinking around here, Thompson. Why do you think I've called Brooks out here at this hour? I want an investigation. This is what we should have done the first time."

A car pulled into the office yard. Thompson glanced out the window and said, "It's Brooks."

Max waited as the Sheriff entered the office and removed his raincoat and hat, tossing them on a file cabinet. He sat down and eyed Thompson warily, looked at Max and said, "Okay, what's up? You said it was important."

Max opened a desk drawer and removed a bottle and three glasses. He nodded at Walt and said, "It is important. I've got serious problems and I need your help."

Pary filled a glass and passed it over, nodded and waited.

"Walt, there are some things going on that you need to be aware of that your office will need to investigate delicately."

Brooks felt a twinge in his throat. He didn't like the puppet treatment but the Pary family was the only reason he remained in office. He took a sip from the glass and asked, "What do you mean?"

Max cleared his throat and said, "It's Chuck Veal. He's been poking around too much in the wrong places and I'm afraid someone might not like that. We have taken care of the problem. Do you understand?"

Brooks sat his glass down heavily on the edge of the desk and said, "No, I don't know what you mean. Veal is on his way to the hospital right now. On the way over here, I caught him driving and weaving all over the road. He was drunk. When I forced him into the ditch, he bashed his brains out on the steering wheel."

Pary sat up straight in the chair and eyed Thompson. Brooks added, "I think Squires was with him but he busted loose and ran after the car crashed."

Thompson sat shaking his head in disbelief. Pary took a long sip from his glass and asked, "Well? Is he going to live?"

Brooks shrugged. "I don't have any idea. He was in a mess the last time I saw him. Bill Jacobs and some woman tossed him in his truck and took off to the hospital. I haven't checked on him yet."

Max looked suspicious. "Jacobs? I thought you'd fired him. What was he doing there?"

Brooks said, "I...I... well I guess he just happened along on his way home or something. I never thought about it."

Max leaned back heavily in the chair and said, "God, Brooks? Are you just pure stupid or do you have to practice at it every morning?"

Thompson burst out laughing but one quick stare from Pary silenced the man instantly. Pary looked at Brooks, "Well, none of us know just what Veal wants or why he's doing all this snooping around. On top of all that, he buddies up with that black man, Squires. What does Squires want out of all this?"

Brooks shrugged. "I heard they've been running around together. What's the problem? You think Veal believes that bull story about Squire's owning half of Matt's timber rights on Beaver Creek?"

Max ignored the question, "Okay, Walt. I'll spell it out for you. Chuck Veal is going to cause an awful lot of problems for this project at the dam unless we stop him. I want him out of it once and for all. As for Squires, he has nothing legal to go on."

Brooks felt the tension in the air and the tenseness of Pary's voice. "Your aunt has already told me that she doesn't want Veal snooping around in the cemetery but what do you mean out of the way once and for all?"

Pary asked, "The cemetery? I already know that Veal was out there."

Thompson sat up quickly and leaned forward in his chair. "I know about it, how Jacobs caught him out there this morning. Veal claimed he was just looking...planning to clean the place up just like Matt was going to do."

Pary rubbed his forehead and Thompson squirmed more noticeably in his chair. Brooks added, "Your Aunt was fit to be tied about that, especially after she and Matt had it out about the place."

Max snarled, "Matt Veal was a fool."

Brooks' eyebrows rose. "Was? You make it sound like he's dead or something."

Max paled slightly but said nothing. The silence spoke volumes. Brooks nodded and said, "Well, I took care of the missing person paper work on Matt so it never got out on the major wires. I told everybody that he was out of town on business and everything was okay otherwise. Now, his brother shows up and claims he hasn't heard from Matt in over a week."

Thompson jumped to his feet. "That's a lie. I talked with Matt two days ago. He told me then he was dropping the timber claims and to let them go ahead and close the gates on the dam."

Sheriff Brooks eyed Thompson distastefully and said, "So? How do you know Chuck is lying about not having talked to his brother?"

Thompson drained the last few drops from his glass and sat down again. He shrugged. "That's not what I meant," he mumbled.

Pary spoke up. "Now look, Walt, don't you get involved. There is no reason for your office to be concerned with this matter. It's a business brawl and not a police matter."

Brooks stood. "Don't tell me how to run my office, Pary. I only listen to your Aunt's advice and nothing more."

Max stood face-to-face with the sheriff and growled, "Don't forget who lets you keep that office, Sheriff."

Brooks grabbed his coat and stormed out the door. A moment later, Thompson moved to the window and watched the police car drive away. "Well Max? Now what?"

Pary was boiling. He snatched the phone up and tossed it to Thompson. "Call that cotton for brains employee of yours and tell him to try again only this time he better not miss. I want Veal dead and I mean good and dead. Got that?"

Thompson caught the thrown unit and hesitated. He opened his mouth to speak but Pary cut him off. "Do it and do it now."

# Chapter 17

Chuck stood beside the wrought iron gate of Veal cemetery. Strangely, there were few grave markers in sight and the grounds were neat and trim. Several bushes lined the outer fence and a small elm tree offered shade from the blistering morning sun. He wondered, "Who cleaned up the cemetery. Where are the rest of the graves?"

A black hearse was motoring up the narrow clay top road leading up to the graveyard with two or three dozen people walking along behind. A voice from deep inside said, "It's the funeral."

"Am I dreaming?" Chuck asked the voice. "Where are Gail and what about Blake and Bill?"

The procession slowly drew closer until he could see a woman and a small boy. They walked ahead of the procession. All were dressed in black mourning and he wondered who had died?

Behind him a deep, Negro voice said, "Okay, Jeb. Let's move out of site. They're here."

Chuck turned and saw two black men, gravediggers, gathering their tools from around a freshly dug hole, a grave. Stacked beside the fence was a large pile of bright red bricks and a wooden barrel. Chuck recognized the bricks. They were the type used to cover his Grandfather's grave.

As the early 1940's Cadillac drove past he felt the hot wind emitting from its exhaust pipe and smelled the raw gasoline odor that comes from an engine left idling too long in the hot August sun. Through the glass side windows of the car he saw a casket made of dark red oak and treated to a deep, red, finish. Brass handles and hinges glittered in the sunlight. He felt the weight of the vehicle in the trembling ground beneath his feet until it rolled to a stop at the entrance to the Veal Cemetery.

The woman and boy stopped. The man clasping a Bible to his chest stepped from the crowd of followers and moved to the rear door of the auto. Without a word, he turned and nodded to a group of men who followed and formed a dual line. "Pall Bearers" the voice said.

The driver opened the door of the hearse and the line of six men; three to the side, removed the heavy casket. They swung the casket around lining up with the Cemetery gate, and then carried the cumbersome box forward with the rest of the followers in step behind them.

The procession walked slowly to the freshly dug hole and placed the casket atop support boards that crisscrossed the opening into the earth. They paused a moment, heads bowed, and then stepped back and away.

The others gathered around the preacher who stood silently watching until everyone was in place and still. Clearing his throat, he opened the bible to a marked page, looked up and started speaking words that Chuck could not hear.

He moved to the outer circle and strained to listen. The preacher's lips were indeed moving but there was no sound. He looked around the cemetery and realized there were neither birds fluttering about in the trees nor any indications of motions and sounds, not even a breeze to shake the higher bushes that lined the back fence. Then they were singing, each person's lips moving and looking skyward but still no sounds reached Chuck.

Suddenly Chuck wanted to know about the casket. Who had died? He found a break in the crowd and stepped through and into the circle of humanity. From beneath the casket he saw a lone hand appear from out of the hole and using a finger motion that meant Chuck that he was to come closer. A voice spoke "The lies began here."

Chuck dropped to his knees and peered under the casket and into the hole. There was something there a body? He crawled around to the opposite side, glancing at the many void, figures now listening to the Preacher read from the bible again. Chuck could see better from that side because the sunlight reached to the bottom of the hole. He peered inside and downward, and there was a body but with no face, just an outline.

The faceless man said sorrowfully, "I tried to kill your brother because she killed your Grandfather. It's here where the lies begin. It's here where they must end."

Chuck jumped back and almost screamed. The grave disappeared the cemetery disappeared the people, the trees, the sun were all gone.

Then, he heard a car engine. He turned into the light and watched a blue Trans Am stop near the edge of the muddy dirt road near the cemetery. The driver's side door swung open and a heavy stream of dark creek water poured out and pooled on the ground underneath. A lone figure got out of the car and turned to face him. It was his father. He said, "The lies begin and end there," pointing at the cemetery.

Chuck turned and saw the brick topped grave of his grandfather. When he looked back, his father was gone; the car was gone; then darkness engulfed him. There was a nothing, blank like none other experienced in his life.

He tensed, turning in all directions in search of light, any light. Then, slowly, near the edges of the void, he saw a trace of shadows. There was an approaching light and quickly the darkness lifted. He was in a room, a study; it was the study inside Whispering Pines estate.

A beautiful woman stood before a roaring fireplace. Two people, seated on the couch, faced her, a man and a woman, young and dressed in the older style clothing of the 1940's. The woman, standing at the fireplace, spoke, grinning slyly, almost smirking, but she was not speaking to Chuck. She was talking to the man and woman seated on the couch.

Chuck strained to hear the words but none reached him. On a small table before the couch were three coffee cups. The woman at the fireplace stepped forward and took two of the cups handing one to each before her. She stepped back and then laughed. There was insanity in the expression of the laughter and then she pointed a white, trembling finger at the two figures and for the first time Chuck heard her speak. "If I can't have you then nobody will."

Chuck knew the woman, or at least, sensed her identity. She was a young, beautiful, and evil Abatha Pary. The couple, seated on the couch before her, slowly turned toward Chuck. The seated woman looked like Edie Pary and the man was...Matt? No, too young. It was his Grandfather, Tom Veal.

Looking directly at Chuck, the man raised the coffee cup for him to see that it was full of snakes, hundreds of them. Chuck tried to scream but the words wouldn't come. There was no air to fill his lungs. He suddenly knew he had to warn this man and woman not to drink from the cup... Why? Because there was poison in the cups and Abatha Pary wanted them to drink, she wanted them to die. Chuck's mouth opened, his vocal cords tensed, his mind darkened but the words never came.

The man took a large drink from the cup, "Now you know the lie. Now you know where it ends. Don't come with me yet, dear Grandson. Go back to them, to her. There is still much to be done."

Chuck awoke screaming, "Grandpa? No, Grandpa don't go... come back."

***

His eyes opened to bright lights that were streaming through a nearby window. His eyes focused on a bed covered with stiff, white sheets. A blank television looked down at him from an adjacent wall mounted set. Then a face appeared in the doorway of the room, "I see you've decided to rejoin us, Mr. Veal. I'll call the doctor."

The face disappeared and the door closed quietly. He was in a hospital room? Had there been an accident? Then the dream flashed through his memory. The funeral and the poisoned coffee, something his Grandfather had drank while Chuck stood by helplessly watching.

More memory returned and he remembered that he was in Georgia looking for his brother? And Edie Pary was there with his Grandfather in the dream?

With one arm, Chuck tried to rise off the bed but the sudden movement filled his body with pain. The pain, he'd forgotten about the pain until just then. He relaxed and waited for the rush to subside. A man's voice called from the outer edges of his thoughts.

Am I going to dream again?

"Mr. Veal? Can you hear me?"

Chuck pried his eyelids open. Why are they so heavy? He nodded and said, "Yea. I'm awake. What time is it?"

The voice explained, "It's Saturday afternoon. You're in the hospital, Mr. Veal. You took a couple of rough blows on your head. How do you feel? Do you need anything for pain?"

"No. I'm okay. I just need to rest a minute here."

Rest; that was what he wanted to do, He wanted to rest, not sleep. If he slept, the dreams would come back.

"Where's Gail? Where's Gail?" Did I ask that aloud or just think it? Better, try again.

"Where are Gail and Matt? Bill, Blake? Where are they?" he mumbled. "I've got to tell them what happened. I need to warn them about Matt's girlfriend, Edie. She tricked me."

Chuck's mind tried to focus because there was no time for rest, not now. His eyes cleared enough to see the familiar face of a doctor, his childhood doctor, standing beside the bed. The man was elderly with deep gray eyes and an aged face that bore the lines and markings of a concerned professional.

Chuck tried to speak again but the muscles on his face and jaw were sore and stiff. He could not get his thoughts to line up with the actions of his tongue. The doctor, seeing his futile efforts, only smiled and explained, "It's the pain killer. That head of yours looks like somebody used it for batting practice. All your friends are here. Now get some rest. I'll be close by if you need anything."

Through weak and trembling lips, Chuck managed to say, "Help me out of bed. There are some things I've got to do right now."

"You stay put, Chuck. If you try to move around you'll start bleeding again and you've lost all the blood you can afford to lose. I'll be back in a little while to check on you."

Doctor Marks stepped out of the room and saw Bill Jacobs waiting at the nurse's station. A young, beautiful woman stood beside him. Jacobs nodded at Marks and asked, "Is he going to be all right?"

"He's was awake a moment ago. I think the worst of the danger is over."

Jacobs gave a deep sigh. "Thank God."

Gail asked, "When can we see him?"

Marks shook his head. "Better give him until later. He's still under the medication for pain and he needs to rest. He keeps saying he needs to see Gail, I assume that's you?"

"Yes, let me see him for just a moment please?"

Marks thought for a second. "Only a moment and remember, he's under some heavy pain killers. He might not make a lot of sense."

As Gail walked away toward Chuck's room, Jacobs, rubbing the back of his neck, added, "If he tells you anything important would you give me a call? Somebody tried to kill him last night and we don't have any real suspects yet."

The doctor shrugged, "I don't think he'll be telling you anything important until tomorrow maybe. I suggest you go home and get some rest. Haven't ya'll been here since late last night?"

They nodded, "Yeah. I grabbed a nap in a chair and Gail slept on the waiting room sofa. Blake and a few others were piled up in the back of a pickup last I saw."

The doctor shook his head. "What's this about Matt Veal missing? They found his car abandoned. "

Jacobs scratched at the stubble of beard on his chin. "Yes, found it in the woods yesterday. Doc, are you sure this head injury wasn't caused by a car accident?"

The doctor lifted a clipboard from the counter. "I'm sure, unless he was riding in the back of a log truck. He's got a concussion from several nasty blows to the head with something made of wood with sharp edges because I found wood splinters. Maybe a two by four, all I know is it made a mess up there."

Jacobs wanted to add, "and a few bunts from the Sheriff's black jack, too," but he remained silent.

Dr. Marks reached out and patted his blood-spattered shoulder. "I'll call if anything changes in his condition. He might feel up to talking later."

Gail walked back over to Jacobs and the Doctor. "He's sound asleep so I'm not going to bother him right now but I'm staying here."

Doctor Marks shook his head. "No, you'll only disturb his rest and I can't allow that. You're not family."

"He's right, Gail. You need some rest too. Come on. I'll take you back to the house."

As they walked down the hall toward the exit, Jacobs turned and said to the Doctor, "I don't know yet what's going on but we need to keep a close guard on Chuck. Somebody wants to hurt him."

"Or Kill him" Gail added.

The doctor raised an eyebrow and Jacobs added, "Don't let anybody in that room alone with him."

"He's safe here. No problem."

Blake and Catfish were standing near the outside entrance door when Jacobs and Gail stepped out of the hospital. Blake asked, "How bad is he?"

Jacobs shrugged. "Doc says he's going to pull through but it might be tomorrow before we can see him."

"Could he tell you who did this?"

"No, Gail tried to see him, but he was out cold. Besides, I'll assume that Edie Pary will help us answer that question. I'm going to drop Gail off at Matt's and then drive on over to Whispering Pines but I don't want to leave her alone out there."

Blake pointed at Catfish who needed no words spoken to understand.

Gail said "Don't you think you should change clothes before going to see Edie?"

Jacobs looked down at his clothes and Catfish said, "Lord. He did a sight of bleeding."

"I've got something to show both of you that I found among the papers last night." Blake said. "Ya'll run on and we'll meet up at Matt's place shortly. Jacobs? Let me show you this stuff before you go see Edie Pary. I'll stop and pick up a few things and then cook something when I get there."

"Yeah I better change clothes first. I guess I could use a bite to eat too, thanks, Blake."

"Do you think it's safe for Chuck to stay here all alone? Who ever tried to kill him might not stop."

"No. Old Doc Marks will take care of him, Gail. Besides, I need you to look over those papers we got last night. Some of the legal mumbo jumbo is confusing. Maybe you could do that for me while Jacobs is with Edie?"

Everyone moved toward their vehicles.

One hour, four eggs, two slices of ham, and three pieces of toast later, Jacobs pushed the empty plate away from him and leaned back in Matt's kitchen chair. Blake pointed at the stove, "There's a lot more grits and eggs left if anyone wants more."

"I've got no place to put them." Gail said. "Goodness, where did you learn to cook like that, Blake? My mother would be envious of that ham and cheese omelet."

"So would mine. I wasn't all that hungry when I sat down but tasting this made me ready to eat."

"A single man like you, Jacobs, and you can't cook? Shoot. If you're gonna stay single like me then you either learn to cook or you will starve to death."

"People like me and Matt who can't cook if you stuck us in the stove, we get by okay. Our bologna might not have a first name, but we aren't going to starve to death. At least, not as long as they keep the diner open downtown."

Blake rose from the table. "Right, good old store bought meals. Let me get something." He cleared their plates from the table and walked away. Jacobs felt the food and coffee pushing away his fatigue. He was used to missing sleep in long stretches. His job often demanded it.

Blake returned a moment later, holding a leather folder in his hands. Plopping it down on the table, "This is wild...very wild."

Gail leaned over, "What have you found?"

Blake removed some papers from the folder, "I went through most of this last night. These are Matt's books for the company, records and stuff, and there's nothing out of place far as I can tell."

Jacobs watched Blake remove more papers. "These are the legal papers and notes Matt kept on the cemetery laws and stuff. They cover all the legal aspects for land rights and there's a photo copy of the state law."

Jacobs thumbed through a few of the pages, "We've got several possible reasons and any of them could be the one somebody tried to kill Chuck."

Gail added, "Were they trying to kill him or frighten him away."

"I'd say kill him but who knows?"

"Murder is not an easy solution to a problem and I can't see this cemetery deal as anything but a thorn in the side of the Pary family. That alone wouldn't be enough to justify murder. Would it?"

"It doesn't take much with some people. Matt may have been murdered for some reason that might prove just as simple," Blake said, "and now they've tried to kill Chuck. It could be the cemetery or the timber lease, heck just about anything along those lines could be it."

"What about your papers? Did you find the copy of the timber rights contracts? Are they in all of this?" Jacobs wanted to know.

"Not any more. I moved them to my own personal hiding place."

Taking a sheet of paper from his shirt pocket, he passed it across the table for Gail and Bill to see. "That's a copy of the agreement between Matt and me. It covers the timber tract above Beaver Dam, the estimated board feet, and the attached court order holding up the gates until the last day of November."

Jacobs smiled, "There's no doubt about this being Matt's signature either. I'd recognize that scrawl of his from a mile away."

He passed the papers over for Gail and finished, "This is gonna blow the lid off the project at the dam. You do realize that, don't you, Blake? Would Max Pary kill to get his precious lake property up for sale quicker? Is he in a money jam or something?"

"He might be, but now I'm a part of the deck. If they don't kill me like they tried to do Chuck, then the gates are not going to close until the first of December."

Jacobs thought a moment. He knew the wooded area upstream well. He had hunted the spot as a boy. "There's a lot of hard wood in that strip and some pine as well. It's got to be worth a small fortune to the right company."

Blake reached inside the folder again and removed a tattered book with a frayed and well-worn cover. Gail recognized it immediately, "My sister kept one for those for years. So did I for that matter."

Pointing, Jacobs asked, "Matt kept a diary?"

Blake held the book up. "Nope, but Claudia Pary did."

The name confused Jacobs. "Did you say, Claudia? Wasn't she the one who..."

"Yea she's the one who supposedly murdered Tom Veal and was trying to kill his wife, her sister, Abatha Pary. You need to see something in here."

Blake opened the book to a marked page midway through the diary and handed it to Jacobs. Gail leaned over his shoulder and together they read the hand written page dated August 17, 1944.

"Tom and I are leaving late tonight. We are going to elope, then get married in Charleston. I'm worried Abatha won't take this lightly. She was Tom's first fiancée but she played him like a cat toying with a mouse and he lost interest. She might hold a grudge against me for the rest of her life. I dearly love Tom and his son, Otis, and Max and Edie need a new father. I have to close for now. I'll catch up when we return in a week."

When Gail and Jacobs finished reading, Blake said, "I don't know all the stories but everyone assumes that Abatha and Tom Veal eloped, not Claudia

"So everything was a lie? Abatha murdered them then turned it all around so she could take over Whispering Pines?" Jacobs didn't seem surprised.

"She was jealous and poisoned both of them. That means the person who murdered them didn't get the wrong cup by mistake." Gail pointed out. "Claudia got the right one."

"Yep, and then Abatha must have doctored up the wedding certificate." Blake tossed in his two cents worth.

"Yes." Jacobs agreed. "She took Claudia's name off and put her name on. She also had to create a fake Will from Tom Veal too so she could inherit Whispering Pines estate. I wonder what happened to the real one."

"Even with just the marriage license she and Chuck's father would be the legal heirs under the law." Gail was angry. "She found the will and destroyed it."

"How did she beat Matt's father out of his half?" Jacobs wondered aloud.

"I don't know. She did raise Claudia's two kids, Edie and Max." Blake shook his head. "I guess they get the whole kit and caboodle when she dies."

"You know?" Jacobs said. "It seems odd that a woman would be so jealous that she killed her own sister."

Gail asked, "Is it possible that Claudia changed her mind and Abatha did marry Tom Veal?"

"It's not likely. I don't think a man would break up with his fiancé one day and marry another woman the next."

"But, Bill, from what she wrote here, Tom and Abatha had been engaged at some point in time." Gail was having trouble understanding what had happened.

"I think that was the part which was bothering Matt about the whole thing." Blake said, "Here, read this."

Jacobs took the papers Blake passed over. At first glance, it appeared to be a story. On closer inspection, he realized it was a dream. It said so at the bottom of the first page. Matt had written everything down in a hurried scrawl. Bill and Gail read it and then read it through again. Unknowing to either of them, it was part of the same dream Chuck had just experienced during the night at the hospital, the one that took place in the parlor at Whispering Pines.

When they had finished, Blake said, "Matt, according to that dream, was certain that Tom and Claudia were married and it was Abatha who killed them."

"Wow." Gail said. "Talk about a real life murder mystery, soap opera."

"If that diary will hold up in court, and it should, then Whispering Pines estate, or at least a share of it, belongs to..."

"Chuck and Matt" Jacobs finished for Blake.

"Exactly" Blake offered. "That must be what Matt figured all along and it could be the reason he may have been killed."

Jacobs gave a soft whistle. "You know? All these trails to trouble lead back to one place and that is Whispering Pines and the Pary family. That also means that Edie Pary figures into things more than we realize."

"Do you suppose she's the one who gave Matt this diary?" Gail suggested.

Blake shrugged. "I don't know but I'd bet she could tell us."

"What if this book was what she was after last night?" Jacobs was thinking like a cop now. "It could also be the thing she was after when Matt was killed."

Gail shook her head. "Matt isn't dead, Bill. I know this in my heart, but you do have a point, this much money, property, and prestige at risk would be enough to justify murder. Wouldn't it?"

Jacobs stood, "I'm starting to think so."

Blake asked, "Eat some more food, Bill?"

"No thanks, Blake. I'm going over to Whispering Pines and talk with Miss Edie Pary."

Gail took a deep breath, "I just thought of something. Why do they use the Pary name? If Edie and Max are the children of another man from a previous marriage, how did they end up with the Pary name?"

"I guess they took the Pary name back. Their father wasn't a Pary so maybe when Abatha took the kids under her wings she changed their names to Pary." Blake said.

Jacobs added, "Or had it thrust on them. Either way Gail is right. Their last names can't be Pary."

A moment after Jacobs left the house, Blake turned to Catfish who had been sitting silently listening to every word that went around the table. "I'm going to be leaving in a few minutes so I want you to head off into the trees someplace where you can watch the house close. I don't want anyone coming or going while Gail is here without you standing there with a shotgun."

"I got it, Blake. Miss Gail will be safer than a baby in a cotton ball factory."

Simultaneously Gail and Blake said "Huh?"

Catfish walked out the back door and closed it quietly. Blake picked up Claudia's diary and held it toward Gail. "Want to hold this?"

Gail almost gasped aloud thinking, ""He knows about my ability, or else he's suspicious, but how?""

"No, just leave it on the table and I'll read through it later."

"Okay, but you want to read this soon. Blake laid the book back down.

"Will you be all right alone for a little while? I need to get the ball rolling on this land situation. I'll be at my office over at the mill and there will be somebody riding shotgun on the house until further notice."

She nodded. "I'll be fine. I'm going to take a shower and grab some sleep. Ya'll wake me up if you hear anything from Chuck. Okay?"

"Don't worry, if I hear anything I'll let you know. I'm sending a guy to Macon. I want him to deliver a copy of these papers to the judge there. If that isn't enough then I want him to see copies of this diary and everything else that's been going on down here for the last forty or fifty years."

"You be careful too Blake. There is no telling who all is involved in this thing and how determined they are to stop us."

She watched the big man step out the door and with one hand reached for the hat stuck in his back belt. He placed it atop his head, looked back at Gail, and then closed the door quietly.

A few moments later she heard his truck crank and drive away.

"Pick it up...pick it up... the nickel has much to show you."

Her hand reached for the diary and touched the cover. It felt cool, leathery, and soft considering how old it was... and then she was in the parlor of Whispering Pines Mansion watching a small young boy play on the floor in front of her. The boy was Otis Veal, Chuck's father as a child.

"Auntie, Can't I stay up and wait for papa to get here?"

"No, Otis, it's already past your bedtime and Miss Abatha asked you and me to be in bed by nine o'clock. She's going to wait up for them."

Gail's finger moved off the diary and the vision faded.

"Pick it up...picks it up... the nickel has much to show you."

With a determined effort of both hope and fear, Gail grasped the old book in her hands and time faded.

She heard a grandfather clock chiming from downstairs at Whispering Pines. Nine, ten, eleven, she counted and then the clock fell silent. She was in a bedroom dimly lit by soft moonlight from outside. The curtains fluttered slightly from breeze wafting through an open window. She heard the sound of a young child's steady breathing from a smaller bed that stood across the room. Then she saw lights moving outside, car headlights that cast shadows through the limbs of a nearby Oak. "They're home, back from the honeymoon."

A car door closed, then a moment later a second one and voices, muffled by the distance and walls, reached her room. She worried the sounds might awaken Otis. Quietly getting out of bed, she reached for a housecoat and put it on over the gown then she tiptoed over to the small bed. The boy was sleeping soundly; breathing steadily, all was well in dreamland.

The front door of Whispering Pines opened and the voices grew louder, more distinct and a few of their words became coherent. She crept to the bedroom door and sheepishly placed her ear against the cool wood trying to listen. The first recognized voice was that of Abatha Pary.

"I'm so glad you made it home before it was too late. I've made a fresh pot of coffee. Why don't the two of you go into the parlor and I'll bring it there."

The sound of an opening and closing door and then the clinks and shuffles in the kitchen, floated up the stairs then for several moments there was nothing until Abatha said, "Here we are. Nice hot coffee and I've put just a touch of brandy in there to help you relax and get to sleep after the long drive."

"Thank you Abatha. I'm so happy that you've waited here for us tonight and especially happy that you've stopped by so often to check on the baby sitter and Otis while we've been gone. I did so want to talk with you about all this maybe tomorrow when we have time."

Gail pressed her ear against the door harder because the voices were becoming indistinct and harder to understand. Moments passed, where all she could detect was the garble and warble of voices distorted. Then she heard a half scream.

"Abatha, what in God's name have you done? Help him, please help him."

"No, my dear sister, it's too late. I've put poison in his coffee, yours too, and you will die. You stole him from me right out from under my nose... you are a wretch and whore. He was mine and then you fluttered your eyes at him. If I can't have him then neither can you and neither can anyone else."

The diary fell from Gail's grasp. She felt weak, invaded, her soul and heartfelt raped. "Oh my, God," she cried aloud and cupped her face in her hands, elbows on the table. "She killed them."

# Chapter 19

Bill Jacobs was almost at the Whispering Pines mansion, but he was still undecided on whether to stop or keep on driving past. His body was exhausted but his mind was too unwilling to let it rest. The order to attack Chuck Veal came from someone inside Whispering Pines. Was Edie Pary the decoy or the attacker?

Giant columns on the front of the house extended upward the full height of the construction. A second floor balcony ran the length and gave anyone up there a panoramic view of the spacious front yards. Moss draped oak trees, and widely colorful gardens highlighted the grounds.

Jacobs stepped to the double front doors and rang the bell. "If Edie Pary knows something then I'm going to find out what and why, one way or the other."

When the door opened and the housekeeper's face appeared in the small opening, Jacobs removed his hat and said, "Hello, Miss Emma. How are you doing?"

Smiling when the doors first opened, her expression immediately turned to concern, maybe even fear. Jacobs did not give her time to say anything. "I'd like to speak with Miss Pary, the younger one, Miss Edie, if you don't mind."

The woman nodded and reluctantly stepped back to allow Jacobs inside, closed the door then led him down the long hallway past a flight of stairs. She paused at an opening to a room and motioned him inside. "Please wait in here and I'll get her for you."

"Thank you Miss Emma."

Bill stepped into an expansive room, a study or parlor perhaps, that was larger than his entire apartment. One wall was covered floor to ceiling in bookshelves. "This is the room where Tom Veal was murdered."

A huge oil painting hung above the mantle shelf of the fireplace, a portrait of a strikingly beautiful young woman. "That's Edie Pary" Jacobs thought but then moved closer to the picture and realized it wasn't Edie but her aunt Miss Abatha Pary." The Family resemblance was strong.

An old, English coffee table with a silver serving cart was before the couch. "Are these the same sterling silver pieces used to poison Thomas Veal and Claudia?

A cold prickle ran up Jacobs' neck and back forcing him to pull his eyes away. There was a second door into the room and it suddenly clicked open. Abatha Pary stepped through. Did the room just get darker or did the sun go behind a cloud?

Her face was a storm of thunderous expressions, and she glared at Deputy Jacobs then snapped, "I'm in a bit of a hurry, Mr. Jacobs. What do you want?"

"I am sorry, Miss Abatha. Perhaps your housekeeper misunderstood me. I asked to speak with the younger Miss Pary, your niece, Edie."

"My housekeeper did not misunderstand you. Edie is not feeling well today and will not be able to speak with anyone."

"I'm sorry to hear that, but I need to see her now. It's important."

"Indeed, you will not, Mr. Jacobs. If there is some matter with which Edie is to be questioned then I will demand that Sheriff Brooks be the one to do it."

Jacobs stood waiting, hat in hand, but showed no indication that he was going to leave. "I will speak with her now, Miss Abatha. It's important and a matter of law."

The elderly woman reared her shoulders and barked, "As I understand it, you are no longer employed by the West Creek County Sheriff Department so you have no authority here."

"So" Jacobs thought. "She already knows that Brooks fired me."

Abatha pointed an angry finger and continued, "Therefore, you will stay away from my niece or I will have you arrested."

Jacobs cautiously searched for the right words. "You can call the Sheriff right now if you like, Mrs. Pary, but that's not going to stop me from talking with Edie. There was an attempted murder and Edie is a witness."

"What?" Abatha screamed. "You're out of your mind. Edie doesn't know anything about either of the Veal men."

Bravely, Jacobs cocked his head and said, "I never mentioned that it was one of the Veal men, Mrs. Pary. How did you know it involved them? Do you know anything about what's happened to Matt and Chuck?"

"How dare you. You will leave this house...this instant. Do you understand me Mr. Jacobs?" The fury and anger of her voice was startling.

"I may not be a West Creek County deputy any longer but I can get the legal authority I need quick enough. Then I will have an arrest warrant issued for Edie and she will be taken into custody for questioning by the GBI. Now the choice is yours, Miss Pary. If not now then tomorrow or the next day, but the day is coming I promise you."

Before the words could soak into her thoughts, he spun and started to leave the room. At that moment, he had no supporting arguments. He needed the upper hand before pushing and any further discussion would be a waste of time.

At the doorway to the study, he turned and said, "I'll see my own way out. Thank you."

When he closed the huge front door behind him, he heard a muffled shriek of anger. He realized she would be calling Walt Brooks. An idea formed in his mind and a small grin crept across his face. "The fat is in the fire so I might as well pour another gallon or two of gasoline in there with it."

***

Chuck lay in bed staring out the hospital window. He had been awake for some time before realizing it. From the looks of the sun outside it was late afternoon, but the afternoon of which day? His head throbbed and he wanted to be up and moving about. After all, someone had tried to kill him and Edie Pary had been the bait. So why didn't they finish the job?"

The memories of the incident were still vague and foggy. Had someone been in the car with him when Brooks ran him off the road? The dreams, were they real dreams or warnings? "I just hope Gail, Blake, Bill and Catfish got that safe and the papers were inside."

Loud, angry, voices were now coming from outside in the hall. They grew louder and louder until the door to his room burst open and in walked two men arguing with one another. The first man wore a police uniform, the second was Doctor Marks, and he was livid with anger.

The officer thrust and pushed his way around the Doctor then approached the edge of Chuck's hospital bed. One of the shirt patches on the uniform read, "Sheriff West Creek County."

The doctor, seeing Chuck awake and clear-eyed, released his grip from the Sheriff's arm and said, "I tried to stop this bull headed mule. You don't have to say a thing if you don't feel up to it, Mr. Veal."

"Okay, Veal. You are under arrest. Now you have the right to remain silent...."

Chuck had no intentions of speaking and simply lay there letting the Sheriff finish his display of legal jargon. Most people know the Miranda reading by heart anyway. Every cop show on TV does it at least once a week.

The Sheriff finished, and then waited for a moment. "Do you understand those rights as I've explained them to you?"

Chuck lay staring at the man's darting and beady eyes but said nothing. Brooks reached for the front of the Chuck's simple hospital gown but something in Chuck's cold, hard stare warned him away. The look told Brooks that Veal was daring him to keep going. The Sheriff's hands wavered inches away but never moved any closer. Matt could stare someone down the same way and was hell on wheels in a poker game.

Doctor Marks pointed at Brooks and said harshly, "If you lay one hand on him, Brooks, so help me I'll stick a needle right through that fat skull of yours. I mean it."

"This man was drunk last night. He was all over the road. I almost had to ram him one time head on to stop him from killing somebody. There was somebody else in the car with him and I want to know who and I want to know right now."

"So," Chuck realized. "There had been someone in the car with him? Who? He could not remember anything beyond bits and flashes after someone hit him over the head on the logging road.

Doctor Marks laughed. "Drunk? Would you care to see the blood tests I ran last night including the blood alcohol tests? It hardly reads because he was not drunk, not even drinking. This man wasn't any drunker than I am right now when Deputy Jacobs brought him to the emergency room."

Marks cried with emphasis on the last word, "But he was darn near beat to death by someone."

Sheriff Brooks turned on Marks and snarled, "Beat to death? I only hit him once or twice. You can't call that beat to death?"

Chuck rose up quickly. He did not remember seeing the Sheriff last night.

The doctor screamed, "What? You mean to tell me you hit this man? He's got a concussion, Walt. You could have killed him and why? All because you thought he was drunk?"

Brooks snapped, "I used reasonable force. He was fighting at me and trying to escape."

Marks cried, "Yea? Just like you beat the brains out of Bud Morrison's boy last year just because he was a fighting drunk?"

Brooks shrugged, "I do my job, my way, Marks. You can do yours anyway you please."

Turning back to Chuck, he spat, "So who beat you up, Veal? Your buddy, Blake Squires?"

Chuck shook his head, raised his hand and pointed a finger directly at the shiny badge on Brooks' chest. He wasn't sure, why he did it, only that he wanted an edge of some kind in case things got worse. Brooks paled.

Doctor Marks, as they say, went ballistic. His feet left the floor as he screamed, "Brooks? I have had it with you. I am ordering you out of this room and out of this hospital. If you do not go then I will call the state patrol and have them drag you out. This man is my patient and he is under my orders and care. Now get out...right now."

Brooks pointed at Chuck and said, "I'll be back, Veal, and you'll tell the truth before this is over. Do you hear me? You are under official arrest as of now so if you go to the bathroom without my permission you will be treated as an escaped prisoner."

Chuck smiled and waved as the doctor pushed the larger man out of the room. Once they were gone, he tried to sit up. "I've got to do something." He said and reached for the phone beside the bed. He dialed a number and waited until a deep voice answered, "Timber Mill, Squires speaking."

"Blake? It's me."

"Hey Chuck. I gather you are alive and kicking at the hospital?"

"Yeah, I'm here. Where is Gail? "

"Jacobs made her go somewhere and get some sleep. She's safe and fine with Catfish on guard."

"Good, thanks. Did you find what you were looking for?"

"We got it. She opened right up. We got what we needed and then tucked her back where we found her."

"Good Blake."

"I got them and a judge in Macon got a copy that Clark hand delivered his morning. Chuck? What happened to you last night?"

"I don't know. I met Edie and we were talking. The next thing I know somebody hiding in the bushes jumped me. I can't understand why they left without finishing the job."

Blake's voice lowered, "Maybe it was just a warning."

"They warned me, Blake. They warned me about three or four times with a board or something."

"Yeah, that's what Jacobs told me. We found something else, a diary that belonged to Claudia Pary."

"You mean, the woman who...?"

"Yes, the woman who was supposed to have killed your grandfather."

"Supposed to have? I don't follow you and why was that in Matt's safe?"

"I figure he must have gotten it from Edie. Maybe that is what she wanted to see you about last night. She wanted that diary back."

"I don't think so, Blake, but we better watch her, not because she is a danger but I think she is in danger."

"I don't know, Chuck. I do know she was getting sweet on Matt and the feeling was mutual. I think they were a lot more of an item than we realized. She had to be the one who gave him the diary. There's no other way he could have gotten it."

Chuck thought for a second and asked, "Well what's so important about the diary?"

Blake said, "I'm not going to explain it all over the phone, but Claudia's last, handwritten entry said that she and your grandfather, Tom were running off to Charleston to get married the next day."

He had to hold on to keep from jumping off the bed. "Do what? Why would she write that?"

"Who knows?" Blake said. "But that's what she wrote. It sounds somewhat crazy. Doesn't it?"

"It sounds a lot more than crazy, Blake. Like you said, that book might be why somebody was after Matt and if it wasn't Edie...."

Blake finished the sentence. "Then it was Max Pary, her brother. That's what Gail, Bill, and I think."

Chuck's head was swimming. He said, "Look, Blake. Come get me out of this place, will you?"

"Better not. Old doc will let you go soon enough so just sit tight. Jacobs is out at the Pary place right now and I should hear from him pretty soon."

"Whispering Pines, what is Bill doing out there?"

"Said he was going to talk with Edie so maybe she can help us put everything in perspective but for now, you just rest and we'll take care of things, and by the way. What were you doing on the wrong road last night? Did you get lost or something?"

"No. I think I drove out across the old bridge."

"Ain't no way, Chuck That thing would fall if a fly landed on it."

"Well, that's how I got out of there I'm pretty sure. I remember a tree had blown down during the storm and blocked my way out from the east. I had to lay there and die or get up and get going but the only way out was to drive across the bridge."

"Lordy. That wasn't much of a choice. Okay, you take it easy and I'll pick you up when the doc says you can go but not a second before."

He shook his head. "No Blake. Now, right now. Call Gail and tell her to come get me if you don't have time."

"No, Chuck. It's too dangerous. We don't know who is who right now so it's better if she stays out of sight and you stay put right where you are. Good bye, Chuck, rest easy."

***

Bill Jacobs stopped at his apartment and made a phone call to the GBI office in Atlanta then laid down on the couch and fell asleep. By the time he awoke, it was almost ten o'clock at night. Trained to be awake instantly, he headed back outside to his truck. He was going to the courthouse and talk to Brooks one last time.

Sheriff Brooks, looking weary and angered, gave Jacobs little time to say anything once he stepped into the office and closed the door. "You come to ask for your job back, Jacobs? No way. Now get out of here before I have Brian toss you in a holding cell."

Jacobs shrugged. "Go ahead. I've made my phone call already. The GBI is on its way, Brooks. It's all over."

Brooks leaned heavily over his desk and said sternly, "It ain't even got started yet, Jacobs. Miss Pary called me this afternoon and said you were going to have Edie arrested. Now just how were you going to do that? You're not a cop anymore."

Jacobs sat down and said, "We'll see when the State agents get here in the morning. I think both of the Pary women know something about the attack on Chuck last night and he will testify that Edie was there and saw the whole thing."

Brooks shouted, "Chuck Veal was drunk last night and got banged up when I ran him off the road..."

"I saw and talked to Chuck Veal an hour before you stopped him on the road. He was stone cold sober."

"Well he was pretty drunk when I found him. Things like that don't take long to happen as you should know."

"Brooks? Somebody jumped him, hit him over the head with a board, and still he managed to get away alive. Have you talked with the doctor? He'll tell you the same thing."

"Yeah, I've talked with the old coot and I've talked with Veal, too. I asked him what happened and he claimed that I beat him up. I placed him under hospital arrest too."

"You knocked the crap out of him a time or two. I saw that with my own eyes."

The two men eyed one another. "If you saw that then you also saw Veal trying to fight me and escape. Don't tell me you missed seeing that too. He was giving his buddy in the car with him a chance to get away."

"There was somebody in the car with him? Who was it?"

Brooks shrugged. "Probably Blake Squires but I couldn't tell through all that rain."

"No Walt, Blake was with me at the time I heard your radio call. It wasn't him."

"So now you're a part of their little scheme and you're covering for that black bugger too? Let me advise you of something, Jacobs. The doctor told me that Veal had been drinking and his blood alcohol was pretty high, sixteen I think he said."

Jacobs was at first stunned and then realized the Sheriff was lying. "I don't believe you, Walt. You are lying and you know it."

Walt stormed around the desk and snapped, "It's a lie that will hold up in court. I'm picking up Veal just as soon as he leaves the hospital."

"Brooks you can't be serious about charging him with DUI."

"I not only can, I already have."

Brooks pointed a shaking finger at Jacobs and said, "Now you get out of here before I change my mind about locking you up and if you show your face around town again in the next couple of days, that's what I'm going to do."

Jacobs stunned but cautious, stood glaring back at the man. Something was seriously wrong that only the influence of Max Pary could explain.

"When your buddies with the GBI get here, I'm going to tell them that Edie Pary had nothing to do with Chuck Veal. There was no beating because Veal was drunk and he sustained that banged up head when I ran his car off the road."

Jacobs clenched his fist, turned and stormed out of the office. Brooks shouted something after him but he ignored it.

***

Chuck was sitting on the edge of the bed when the nurse came into the room. "You should be laying down, Mr. Veal. You've got a nasty bump on your head."

He wasn't feeling dizzy and his head was clearing except for the pain medication. "I'm leaving this place as soon as I can find my clothes."

"No you are not. Are you hungry? Would you care for a bowl of chicken soup?"

"No, thanks; what time is it?"

"About ten pm. It's also time for you to lie back down. You shouldn't push yourself like this or the swelling could come back."

Chuck grabbed the rail and started hauling himself upwards out of the bed. The nurse scampered around crying, "Now hold on, Mr. Veal."

An attendant, passing by in the hall, saw the commotion and raced into the room. The nurse motioned him around to the opposite side of the bed where he started helping with the struggling patient.

"You are not getting out of this bed until the doctor says so and he's gone for the day."

Chuck reached for the steady arm of the nurse and said "Please. I'm okay. I've got to get out of here."

"You are going to lay back down this instant and if you don't stay put, I'm going to call Doctor Marks and have you restrained for your own good."

There was no give in the woman and his lack of strength was the determining factor. He allowed her to ease him back to the sheets and pillows.

He felt helpless. The nurse and attendant left the room. A moment later the door creaked open again and a young and beautiful face appeared. It was not the nurse or anyone he recognized from the hospital staff.

A familiar smell of rich perfume reached his nose and he opened his eyes wider. It was the same fragrance from the night before at the bridge. Edie Pary quietly stepped through the door and let it close softly behind her. Her face was beautiful in the light, stunning. His mind reeled in confusion. Had she come to finish the job?

Warily, he watched her step closer, cautiously approaching the bed. She leaned over and whispered, "Chuck? Are you all right?"

A wave of anger flooded over him and he snapped between clenched teeth. "No I'm not, not after you set me up for the kill last night. What are you doing here now? Did you come to finish the job? Is your partner waiting out in the hall with his board?"

Edie's pale blue eyes filled with tears and her soft hands trembled. She wiped at her cheeks and sobbed, "You've got to believe me. I did not know anyone was out there. I had no idea someone was waiting for us."

"Waiting for us? I don't see you lying in a bed with the top of your head laid open. "

Chuck was sure that if she were going to lie then she could have come up with a much better one.

With voice still trembling, she explained, "When that man jumped you last night, I screamed and ran back to my car. I ran because I was afraid of being caught there with you."

"Who was it Edie?"

"I don't know who it was, it was too dark."

"Why, Edie? Why was someone trying to kill me?"

She stuttered. I'm afraid it might be for the diary, my Mother's diary."

He pretended not to understand. "Why? What does a diary have to do with anything? Was Matt killed because of a diary?"

Her eyes fell to the floor. "The diary has something written inside, something that might cause trouble for Aunt Abatha if the wrong person were to see it."

He rose off the covers. "I assume that Matt would be that wrong person?"

When she said nothing, he asked, "Why don't you tell me all about it?"

"We don't have time...not here and now."

"Go ahead, Edie. What was in the diary?"

She sobbed, "Oh, Chuck, giving Matt the diary is why they killed him. It was my fault. I should never have let him see it in the first place but he was so determined to find the truth about Whispering Pines."

She turned to walk away from Chuck but he reached out and grabbed her by the arm. "Help me get out of here, tonight."

"I can't do that. Somebody must have followed me to meet you last night and they could do it again and kill you."

"Edie do you have any idea just who they are? Is your brother one of them?"

She moved closer to the bed, shook her head, and whispered, "I don't know. Honestly, I just don't know."

"Then why, Edie? What's happened to Matt? What was in the diary that he shouldn't have known?"

Biting her bottom lip, she again shook her head. "I can't tell you, at least, not here and now."

"Where did you get the diary?"

"I found it hidden in the attic at Whispering Pines. I was unpacking some things that belonged to my mother. I showed it to Max and he went wild. He demanded that I destroy it. I wanted to help Matt, so I gave it to him and now he is... he, is...he's...."

Chuck took both of her hands and looked into her tear stained eyes. "Edie, a friend of mine has the diary and it's in a safe place. He told me part of what was written."

She nodded. "I've found some other letters written by my mother. Aunt Abatha is not right mentally and hasn't been for some time. She must have killed my mother and your grandfather. She never married Tom Veal but was jealous that her sister did."

"What about Matt? Is that what he thought too? Is that why he was so determined to stir all this ancient history up?"

She nodded. "Max demanded that I burn the diary. I had to buy a similar looking one and rough it up to look older. Then, I copied almost everything over and gave it to Max. He burned it in the fireplace and I gave the real one to Matt. I've been afraid of my brother every since. I'm terrified of him."

Is Max the person who attacked me last night?"

"No, Max is a small man and the outline I saw was larger. That wasn't Max, I'm sure."

"Why did they allow you to escape if you knew so much? Why didn't they kill me rather than leaving me there in the middle of the woods?"

"I don't know. After you pushed me away, I screamed and ran to the car. I panicked and ran. I should have stayed to help you. I was afraid"

She tried to hide the tears now and her hands were trembling uncontrollably.

"Edie please help me get out of here tonight."

#  Chapter 20

Max Pary, sitting behind the secretary's desk at the Beaver Dam project office, watched patiently as Thompson paced back and forth. When he could stand it no more, he snapped, "Would you sit down, Thompson? You are driving me nuts."

Thompson plopped down in a chair and said, "Well I don't like this. Why bring the Sheriff into the picture? Are you sure he can be trusted?"

"Shut up, Thompson." Pary growled. "I don't pay you to think. I know what I'm doing."

A car pulled into the parking lot. Thompson jumped to the window and peered out. "It's Brooks. He's here."

A moment later Walt Brooks stormed into the office, glared at Thompson, and then turned to Pary. "We just talked last night, Max. What do you want this time?"

Pary motioned for him to sit but Walt shook his head. "I'm not going to be here but a second. I have work to do. Now you talk fast or I'm going to..."

Brooks stopped cold when he saw the change in expression on Pary's face. Pary leaned forward and said, "Walt? I got a call from a Judge in Macon this afternoon. The court restraining order is back and we can't close the gates on the project. Blake Squires proved his partnership in the land deal with Veal."

Brooks shrugged. "So? What has that got to do with me?"

"It has everything to do with you, Walt. I'm going to tell you how we will handle this new situation. Got it?"

Brooks threw his hands into the air and cried, "You don't give me orders, Pary. I told you that last night."

Max pointed at a chair and growled, "You will sit down...shut up... and do as I tell you. Do you understand me, Walt? I think it's time you heard what's been going on here for the past few weeks."

Brooks plopped into a chair and Pary started talking. Fifteen minutes later, Brooks jumped to his feet and glared across the desk at Max Pary. He slammed his fist down and shouted, "Pary? What have you done? You think I can cover for you on a murder rap as wide open as this?"

Pary waved a hand in the air. "Matt Veal was going to stop the whole project so I had to get him out of the picture."

Brooks' eyes bulged in disbelief. He opened his mouth to speak but the words would not come. "Walt? Don't try bucking my family. Let's not forget who paid those hospital bills when your mother was sick and died. You'd be bankrupt right now otherwise."

Brooks' eyes lost some of their fire. He whimpered, "I can't protect you, Max. I'll have to explain too many loose ends if the state were to come in and investigate. I just can't pull rabbits out of a hat."

Pary sat back in disgust. "Walt? I've owned you for a long time and you don't even know it. You owe me and in more ways than you realize. I need your help and I need it now or the whole world is going to blow up in our faces."

Brooks laughed. "I owe you? Are you sure about that? I might owe your Aunt a great deal but I don't even think she would go along with what you've done already."

Pary leaned forward in his chair, "Walt? I have information about you and that girl you caught hitch hiking through town last year."

Brooks' eyes came up suddenly and his face paled. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Pary grinned, "You didn't think anybody knew? Oh, but I know. I can take you to Harlow road where, about fifty feet into the swamp, there's a shallow grave and in that grave is the body of a runaway girl from Florida. You killed her, Walt. You raped her and then choked her to death. "

Brooks, a look of desperation on his face, said nothing. Pary played the ace up his sleeve. He added, "I know Walt. A witness came to me for money. It was blackmail and Anderson pushed him into the chipper one morning just a few weeks ago."

Brooks was stunned. "Do what? He was pushed? Thompson and Anderson said that was an accident."

Max grinned widely. "That's the way it was intended to look. Now, you are going to help me get rid of Chuck Veal and his friends, including that ex-deputy of yours, Bill Jacobs. You help us out here and I'll be sure nobody else has any accidents or finds out about your taste for rape and murder."

Brooks felt the walls caving in around him. He thought his secret was safe including all the pay offs for allowing the airplane loads of narcotics to land at the county airport.

"I'm a generous man, Walt. I've taken care of the one witness that could get you the chair. If you don't believe it then let's go take a little ride and I'll show you. I've kept quiet while you've taken money under the table on other matters as well."

Brooks whispered, "Do we have to kill them all?"

Pary nodded. "I see no way out of it. Blake Squires could wreck the whole thing with those papers he sent to the judge. I played innocent when the judge called this afternoon. I told him I had no idea Squires was a partner. I told him that I hadn't seen any land records on the matter that included Blake Squires."

Brooks nodded. Pary went on, "Now where did he get those papers? I took his copies from his office and I had Matt's safe hidden. One of those jerks must have figured out we had switched the safe and somehow they found it. Chuck, I will assume, would have known the combination."

Brooks was shocked. "How do you know this?"

Pary smiled. "I've got connections around town, Walt, and the people who owe me and keep me out of the dark."

Brooks shuddered. "I can't understand why they have to be killed. Why not just Squires?"

Pary said slowly, "Chuck Veal knows too much and his lady friend is a witness. Jacobs is a troublemaker so we can't leave him plundering about. They all have to go. I've taken care of the first one, Chuck Veal, already. He will be dead before the night is over, I promise you."

"What about the others?" Brooks asked weakly.

"You will take care of Squires and Jacobs for me."

"I can't do that. How could I get away with killing somebody like Jacobs? He's a lawman, Max."

Pary leaned back and said, "Let me tell you all about the regrettable incident that is going to happen at the jail tonight during a breakout."

Brooks stammered, "Why there at the jail? My deputies how can I..."

Pary interrupted. "Most of your deputies, Brooks, work for me. I had to have it that way."

Brooks snapped, "You've had me watched for a long time, haven't you?"

Pary grinned slyly.

***

Chuck eased out of the hospital bed and found his clothes in the nearby cabinet. He'd just finished dressing when the phone beside the bed, rang. He stepped across the room, picked up the receiver and said, "Hello?"

Bill Jacobs said, "Chuck? I heard you were alive and kicking. Blake told me. So how are you feeling tonight?"

"If I told you I was fine, would you come and get me out?"

"Brooks has placed you under medical arrest. If you try to leave, you are going to jail. Stay put; we have things under control. I called the GBI in Atlanta and they will be here in the morning."

"I'm still worried. Who ever tried to kill me could go after one of you or even Gail."

"They are not going to kill any of us that easy and Catfish is keeping an eye on Gail."

"Blake told me. Thanks, Bill. Where are you right now?"

"I'm at the truck stop on 16. A man's gotta' eat you know. Listen. I just picked up on something else out here. Max Pary is running around saying that Blake Squires is the man who killed Matt just so he could lay claim to the money for the timber."

"Well we know that's a lie."

"Oh yeah, I know it, but I can't figure what Pary's next move will be."

Chuck sighed. "I'm starting to think the timber lease may have more to do with Matt vanishing than any of us realize. We sure do seem to be barking up a lot of different trees right now."

"What about last night? Blake said you didn't see who jumped you."

"No, I didn't. It was too dark but it was a big man, about Anderson's size."

"I don't know of a larger man around so it had to be him."

"I couldn't swear to it."

Jacobs lowered his voice and said, "The whole Pary influence is going to come down hard on our heads pretty soon. I just hope the State boys can see around all that and help us. I tried to talk with Edie Pary today but her Aunt ran some serious interference and stopped me."

"I've already talked to her. She came by earlier."

Jacobs sounded shocked. "You're kidding. Is she that brave?"

"Bill? I can't explain it but for some reason I trust her. She was in love with Matt."

"Chuck? I hope you know what you're doing. Don't forget that Max Pary is her brother."

"I know that, Bill. Look, I'm leaving the hospital tonight. I'm not going to wait around for Brooks to arrest me or something."

"Are you that strong? Man you did a sight of bleeding last night. But if you are leaving regardless, then I'll come get you."

"I'll be okay but no, don't come get me. Edie is picking me up in a few minutes."

Jacobs shouted, "Edie? That's not a smart idea, Chuck. I can be there in twenty minutes."

"No, don't do that. I trust her, Bill. You stay out of sight."

"Where can I meet you?" Jacobs asked finally.

He thought for a moment. "I'll get in touch. Will you be at your place later tonight?"

"I don't know. Right now I'm out snooping, trying to see if I can pick up anything more on this mess."

"Okay, Bill. Just stay where I can find you and be careful. If nothing else, meet me out at Matt's place."

Chuck waited. At 10:30 pm, a car pulled into the hospital parking lot near his window and flashed the headlights twice. Still a little weak on his feet, he opened the window and crawled out into the chest high bushes.

He didn't see the dark blue pick up truck parked just across the street. The driver had been waiting there and watching for a long time. On the seat beside him lay a fully loaded, black, 44-magnum rifle with a hundred-power scope.

When Chuck fell into the bushes beneath the window, his head exploded in pain but it was bearable. He waited until it eased and then scanned the area, before he stepped out into the open.

The short fall and movement had truly awakened the pain in his head. He almost wished he hadn't skipped the nine pm pain medication the nurse had brought. Instead of taking it, he'd stashed it away and had it in his pocket.

As he neared Edie's car he noticed the truck across the street for the first time. The driver was sitting back in the shadows and didn't seem to pay any attention to anyone.

The truck looked familiar. Was it the one parked at the mill?

Edie opened the car's door and helped pull him inside. "I made it," he exclaimed.

While starting the engine, she asked, "Are you feeling okay?"

"I'll live. Let's get out of here and fast. There's a truck across the street behind us. Make sure he doesn't follow."

She backed out into the street and headed away from downtown. Chuck said, "Let's go to Matt's place. I want to talk to Gail.

"Wouldn't that be the first place they'd look for you?"

"No, they figure I'm too smart for that so I'm using reverse, reverse, psychology."

Headlights appeared in the rear view mirror. Chuck glanced back and said, "You better step on it, Edie that truck is following us."

"Do you think Max did it?"

"He's involved in some way but I don't know how deep. Things keep pointing back at him. Did you tell anyone you were picking me up?"

"Of course not, I know the situation now. Did you tell anyone?"

Only Jacobs and besides, the Sheriff had issued a warrant for my arrest."

"You told Jacobs I was coming to get you?"

"I told him you were coming to get me and that I'd be in touch later tonight."

Something bolted from the edge of the woods and into the road directly in front of the car. Edie snatched the wheel and braked causing the car to slide sideways. Chuck grabbed at the steering wheel and shouted, "Let go of the brakes."

Her foot froze on the pedal and the locked wheels kept the car from responding. "Edie let go of the brakes."

Her foot finally released the pedal and the car straightened up and slowly rolled to a stop by the edge of the highway. Chuck took a deep breath and released it. Edie sat with her hands clasped over her mouth, face pale and moist.

"It's okay. It was just a deer. You want me to drive? We better get moving again before that truck catches up."

She regained her composure and shook her head. "No. I'm okay. The truck turned off about two miles back. It's gone. Let's go."

Ten minutes later, they pulled into Matt's driveway. Chuck pointed at the rear of the house.

"Why don't you park out back and face the car forward."

She drove to the rear yard and backed the car behind the house. "How's this?"

He nodded. "Great. Come on let's go inside."

She hesitated. "I don't know, Chuck. Why don't I come back later?"

"Edie" Chuck said, "My girlfriend is inside and there's someone watching over her from out in the trees. We are not alone here."

Edie looked at him a moment and whispered, "I know. It's not that. It's all the memories of Matt."

She blushed and looked down. He reached over, took her soft hand, and kissed it gently. "I'm sorry, Edie. It'll be okay. We can sit in the kitchen. Nobody will see the light from the road."

"You've got Matt's eyes. Do you know that?

"Chuck smiled but said nothing.

Okay, let's go inside for just a little while."

Chuck opened his door and she was instantly at his side helping him. Gail, who had been peering out the window, felt her heart thunder in her chest watching the strange car arrive and then Chuck and that woman get out together. Who was she and why had Chuck kissed her hand?

As they neared the rear door of the house, it opened and a smiling Gail stepped outside. "Well hello. Did the doctor let you out early tonight? And who is your lady friend here?"

***

Blake Squires was busy going over his business ledger at the sawmill office when he realized it was getting late. He hadn't been able to get any real work done lately. Still he couldn't concentrate on the books before him. There were too many questions with not enough answers racing through his brain including the main one. Who killed Matt and why?

With a final shrug and a deep yawn, he stood up from the desk, walked to the door and cut off the overhead lights. Stepping out into the sticky night air, he looked around. Things seemed quiet. He locked the office door behind him and walked to the old truck he had borrowed from Fennel earlier.

He climbed inside and turned the ignition key. The starter groaned and whirred but the engine wouldn't catch. He patted the accelerator twice and flipped the switch again. The engine sputtered, wheezed once on the verge of death, and then came to life belching a cloud of blue smoke out the exhaust pipe. "I got to get my truck back from Catfish," he mumbled.

Two bright headlight beams suddenly burst in his face and blinded him. Another set from behind exploded in the rear view mirror and a third set came alive from near the yard gate. They had him cornered.

He judged his chances of escape but well knew that Fennel's old truck wouldn't get him far or fast. He'd never get away. A bright beam from a flashlight caught his eyes. Through the glare, he could see the outline of a roof-mounted set of blue police lights on one of the vehicles pulling into the yard. A deputy, with gun drawn, appeared on the right side of the truck and pointed his weapon through the open passenger's side window. Sheriff Walt Brooks stepped out of the bright lights in front of the truck.

Blake felt a cold shiver crawl up his spine. "My goose is now cooked." He mumbled.

The deputy beside the truck snapped, "Get out and keep your hands up where I can see them."

He cut the engine and climbed out of the truck. Two more officers appeared. One held up a pair of silver handcuffs and ordered, "Turn around and put your hands behind you."

Squires hesitated and snarled, "You want to tell me what this is all about first?"

A third man appeared and swung his gun into Blake's face. The dark hole at the end of the barrel looked bottomless. "This is what it's all about, Squires. Now turn around or I'll blow your black head off."

Blake turned slowly and moved his hands behind him and they locked them together in handcuffs. The deputy tested the locks and then said, "Okay, you can turn back around."

Sheriff Brooks stepped closer and into the brighter light. He smiled.

"All right, Brooks. What's going on?"

Walt sneered, "You're under arrest, Squires, for the murder of Matt Veal."

"You're crazy, Brooks. Do you think I'd murder my best friend and partner?"

"Do I think it? I know it."

He motioned to the deputies and snapped, "Get him in the car and let's go. Don't bother reading him his rights. I'm sure he knows them by heart."

***

Catfish and Clark lay on their stomachs surrounded by knee high grass and weeds. They were on a small hill that overlooked the mill and had watched the Sheriff's cars leave with Blake cuffed and riding in the back seat. Clark said, "Why you figure they arrested Blake? What did he do?"

Catfish shook his head. "He ain't done a thing."

Clark cried out: "Owwww. Darn, Catfish." Jumping to his feet, he started slapping at his stomach and legs. "Fire ants, you got us lying in a bed of fire ants."

Catfish rose to his knees and helped Clark brush away at the ants on his outer clothing. "I tell you, Clark. Blake ain't gonna' live to see the sun come up if they take him to the jailhouse. We got to get word to Bill somehow."

Clark, still slapping at his pants, moved to the opposite side around Catfish. He checked the ground then plopped his feet down firmly and then said, "If they got Blake then most likely they've got Jacobs too. The question is, when are they gonna' get us?"

Catfish shook his head. "I don't know about you, but they gotta' be slicker than two eels in a pot of jelly to chase down this old tomcat."

Clark looked at Catfish and said, "Huh?"

Catfish scanned the area to make sure no one was waiting in the woods. "Oh, they'll come after us, you can bet on that. It's just a matter of when and where."

Clark said, "Let's jump in the truck and high tail it out of here. We can be in Atlanta before sunrise."

"Do what?" Catfish shouted. "I ain't gonna' run off and leave Blake in the hands of them chicken snakes. If you want to run then hit the road and let me get on with this thing."

Clark thought for a second and then shrugged. "Yea you're right, Catfish. But what can we do? We gonna' go bust him out of the jailhouse just me and you? Alone?"

Catfish smiled and said; "You remember that night I come got you out of the poker game down at Hatter's juke joint on the river?"

Clark spat into the bushes and nodded. "Oh, lord yea. You sure saved my hide that night from a beating. Those boys were fixin' to work me over because they thought I was cheatin' them out of their money."

"You were cheatin' them, Clark. I saw you dealin' the deck from underneath. The point is, I could have just left you to them buzzards but I helped you get out of there. Didn't I?"

"I said you did."

"Now you remember how I done it?"

"You set fire to the storage house out back of the place. There was two cases of dynamite inside they kept there for blowing beaver dams on the timber tracts. They're still looking for all the boards to that place. It blowed a hole ten feet deep in the dirt too."

Catfish smiled. "Now that's what I'm talking about. We need a diversion at the courthouse so I can get inside and back out with Blake. You got any ideas?"

Clark thought for a moment. "I don't reckon they got no dynamite house out back of the place...do they?"

"That's about what we need to empty all the cops out of there in a hurry."

Clark snapped his fingers and said, "You know what else would empty that courthouse of every cop in the county? What if somebody was out yonder at the Pary house trying to rob the old gal? Now wouldn't those cops go running?"

Catfish smiled broadly. "That it might and that's a good idea, so here's what I want you to do."

"Me?" Clark asked.

"Just stop flappin' your jaws long enough to listen. I'll drop you at that quick stop store downtown. You give me a couple of minutes to get set at the courthouse, and then you call and tell 'em you got old Lady Pary at gunpoint. Scare the hoots out of 'em real good. When they take off, I'll go inside and get Blake. You got that?"

Clark nodded. "Okay. Sounds good to me but how am I gonna' get down there to help you out after I make the call? It's half a mile from that store to the jailhouse. You got a cell phone with you?"

Catfish rose to his feet. "You be walkin' along the edge of the road and me and Blake will pick you up on the way out of there."

Clark nodded. The two men turned and walked back down the hill to where Blake's pickup sat parked on the edge of the road. Catfish paused, looked up and down the road, and said, "Clark? If anything goes wrong, you go ahead and high tail it out of town like you said, but get in touch with one of them big city cops and tell them everything. If nothing else go to that lawyer friend of Blake's in Atlanta or call the GBI folks. There's enough gas in the truck here to get you up there."

Clark shook his head. "I ain't leavin' you and Blake in the hands of them jelly coated chicken snakes."

They climbed in the cab of the truck. Catfish started the engine and said, "God almighty this better work, this sure better work."

Clark nodded but said nothing. The truck pulled away leaving a small dust cloud behind.

***

Bill Jacobs steered his truck to a public parking space at the courthouse. All the patrol cars were out, including Sheriff Brooks' black Ford. "That's odd," he thought. He'd been listening on the scanner and hadn't heard any of the units check in or out with the station control operator.

He got out and walked to the entrance door. From habit, he flung it open quickly and Brian Mimbs, the dispatcher, jumped off his stool. "What's going on, Brian? Where's everybody at?"

Mimbs looked at the overhead clock and stammered for words. "The Sheriff said that if anybody saw you to arrest you and bring you in. Is that what you're doing? Giving up?"

Jacobs laughed. "Right, Mimbs. Just keep on thinking that."

Jacobs stepped around the counter, grabbed the front of the dispatcher's shirt, and pulled him to his feet. "Now you tell me Brian? Where is the Sheriff? Has he gone to arrest somebody? Somebody I might know?"

Mimbs cried, "I don't know."

Jacobs shook him violently. "The heck you don't know. Now tell me. Right now, or. Or..."

"He told me they were going to arrest you and Squires tonight."

Jacobs shoved him backwards and down on the stool, "Is that so? We'll see about that. Has Brooks called the GBI about finding the Veal car yet?"

The young kid, a look of sheer panic on his face, shook his head. "Not that I know of."

Jacobs stormed away into the rear of the jail. He was madder than he had ever known and didn't know how to react. Brooks was going to try to pin him and Squires for Matt's murder. He stopped at a sink just outside one of the jail cells, washed his face and dried it. He needed more time to think, to decide what to do. He was not going to run. A voice from one of the cells spoke softly. "You're Jacobs, ain't you?"

He turned and saw a ragged, dirty looking man in a jail cell. "Yeah, that's right. Now lie back down and sleep it off."

The man grinned. "I haven't taken a drink in twenty-seven years and I'm not here for doing so. I'm here for running my mouth to the wrong folks."

Jacobs stepped closer and his nose suddenly repelled at the animal stench coming from the cell. He backed away and said, "What do you mean by that?"

The man pointed to the door. "I was brought in here for telling Blake Squires about the Trans Am they found in beaver creek. The Sheriff told me he was going to put me in the trunk of it and push it back in the water... along with the fellers I told about it."

Jacobs pointed, "You're Ed Barton?"

The man nodded, "Yea, that's me. I don't think there's going to be a trial for any of us arrested tonight and that includes you."

Jacobs thought for a moment. "How do you know the Sheriff wasn't just trying to scare you or something?"

Barton snapped, "I know for the same reason I know there's an APB out on you. You're going to be locked up too, Jacobs."

Jacobs felt the walls caving in. The whole Sheriff's department must be behind this thing and Brooks was the leader of the pack. A chatter of angry voices reached them coming from the front office where Mimbs waited. Turning to Barton, Jacobs said, "We'll see about that, just keep quiet."

Jacobs stepped into a nearby utility closet just as two deputies led Blake Squires into the room. One of them opened Barton's cell door. Sheriff Brooks walked in and nodded at Barton.

Squires stood, arms cuffed behind him, and snarled when Brooks appeared. "How about getting these handlebars off my back?"

The Sheriff didn't move. "I think they look right nice on you, Squires. I might even get you a larger set for your neck."

"Didn't Brian say that Jacobs came back here?"

Barton spoke. "Saw him stick his head in the door and then left."

The Sheriff looked around then nodded at the deputies. They shoved Blake into the cell. The closet where Jacobs hid was stuffy and hot with the rank odor of cleaning fluids and ammonia.

The Deputy shoved Blake through the cell door but Blake quickly spun around, looking dead at Brooks.

The Sheriff shook his head. "The papers you took to the Macon Judge are forged. I can prove it too."

Squires hissed, "You're a liar, Brooks. Matt Veal signed those papers so get a handwriting expert to check it out."

"We already have. You're gonna' pay for causing all this trouble so you can forget that warped idea of yours about being partners with Matt Veal. It just flew out the window."

Brooks pointed at Barton. "Get that bum in another cell until we can take him for a little ride up to Beaver Creek."

Through a small crack in the door of the closet, Jacobs watched the two deputies enter the jail cell. One grabbed a bed sheet and coiled it into a rope. They were going to hang Blake?"

Squires backed away and shouted, "What's this about, Brooks?"

The Sheriff, his back to Jacobs in the closet, said, "You are so depressed over killing Matt Veal that you've decided to hang yourself and end it all. In the process you first gunned down my Chief Deputy, Bill Jacobs."

"You can't get away with that. Nobody will buy it."

One of the deputies tried to grab Barton but the old woodsman quickly backed away into a corner. His eyes were wide and full of fear. Squires tried to bull ram the deputy but with his hands cuffed, he was easily subdued. Bill knew that unless he acted and acted quickly, they were going to kill Blake.

While their attention was diverted with the struggling Squires, he slipped a revolver out of the holster he wore on the rear of his belt and pushed the closet door open just enough to slip through. Nobody noticed as he moved across the open floor and stepped up behind Walt Brooks. Brooks felt the stab of cold metal pressing against the back of his neck and then Jacobs said, "All right, boys, the party's over."

His voice froze the two deputies in place and the gun against the Sheriff's neck left little room for debate. Pulling a set of handcuff keys from the outer pouch of Walt's police belt, Jacobs tossed them to one of the deputies and snapped, "Get the cuffs off him, right now."

The man caught the tossed keys deftly and stopped. He looked at Brooks who only grew paler. Walt realized that Max Pary would kill him if he flubbed it up this time. Still, the survival instinct in him was strong and he rasped, "Go ahead and do it. They ain't going too far."

The deputy removed the cuffs from Blake's huge wrists. Looking at Jacobs, Blake said, "They were going to hang me then shoot you and tell everyone that I did it."

Jacobs pointed and Squires unsnapped the safety catches from each Deputies holster and removed the weapons. He tucked one in his belt and the other he pointed at the nearest deputy. "Step aside," he sneered.

"Come on out, Blake," Jacobs said calmly. "And you too, Barton.

Barton scampered out of the cell like a suddenly freed squirrel. Squires backed out more calmly, mindful of keeping Bill's line of fire clear.

Jacobs removed the Sheriff's gun from its holster and then pushed the man into the cell with the other two deputies. Squires slammed the door, spun the large ringed key, and tossed it into a far corner.

A voice from behind Jacobs called out. "Hold it, Bill. I can't let you do this."

Brian Mimbs stood in the doorway holding a double-barreled shotgun clutched in his hands. The two dark holes on the end of it shook noticeably and his voice trembled. "Let the Sheriff out."

Jacobs moved slowly toward him aware that the shotgun was loaded with buckshot. From this range, it would cut a man in half. Jacobs said, "Brian? You don't understand. The Sheriff was about to kill these people. He was going to hang Squires and make it look like a suicide. Now put the gun down and let us out of here. We're leaving.

The young radio operator shook his head in quick, sudden jerks. "No. No, you are gonna' let the Sheriff out of there or I'll pull the trigger and I mean it."

A figure appeared behind Mimbs. It crept up slowly, warily, closer. Walt Brooks yelled, "Behind you, Mimbs, he's behind you. Watch out."

The young man spun but Catfish Jacobs was already on top of him, wrestling for the shotgun. The barrel swung upward at the ceiling and fired scattering huge pieces of the tiled overhead ceiling around them and on the floor. A neon light exploded and hissed. Catfish yelled, "Let it go, Boy, or I'll whoop you good."

Jacobs stepped forward but Mimbs had swung the gun barrel back down and around, now level with his stomach. From sheer instinct, Jacobs hit the deck and sprawled. Catfish forced the gun away then kneed Mimbs in the groin. The boy screamed then doubled over in pain and released the gun to Catfish."

Jacobs jumped back on his feet, looked at Catfish and nodded. "Man that was close. Thanks Catfish."

Blake found the keys and unlocked the cell door. "Bring him on over here, Catfish. He can join the rest of them in the cell."

When the heavy door swung closed, Blake locked it, tossed the keys, and said, "Now let's get out of here, fast."

Barton said, "I've got to make a phone call."

Jacobs spun around, "Call who, the Sheriff?"

Catfish looked at the man and said, "Bill? He ain't talking funny no more. What happened to that accent he had up in the woods yesterday?"

"I'm an FBI agent. I will explain the rest later. I don't have my shield because I'm undercover." He pointed at the spare gun in Blake's belt. "You better let me have that. I know how to use it, I promise you."

Blake looked at Jacobs who only stared for a moment at Barton. The old trapper looked at Jacobs and said, "You and I went through the academy together at Forsyth back in 92. Bo Conner was our instructor."

A light went off on Jacob's face. "Blake? I've met this guy way back at the academy. He's a cop. That much I do know."

Squires removed the gun from his belt, took it by the barrel and passed it over to Barton. Jacobs motioned "alright, let's get out of here. I don't know how many of Walt's deputies we can trust and I don't care to find out at the moment."

#  Chapter 21

As the men dashed out of the courthouse door, Jacobs shouted, "Catfish? Cut the tires on the patrol cars. Be sure you get at least two on each one. I don't want anyone following us."

Blake pointed to the employee parking area. "Jacobs and I will get those."

Catfish sprinted to the first car, pulled a pocketknife and stabbed the tire. Ed Barton ran past him to the second car and did the same. As Blake and Jacobs worked the private cars in the employee parking area, Blake yelled, "Barton is an FBI agent? I wonder what he's doing in West Creek County."

Jacobs, while cutting a three-inch gash in a one hundred dollar tire, said, "I don't know. Probably has something to do with the drug dealers."

Catfish raced past Barton patted him on the shoulder and said "Old man Hanister down at the tire place is gonna' get rich from all this here commotion."

"Yea boy, Catfish, remind me to call my broker and buy more stock in Michelin."

Blake yelled at Jacobs. "How'd you know I was arrested?"

"I didn't. I showed up ahead of you, pure luck. They already had Barton. He's the one who was telling me what Brooks was planning for you, him and me. At about that time they showed up with you."

"I wonder how they found out Barton is a Fed."

"I think they got suspicious when he showed you Matt's car."

Blake motioned. "Come on, that'll hold them for a while. Let's get out of here."

While running back toward the main parking area, Blake put two fingers between his lips and issued a shrill, piercing whistle. "Catfish? Barton? Let's go. Let's go. That will have to do for now."

The two men came running across the parking garage. Barton jumped in the rear of the patrol unit, Catfish slammed the door and then moved to the driver's door and leaned down and said, "I'll get the truck."

"Wait, here, take this walkie talkie. It's on frequency two. I don't think they'll be monitoring it. Stay with me on that thing and stay close."

Catfish nodded and stepped back as Jacobs backed the car out of the parking space and stomped on the gas, aiming at the exit ramp. The police car hit the gate and bounced over a speed bump throwing sparks from the chassis, turned left on Main Street and shot away from the courthouse.

Blake waited a few moments then took the mate for the walkie talkie Jacobs had handed Catfish. He keyed the switch and asked, "Catfish, you got that thing on yet?"

A pickup truck skidded around a corner half a block behind them, straightened up then the radio crackled, "Got it on, good buddy. I'm on your six and readin' you loud an clear."

"Who is watching after Gail out at Matt's place?"

"Chuck and Edie showed up about an hour ago driving that blue Lincoln of hers."

"Are you sure it was Edie and not Max?"

"Shoot yea. Max Pary wouldn't go to the outhouse unless he was driving that gray 'Vette of his. I'm positive it was Edie and Chuck. I saw all three sittin' at the table, looking friendly and everything."

"How'd you know Walt arrested me?"

"Clark showed up at Matt's place and told me something was up, that a whole parade of Sheriff Cars was heading out of town toward the mill. Since Chuck was with Gail, I decided we better get out there and see what was going on. We drove on over to the mill and seen the Sheriff and all his monkeys hauling you off in the back of the p'lice car."

Jacobs said, "Ask him where Clark is right now?"

Blake relayed the question and Catfish came back. "I don't know. I was watching for him when I went past that gas station back yonder but he wasn't there. We made us a plan to spook everybody out of the jailhouse so I could get in and bust you loose. Clark was supposed to make a phone call telling them he was holding old lady Pary at gunpoint and wanted five thousand dollars."

Jacobs looked at Blake. "Five thousand, is that all?"

"It's a fair bit of money to be askin' for an old lady, don't you think?"

Jacobs sighed. "Yea in Catfish's mind it is. Tell him we'll swing back later and find Clark."

Blake repeated the message into the radio and Catfish said, "Okay, but he was supposed to meet us along the street back yonder. I told him to be walking along and we could pick him up. I guess he never got to call or our little plan didn't work on that end. Did somebody call in while ya'll was inside?"

Jacobs turned left on the county road north and pointed the car away from town. Catfish followed. Blake replied on the radio, "I don't know Catfish. I was somewhat busy there for a while. As for Edie Pary, I still have my doubts about that woman. I sure hope she isn't up to something."

Barton shook his head. "No she's not up to anything Jacobs. She and Matt have been seeing each other quietly for a while. I use to spot them every day or so up near the creek, couple times having little picnics and stuff. They were being discreet and didn't want anyone to know."

Blake said, "That was because of her brother and Aunt I think. Matt never said much too me about Edie but I could tell he had something going with her. If she was using him then she's a good actor."

Jacobs, checking the rearview mirror, asked, "Where do we go from here?"

Blake said, "We better pick up Chuck, Gail, and I guess Edie Pary, at Matt's house. It might be safer for all of us if we get out of town for the night, head toward Macon or Atlanta. They're trying to kill us so we need to keep our heads down, stick close together, and wait for the cavalry to arrive."

Catfish asked over the radio, "Anybody know where Max Pary is tonight? He's the head of the snake that we need to cut off."

All eyes in the car looked around but no one answered. Blake keyed the radio. "Nobody knows, Catfish."

Barton finally said, "I need to contact my office and bring them up to date on what's happening. I can get some help rolling this way too, my cover's blown so it doesn't matter if they know I'm FBI or not, but if the Sheriff puts out a state wide APB on us then we are going to need all the help we can get and fast."

Jacobs shook his head. "I don't think Max Pary will let Brooks do that. They don't want to risk outside cops in the area right now. Before I left the house tonight, I called a friend with the GBI. He's coming down tomorrow. I need to call him back and get him moving this way right now. Maybe we need to worry about just a place to hide until tomorrow but let's stay in town."

Blake said, "For now let's head to Matt's place and we can decide then, you two can make your calls from there. I never wanted a damn cell phone in my life, until now."

"No problem." Barton said from the back seat. "I don't want to wait until tomorrow either and Jacobs, your friend at the GBI, no offense, mind you, but this case might fall under my jurisdiction and not theirs."

Jacobs shrugged. "I got no problem with calling in more help and I don't care whether the state or the Feds take the case, just so long as somebody takes it. But come to think of it, the drug running does make it Federal."

Barton said, "Maybe, but right now it doesn't matter. Let's just wrap this town up with cops of any brand or creed. As of right now, I don't have much proof of anything that would involve the FBI taking down Max Pary. Sheriff Brooks and Thompson I can nail to the wall."

Blake keyed the walkie talkie again and asked, "How long will it take them to get those cars going?"

"They're gonna need a truck load of new tires so I'd say three to four hours unless some of them gets smart and takes all the good tires and put them on one car."

Blake looked at Jacobs. "When did Chuck get out of the hospital?"

"Not too long ago I'd guess. He was there when I talked to him on the phone about ten o'clock tonight. He told me that Edie was going to pick him up."

Blake snapped, "And you didn't try to stop him?"

Jacobs glared at Blake but said nothing.

Once on the open highway, Bill pushed the car up to speed quickly and again checked the rear view mirror. Johnny's truck was pacing a quarter mile back, otherwise, there were no lights following as far as he could tell.

Five minutes later, he braked the car harshly and made a quick turn onto the dirt road. "Maybe we should have stayed at the jail and placed them under arrest. I wonder how long it'll be before somebody finds them locked up in the back."

Barton shook his head. "Not long. Another patrol unit was over on the east side of the County on a call. They'll probably try to contact the dispatcher and when they don't get an answer, they'll come running."

"I guess so," Jacobs said. "We've sure got little proof. There are too many loose ends, so who knows whether Walt can cover most of their tracks or not and right now, except for our own testimony, we just don't have a whole lot of solid evidence against them."

Barton added, "We could make a case with what they've done to us already but it wouldn't be much compared to what it should be. The only way I can figure to tie Pary into this deal would be to prove that he murdered Matt and right now we can't even prove that Matt is dead. It would be easier if we had a body."

Several hundred yards from the driveway to Matt's house, they spotted a dark blue, pickup truck parked by the edge of the road. The cab was empty. Barton said, "This is not good."

Blake keyed the radio and said, "Catfish, listen up real good. We are going to make a few changes to plans."

***

Edie and Gail were sitting at the dining room table talking. Earlier, both of them and Chuck had been going over the diary and a few of the other papers. After sending Chuck to the sofa to lie down and rest, she started a pot of coffee, and sat back down at the table with Edie to wait.

Gail suddenly stopped, motioned for Edie to be quiet, listened again then tiptoed quickly down the hall to the living room where Chuck was resting on the sofa. She touched his arm lightly and his eyes flew open. "What's wrong?"

"Somebody's coming and they're here to hurt us."

At that moment, he heard something outside that sounded like an approaching car engine. He rose to one elbow and listened. Headlights appeared down the front driveway.

"Help me up, Gail."

He got to his feet with Gail's help then walked away down the hall and into the first bedroom. He unlatched the door to the gun cabinet, reached inside and removed an old British Infield .303 rifle. He pulled back the bolt checking the mechanism, then took several rounds of ammunition from a lower drawer and loaded the gun's clip.

Gail appeared at his side and whispered, "It might be Blake or Bill."

Chuck nodded. "I know, but let's make sure. You and Edie stay in the kitchen and turn off the lights. If anything happens, take the car and get out of here fast. Don't wait on me."

***

Catfish, now driving the patrol car, pulled it around to the rear of the house and parked beside Edie's Lincoln. A cautious frown slid over his face when he saw the kitchen lights in the house wink out and the house went dark. "Was that a signal of some kind?" he wondered.

The hard, cold metal of a gun barrel slipped through the open window of the patrol car and held there against the side of his face. "Get out," a voice ordered from the business end of the weapon.

He opened the car door and stood, slowly raising his hands in the air. "I wouldn't do anything stupid. A couple of hours from now there's gonna be more cops around here than you can shake a donut factory at."

A small flashlight beam flared in his eyes blinding him in a white glare. The gun lowered away from his head and a voice said "Catfish? What are you doing here in this Sheriff's car? Where's everyone else?"

Catfish gulped a deep breath of the cool night air and said, "Chuck? I'm glad to see you. I thought for a second old Anderson done got the drop on me."

The ugly roar of a rifle shot drowned his words and the blue police light on top of the patrol car shattered, spewing broken glass over them. A bullet ricocheted and whined away into the night then the rifle barked a second time. That one whizzed past Catfish' ear and thudded into the wall of the house behind him.

Chuck hit the dirt beside the car, pulling Catfish down with him. "Did you see which direction it came from?"

From a half opened window inside the house, Gail whispered, "I saw a flash near the barn on the left side, near the boat."

Chuck started to move but Catfish stopped him. "Blake and Bill are out there some place and that old trapper, Ed Barton too. Be careful of what you're shooting at Chuck. Don't hit them."

When the name Barton registered, Chuck asked, "Barton? The old trapper who found Matt's car? What's he doing here?"

Catfish whispered, "He ain't talkin' funny no more and he don't stink, neither. Claims he's with the FBI. We seen Anderson's blue pickup truck parked just down by the mailbox so he's the one doing the shooting at us right now most likely."

Chuck whispered back toward the house to Gail. "Turn on the rear yard lights then get down low and out of sight. Keep Edie down too."

"Okay, "she said.

As they waited, Catfish whispered, "That possum out yonder might try to circle around on us or worse, he might have a few of his buddies with him. Is the front door of the house locked up?"

Before Chuck could answer, two heavy overhead floodlights popped on and the back yard erupted in lights. Another bullet smacked angrily against the rear of the house behind Chuck and Catfish. "Keep down in there, Gail." Chuck shouted then rose to one knee, took quick aim toward the barn and fired.

A huge chunk of wood spattered from the boards on the wall of the barn. Chuck worked the bolt action of the rifle, never taking his eyes off the barn area. He thought something moved from near the front of the boat back into the deep shadows.

Catfish whispered, "I think I seen him move to the left side and back of the boat."

Catfish pointed beyond the barn toward the edge of a tree line near the pond. A figure was moving across the open area. He said, "That's Blake. I'd recognize that duck walk of his any place."

A voice from around the corner of the house spoke quietly. "It's me, Blake. You guys okay. I'm coming around."

Catfish, looking confused, answered, "Yeah, but keep your head down"

Blake, crouching low, stepped around the corner of the house and knelt beside them at the car. "How many you figure are out there?"

Chuck shook his head. "So far as I can tell there's just that one and if you guys hadn't shown when you did, whew, not fun. The police bubble on the top of the car saved me and Catfish just awhile ago."

"That was close," was all Squires could say and then he turned to Catfish and asked, "Duck walk? I'm gonna' duck walk on your head but it ain't gonna be like no duck you ever seen I promise you."

The rifle from the barn barked again but this time it was not firing in the direction of the house. Chuck rose up for a look and Squires hauled him back down. Two separate rolls of pistol fire answered the rifle from further out behind the barn. A stray bullet from one of them struck a tree base near them in the yard. "Crossfire is a wicked thing." Blake said. "That's Jacobs and Barton."

Catfish said, "I done told him about Barton."

The rifle barked again and two more pistol shots replied, fired so close together that the sound blended into one loud report then more silence. Catfish asked, "You reckon' they got him? It's awful quiet out there."

Squires said, "Give them a little more time."

Five long minutes passed and then the sound of an engine starting reached the back yard. The squeal of tires against a red clay surface ripped through the air, followed by several overlapping pistol shots. The truck roared away and the silence folded back around them. Even the crickets started chirping again.

Squires looked at Catfish and then Chuck. Slowly, all three men stood. "It sounds like he got away."

Jacobs's voice yelled from the front yard area of the house "Blake? Catfish? We're coming in."

"It's about time." Catfish shouted back. "Did you hit him at all?"

Jacobs and Barton came around the edge of the house and stepped into the well-lit yard. "I don't think so." Jacobs said. "It was too dark. A couple of times there, I thought I was shooting at shadows."

Barton said "Those shadows were shooting back, Jacobs. You handled yourself real well out there."

Chuck pointed, "Is this the guy you've been calling, Barton?"

Jacobs said, "Okay, Barton, I can tell that isn't the first time somebody's taken a shot at you so I figure you don't spend all your time at a desk someplace."

Barton said, "Let me make that phone call and then we can talk. Anderson will call Max Pary and tell him what's happened. When he finds out we got away from the Sheriff, this neck of the woods is going to get very, very, hot."

Gail and Edie met them at the door. "Is anybody hurt?" Gail asked anxiously.

Chuck shook his head. "No, but we need to leave right now. They'll be back with more company in twenty minutes or so."

Turning to Squires, he asked, "What are all of you doing together out here? What's happened?"

Barton spotted the phone, went to it, and dialed a long distance number. Squires quickly explained everything including the incident at the jail where they were planning to hang him and make it look like a suicide.

Edie gasped. "I heard Max talking about a worker at the mill a few weeks ago and something about taking care of a problem with the man."

Squires said, "That was Clark's brother, Keg."

Catfish shook his head in disbelief. "Why would the FBI put a man out in the woods here in West Creek County? Worse thing that ever happens around here is when the beer truck turns over in town."

Jacobs spoke. "Matt must have called them about his suspicions."

Chuck said, "I still can't figure out why Matt would hire a jerk like Thompson."

Barton finished his call and came over to where they stood. Reaching a hand out to Chuck and shaking it, he said, "Good to see you again, Chuck."

"Frank? Am I to assume these folks don't know who you are? They keep calling you Ed Barton."

"That's my cover. Would you care to introduce us?"

Chuck looked at the others and said, "This is Frank Meadows. He's a friend of Matt's and works for the FBI office out of Savannah."

Squires asked, "Is that why they wanted to kill you back there at the jail?"

Frank nodded. "I tipped my hand when I told you and Catfish about Matt's car. They knew you two could not have just stumbled on it down at the creek with it so deep in that water. I had been watching it for a week hoping to scare them into moving it or something because I honestly thought Matt's body would be in the trunk. I swam down to the car one time and didn't see anything inside but I could not get the trunk open while the car was under water."

Catfish whined. "I did that too and I am still shivering from that cold water. The creek is fed mostly from a couple of deep underground springs or something."

Blake said, "Speaking of spring, I'm just glad Jacobs and Catfish showed up to spring us out of that jail cell and hanging party."

Meadows agreed, "Well I knew Jacobs was hiding in the closet but I wasn't too sure about which side of the fence he was playing. I took a risk and tipped him off about their plans to hang you."

He pulled up the left leg of his pants revealing an ankle holster with a .38 caliber pistol strapped inside. "But I had an ace up my sleeve just in case the game went sour."

Jacobs sighed. "What if I hadn't believed you?"

Brooks shrugged. "I wouldn't have let them hang Squires. He's a witness for my case against Brooks and maybe Pary. I think if we nail Brooks then he'll open up against the rest of them just to save his own hide."

Blake looked at Jacobs. "But what if you hadn't come out of that closet when you did and I found out you were hiding in there? I would have locked the door and set fire to the room."

Catfish said "We best be gettin' out of here. They'll be back soon with a lot of help. If we gotta' fight 'em let's do it out in the open."

Jacobs nodded, and then asked "How much help is your office going to send?"

"Well I was here to watch that airstrip north of the creek that Pary is using to bring in the narcotics. I wasn't supposed to get involved with much of anything else unless it fell in my lap. I told my boss on the phone a while ago about everything in my lap right now. He said to sit tight and keep our heads low and West Creek County will be crawling in federal agents in a couple of hours. They are on the way right now."

"But we still haven't tied in Max Pary yet." Jacobs said. "We can't prove who killed Matt or why. It would make a better case against them if we could find a body."

Chuck spoke quietly. "I think I know where they may have hidden Matt. I should have thought about it earlier. They probably buried him where nobody would ever think to look. My grandfather's grave."

Brooks asked, "How do you figure that?"

Chuck pointed at the box of papers on the kitchen table. "It's all in there." Matt was killed either at the cemetery or sometime soon after. If they got him while at the cemetery then he's still there now. For some reason he went there to dig into the grave and somebody probably followed him. They saw what he was doing and simply waited while he dug the hole."

Gail stepped closer and placed her arm through his. "Chuck, Matt is not dead. I'm sure of it."

Edie's eyes lit up. "Matt is still alive? You can feel him? I have been thinking the same thing too. He's not dead."

Squires and Catfish raised eyebrows at one another, and then Blake said. "You feel up to a little grave robbing tonight, Catfish boy?"

"Not Chuck," Gail said. "He's still too weak. Why don't we just wait until the FBI gets here?"

Chuck looked at her, "We might not have time. They already know Jacobs called the state boys at least and they'll start trying to cover their tracks fast and now we are part of their tracks so."

Meadows finished the sentence. "So they will assume that we know everything except where Matt's body is hidden. They might try to move it tonight."

Jacobs shrugged, "I was just thinking the same thing. They might be that desperate knowing their scheme has gone sour and that the game is up."

Catfish coughed and started to say something. Squires looked over, "Okay, spit it out."

Catfish looked at the floor and then up to Chuck. "There might not be a body to find. Remember what they did to Clark's brother? "

Meadows looked confused. Chuck said, "Clark's brother was pushed into the chipping machine at the mill. There wasn't much left to bury."

Edie paled. "Did you say he was pushed? Is that the man Max was talking about they had to deal with?

Chuck nodded. "I think so. He knew something, any idea what that might have been, Frank?"

Meadows shook his head. "No. This is the first I've heard that Keg was the one killed. He was an informant on the initial bust we made a month or so ago."

Bill said, "Keg may have known that they switched out Matt's safe and buried it in the sawdust pile. Maybe he wanted to be paid to keep quiet and they didn't take kindly to blackmail."

Catfish coughed again. Blake, impatient now, said, "All right, Catfish. We don't have time to play games. Just spit it out."

He looked at Jacobs. "I picked this up tonight from Clark. Keg may have seen the Sheriff pick up a young girl who was hitchin' a ride through town. He didn't take her to the jail so Keg sort of followed them. The Sheriff took her out in the woods, raped and then killed her. Keg didn't say anything because who would have believed him over the word of the Sheriff?"

Bill paled. "That can't be right. Brooks did all that?"

Catfish shrugged. "That's what Clark told me, that maybe Keg was trying to hit up Max Pary for a couple of thousand dollars, you know, money to keep his mouth shut."

Chuck sighed. "Well, that explains some of it. They killed Keg to protect the Sheriff from something totally unrelated to Matt. If Max Pary has that rape and murder hanging over Brooks' head then the Sheriff was solid in his back pocket."

Jacobs nodded. "Then it's no wonder Walt is so deep and tangled up in this mess."

"Blake?" Catfish said. "Clark was supposed to make a phone call to the sheriff's office to spook a few of them out on a fake call. After all this here while ago with Anderson, I'm gettin' powerful worried."

Squires said, "Clark can take care of himself. What we need to do now is find Matt's body. It might tell us what happened and why."

Catfish shook his head, "I can't believe this. First I take a bath in an ice-cold creek and now I'm gonna' go dig up a grave. What next?"

Chuck said, "A lot, if Matt's body is there."

Jacobs quietly added, "If his body's there, we'll need to back off and call in the state crime lab but how can we do that if Sheriff Brooks has an arrest warrant out for all of us?"

Chuck said, "We'll cross that bridge when we come to it."

Squires motioned, "Come on, Catfish. There are some tools in Matt's shed and a couple of sealed beam lights. Want to lend us a hand, Meadows?"

The three men left. Gail tightened her grip on Chuck's arm and asked, "Why couldn't we leave town? I'm sure that Matt's body is not at the cemetery. Let's just get out of here, go wait for help in Macon or Savannah?"

Chuck shook his head. "I trust your senses Gail and I sure pray you are right about Matt being alive, but if he's alive then where is he right now? And if you're wrong then while we are gone they could destroy all the evidence and make us look like the real crooks in the process."

Gail pointed at her feet and said, "If we're going tramping through the woods, I'm going to need some shoes besides these tennis shoes."

Edie said, "I think there's a pair of my boots in Matt's closet."

Chuck stopped, looked at Edie for a second, smiled and then nodded. "There's a lot about you and Matt that we still don't know. I never realized you were so in love with my brother."

#  Chapter 22

Max Pary and Walt Brooks, seated across the desk from one another, waited in the Veal's timber mill office. Pary's face was bright red with rage as he shouted at the hapless Brooks. "You couldn't even finish a simple thing like this? Have you got your people out looking for them?"

Brooks shrugged, "They cut the tires on the patrol cars, even cut most of the ones on our personal cars too. I sent everybody out driving whatever they could find or borrow. They have portable radios or cell phones with them."

"Well, Brooks? I can have the judge here in town issue a warrant for their arrest."

Brooks shook his head. "Not yet. I'd have too much explaining to do and there's too much evidence to destroy. I can't risk one of them talking to the GBI. What if they've figured out too much?"

A truck pulled into the yard outside and a few seconds later Thompson burst through the door. His pinkish face was a livid red. "Max? Did you know that guy they picked up near the creek is FBI?"

Pary sat bolt upright and whimpered "What?"

"Barton, that old trapper, is an undercover agent, a fed."

Brooks laughed, "You're crazy. Ed Barton is a bum. We wanted to get rid of him because he's a witness about the car. I was afraid he might have seen Anderson dumping it in the creek."

Thompson pointed a finger at Brooks, "Well I was just talking to one of my boys who knew that Barton looked familiar. Tonight he remembered him from a few years ago when he was busted for selling stolen goods. His name isn't Barton...its Meadows and he's FBI, and he's sharp, real sharp."

Max almost screamed, "If the Feds are already in the area that means they could know about our whole operation by now. Just think, Walt. You had him in jail and our problems were about to be solved."

Thompson sat down on a nearby chair. "They got away?"

Pary waved an angry hand at the Sheriff. "This idiot here let them get away."

Thompson jumped back to his feet and paced the floor. "You reckon' we should high tail it out of town? You know that Brooks is going to call for backup now and we could be up to our ears in cops any time now."

Brooks stood, shook his head. "If the Feds are here then quit right now and get out of here."

Max jumped to his feet and shrieked "It would all be over if you hadn't bungled all this at the jail, you idiot."

Pary was livid. "You stay put Brooks and don't do anything except what I tell you. I'm in charge here and I'll figure a way out of this mess. Do you understand? We can't just turn tails and run. There's another shipment due in this week and we have to be here. The whole deal is worth half a million dollars."

Thompson looked at Max and said, "There's something else, Max. Your sister is with Chuck Veal right now. She helped bust him out of the hospital earlier tonight."

Pary angrily threw a handful of papers from the desk and screeched, "Do what? Edie is with Veal?"

Thompson nodded and Pary slammed his fist on the desk. "What is she doing mixed up in this? Thompson shipped her boyfriend out of here on that last flight to keep her out of this mess."

Brooks took a deep sigh. "Well, don't count me in. I'm gone and that's all there is to it. I'm just a small town Sheriff and I can't run interference for you with the FBI. They'll take this county apart, piece by piece."

Pary pointed an angry finger, "What did I just say? You'll do what I tell you and nothing less."

"She's your sister, Max. Are you going to kill her too?"

Pary said bitterly, "I have means of keeping her quiet. I promise you."

A car engine sounded in the distance. Thompson glanced out the window and said, "It's a sheriff's car."

Brooks stood. "They got mine going. Now Pary, I'll try to find Veal and that bunch, but once I do, I'm gone. The lid could come off this operation and I'm not going to wait around and see."

Max said, "Go find them Walt, bring them back to me here, alive."

Brooks nodded, turned and walked out of the office. Pary said quietly to Thompson. "If the lid comes off, you kill that stupid jerk and kill him quick. He would sing four verses of Amazing Grace to the FBI just to save his own hide."

Thompson nodded. Max continued, "I got an idea that might work. Here's what I need for you to do."

***

Jacobs eased the patrol car closer to the ditch on the side of the road. Catfish, Meadows, Squires and Edie rode in the rear seat while Gail and Chuck sat up front with Jacobs driving. Catfish said, "If it was left up to me, we'd have pushed this car into a hole someplace. It's the first thing they'll be looking for."

"I know, Catfish." Chuck said. "But if somebody comes along the road here and they notice us down at the cemetery, they'll see this police car and figure, why bother calling the sheriff's office? They're already here."

Jacobs climbed out and opened the rear door for the others. Chuck helped Gail out and cautioned her of the sudden drop where the ditch began. Jacobs, Meadows and Catfish gathered the tools from the trunk and closed it quietly.

Chuck took the flashlight, helped Gail and Edie across the ditch, over the fence, then flicked the light on and searched around in the bushes. He spotted a game trail. "Is this the one, Edie?"

"She shrugged, "I don't know. Which direction is the cemetery from here? I'm lost in the dark like this."

He pointed but Jacobs corrected him by several degrees. Either way the trail led away in the general direction. "Let's try it," Chuck said.

The woods were dark and there was no moon in the sky. Chuck held one light to spot the way while Squires saved the other for the task ahead. Each person in line had to follow the one in front almost blindly

Catfish stumbled several times and every once in a while a tree branch would slap at his face. Squires, not doing too well his own self, noted that Meadows had little trouble with the trail. "You've been in the woods quite a bit, haven't you?"

"I was raised around worse than this. Besides, I had lots of practice lately while keeping an eye on the runway and the beaver project at the dam, too."

Catfish, at the rear of the pack, said, "My daddy used to say a rattlesnake would bite the third person in a line of people walking past him like this. Who's number three?"

Squires, walking just behind Chuck and Gail, said, "Shut up, Catfish. You are clumping around back there like an elephant in a mouse hole."

Catfish laughed. "We're huntin' skunks, not elephants."

The game trail curved away into the blackness. Chuck paused. "This must not be it."

Jacobs said, "Yea. I told you the cemetery was more over this way. That trail should start angling more to the right soon."

Chuck moved across a clear area and lost sight of the trail. He kept moving straight and picked it back up as the weeds closed in around him once again. The six of them plodded on for another fifty feet until Chuck found where the trail crossed an old rusted fence. Everyone bunched up and peered into the emptiness ahead. "This is it." Chuck said. "Grandpa's grave should be over this way about thirty feet."

Jacobs shook his head. "I'm not sure. It's been a long time since I came in from the back like this."

Chuck stepped across the fence, helped Gail and then Edie, and said, "Come on I can find it."

They crossed the squeaking fence and moved about searching. Chuck continued to follow the game trail remembering that the grave was close to that.

Catfish, again at the rear of the group, looked back into the darkness. He wasn't happy about being in a cemetery at night, let alone digging into one of the old graves. He kept asking, "What if Matt's body is in there?" The idea of seeing a decomposing Matt frightened him worse than the thought of some spirit not liking their intrusion in the graveyard. A cold shiver ran down his back and he glanced around again but saw nothing.

Chuck spotted an area of dull rusty colored red near the edge of the trail and pointed. "This is it over here."

They worked their way through the knee-high grass and looked down at the brick topped grave of Tom Veal in silence.

Chuck said, "These bricks have been moved around lately. Can you tell it?"

Jacobs nodded while Meadows squatted and examined them more closely. "It's pretty hard to tell in this light."

Chuck pointed, "Right now the bricks are lined up like fireplace bricks, off set with half of one brick lapping over on half of another. The only way I've ever known those bricks to be laid out was end-to-end, butted together and squared directly on top of one another. I noticed it when I was here Friday morning."

Squires spoke, "Then somebody has been here digging for sure. If your theory is right, Chuck, then his body should be down there."

"It's not there," Gail said again.

Meadows pried a brick loose with his fingers. "I can see chips of the old mortar lying around. Somebody did break this apart recently and the dirt under feels pretty soft, fresh dug maybe."

Catfish asked, "Wouldn't they have busted up a bunch of the bricks, tearing them loose from the cement like that?"

Chuck shook his head. "They didn't use cement too much back in those days. They used an old mortar mix that doesn't bind together like cement. It breaks apart fairly easy."

Meadows started lifting bricks and stacking them to one side. Jacobs joined him but Catfish was hesitant. Chuck, Gail and Edie stood watching. He whispered to Gail "I should be helping."

Gail grasped his arm and said, "No. You are in no shape for that. You take it easy. You're still pale and I imagine your poor head is killing you."

He smiled. "I saw my poor head in the mirror earlier. I could win a prize for the Mr. Ugly contest."

Blake stopped a moment later to wipe sweat from his forehead. Even at night, the Georgia humidity would cause huge beads of it on anyone doing heavy labor. When he noticed Catfish standing back watching, he pointed at one of the shovels and said, "You'll get your turn as soon as these bricks are out of the way."

Catfish stepped over, knelt down and began moving three bricks to their one. He didn't want to be the individual to find Matt's body on the end of a shovel.

Meadows took the first turn with the shovel while the others stood back watching. A moment later, he paused to catch his breath and said, "The dirt is soft. Somebody has been in here recently digging."

Squires took the next ten minutes and then Catfish for a nervy five. He would gently press the tip of the shovel into the dark earth, expecting it to strike Matt's body at any moment.

By the time, Meadows returned to the dig, the hole was several feet deep. He placed the tip of the shovel against the floor of the hole, shoved it in with the tip of his foot, and immediately struck something. The others moved closer and leaned inward trying to see. Catfish's eyes grew several sizes larger.

With Squires holding the light, Frank squatted in the hole and sifted through the dirt until his fingers caught something that looked like blue jeans. He brushed across it; clearing the dirt away and the Levi jeans emblem of a back pocket appeared.

Catfish said, "Come on out of there and let me take a turn."

He helped him out of the hole and then stepped in. With a few cautious thrusts of the shovel, he cleared the dirt further away, then dropped to his knees and scratched with his hands. When he next stood, he was holding a man's billfold.

Blake moved the light closer and watched Catfish flip it open. A Georgia driver's license was in a side slot. The name to the left of the picture said "Robert B. Ackerman."

"Huh" Catfish said then held it up to Jacobs and said, "It's Bobby Ackerman, not Matt."

Chuck felt a ton of weight fall from his heart. He gave a deep sigh of relief and sat down atop the piled dirt. Blake said "Ackerman. Isn't he a young kid that works for Max Pary? Who killed him and left him like this?"

Nobody spoke so Blake motioned at Catfish and said, "Let's get him out of there and keep digging."

Jacobs cautioned "The crime lab needs things left like they are right now. We could be wrecking forensic evidence here." Nobody said anything as Catfish picked up the shovel again and started digging.

A half hour later, they had freed the body of Ackerman and moved further back and into the darkness. Jacobs looked at the bloody wound on the boy's left side stomach area. "He's been in the ground a week or so, not much longer. That's about the time Matt turned up missing. Looks like somebody stabbed this guy with an axe or something."

Gail, sensing more details than she wanted to admit, said, "Matt killed him with a pick axe. It was self-defense. Matt swung the axe and killed him."

Chuck looked at Gail. "You're picking all that up right now?"

"Yes, and it's clear in my mind. This happened recently, probably in the last week or less.

Meadows took the next round of digging and immediately struck something hard, metallic and long. He cleared away most of the dirt on top of the box then looked up at Blake and said, "This is a military cargo packing box. It seals watertight and you can pump the air out too. There's a release catch on the side. Should I open it up now?"

Jacobs nodded and watched him feel around the sides of the box, then tug at a release lever. A hissing sound emitted from the crate and the lid popped upward an inch, then using both hands, he pulled the cover away and peered inside. The box, filled to the top with bags of something white, lay open. Catfish asked, "Sugar? Why would anybody want to stash all this sugar out here?"

Using the tip of a pocket knife, he punched a small hole in one of the bags and raised the smudged blade tip to his tongue. He tasted and then spat. "It's not sugar, Catfish. It's cocaine, pure cocaine. I'd guess the street value on this much would be at least two or three hundred thousand dollars, depending on how it's cut, maybe more."

Jacobs whistled softly. "Wow. No wonder they're running around killing people. That's a lot of money. Do they bring this stuff in by truck?"

Meadows shook his head. "They got an old C 130 big four engine military surplus airplane. They fly down to the Bahamas, Mexico or Columbia, somewhere like that, pick up a load and bring it back here. I guess they stash it here and wait for somebody to pick it up or whatever. Being as there are no safe warehouses in the area, this grave is probably the safest place to hide it. We may have to dig up the whole cemetery to see if there's more."

Blake sighed. "Yea but are we right back where we started? Is Matt's body down there deeper, under that crate?"

"No it's not," Gail said again only this time everyone nodded in agreement.

Jacobs said, "If Matt isn't here then we can't prove who this stuff belongs to unless we catch them red handed. Plus, if Gail is right and Matt did kill Ackerman, then you can bet Brooks will try to pin that on us or him one. We might be putting a new monkey on Matt's record, murder."

Chuck said, "Okay. Let's get out of here for now. We'll go back to the original idea and get out of town. We can wait in Macon. Maybe the state and feds can put enough evidence together to put most of them away for a while. That will put Max Pary out of the narcotics business at least."

Silently everyone nodded. Chuck, with Gail beside him and held tightly in his arm, followed the rest of the group back out of the woods. Catfish asked, pointing at the body of Ackerman. "We just gonna' leave him laying out for the buzzards at sunup?"

Blake said, "He's right. Why don't we toss some of the bricks over the body? The state lab boys Jacobs was talking about might appreciate it."

***

Fifteen minutes later, they were back at the police car, standing on the hard clay road surface about to get in. Jacobs said, "We'll need to stop and gas up before we leave town."

A voice yelled from the shadows. "I wouldn't be in such a hurry if I were you."

All eyes turned quickly. Jacobs' hand moved to the gun holster on the back of his belt. "Don't try it, Jacobs. I'd kill you before you cleared leather."

Chuck felt the world closing in quickly. All this could be wasted unless help arrived fast. The voice from the dark gave a shrill whistle and a set of headlights snapped on from several hundred feet down the road. An engine roared to life and a dark blue pick up truck pulled closer. In the light's reflections, they saw Thompson standing on the edge of the road holding a heavy carbine rifle leveled at Blake's stomach.

The truck pulled up beside him, stopped, and Anderson climbed out of the cab also clutching a rifle mounted with a high power scope.

Thompson, feeling more confident by Anderson's arrival, relaxed slightly and smiled. "Looks like we caught all our chickens at the same time, doesn't it? Now get their guns Anderson and check the car. We'll take us a little ride."

Chuck snapped, "Thompson? The whole town is going to be crawling with the FBI any minute now. You can forget it. It's over."

"Let's not get in too big of a hurry now, Mr. Veal or I might decide to kill you here and now instead of waiting."

"Waiting for what, your little puppeteer to pull one of your strings?"

Thompson's smile faded quickly. "I said, shut up. One more word out of you and I'll blow your head off."

Anderson took Bill's pistol, checked the others for weapons including the women, and then found Matt's rifle on the front seat of the car where Chuck had placed it earlier. Thompson pointed at the car and said, "Get in, all of you. Miss Pary and I will ride up front with the good deputy."

Edie hissed, "I'd rather ride with a rattlesnake..."

"You must have misunderstood me, Miss Pary. I said you and I were riding up front and you are much more the snake than I am. After all, you are the snake who turned against your own brother. Now let's all get along nice and get in the car like I told you."

Chuck, Gail, Blake, Catfish and Meadows scrunched together into the back of the patrol car. They were crowded so much that Gail had to sit in Chuck's lap to make enough room. Thompson had little to worry about from the rear seat passengers. There was no way to open the back doors of a police cruiser from the inside. A thick, wire mesh partition separated the front and rear seats of the police unit as well.

Anderson followed them for a few miles then turned off on another road. Thompson watched the truck disappear and said, "He's gone to get Sheriff Brooks."

Jacobs felt lost and helpless yet a glimmer of hope still lurked in the back of his mind. Thompson was too confident and if he made any mistakes, Jacobs would have to be ready.

When the patrol car pulled up to the intersection with the highway, Bill looked at Thompson and asked, "Which way, where are we going?"

Thompson motioned left with the barrel of Jacob's pistol and snapped, "Head for the Veal Timber mill."

Chuck shouted from the back seat. "Do what? Why are we going there, Thompson?"

"Cause that's where I say we're going. Now get this thing moving, Jacobs."

He spun the wheel left and pressed the gas heavily. The motion sent Thompson crashing against the passenger door but the gun held steadily pointed at Edie, hardly wavered. "You try that again, Deputy, and I'm liable to shoot the lady here. At this close range, that bullet is going to come out her other side and get you too."

"You wouldn't hurt her, Thompson. Max would kill you for even thinking about it."

In the rearview mirror, Meadows caught Bill's eye and nodded his head slightly. Jacobs knew it meant that Anderson had not found the hidden ankle gun during his search. That gun might be their only hope to stay alive.

The patrol car moved quickly along the dark highway. Chuck leaned forward in the back seat and asked, "Thompson, how did you kill Matt?"

The man laughed but ignored the statement. Chuck pushed harder. "Did Max Pary order you to kill my brother?"

Thompson turned to Edie beside him and snapped, "And to think that you were running around with a bunch like this. They think your brother killed Matt. Don't you have any family pride at all?"

Edie returned Thompson's stare and said, "I don't think my brother killed Matt, but I know he paid somebody else to do it but not you. You're too stupid and a coward."

Thompson almost hit her but stopped. "Well you're wrong, sister. Your brother didn't kill anybody and neither did I? But you're right about one thing. Matt Veal is dead."

Chuck, pushing his finger tips through the screen partition, snapped, "The only way you could know that is to have been there when Matt was killed. You did it, didn't you Thompson? You pulled the trigger on my brother."

Thompson turned in the seat and pointed his gun in Chuck's face. "Sit back in the seat or do you want me to kill you right here in front of these pretty ladies? I caught your stupid brother snooping around the airstrip. Our friends gave him a free ride out of town on an airplane and you can rest assured it was a one-way ticket. Now shut up."

They rode the rest of the way in silence. Chuck knew if what Thompson said were true about Matt then there would be no body, no evidence of murder, making it almost impossible to nail Pary and Thompson for anything but nickel and dime drug running. Right now, the main problem was how to stall. Then, he also remembered the gun strapped around Meadow's ankle.

Pulling the car into the mill yard, Jacobs looked at Thompson who motioned him to drive to the office building. The lights were burning inside and a gray Corvette sat parked in front. It belonged to Max Pary.

Jacobs stopped the car and Thompson ordered, "Cut the motor. We wait here while Miss Pary goes inside."

"What?" Edie cried.

"Your brother wants to see you so get out."

She turned and looked at Chuck. Her face was rigid and frightened. Chuck nodded and attempted to smile. "Go ahead, Edie. Talk to him."

Thompson opened the car door and stepped out. Edie glanced back at Chuck and Gail, and then slid out of the car.

"He's in there. Go ahead." Thompson said pointing.

She stepped to the office porch and stopped, afraid to go any further. The realization that Max was a cold-blooded killer made her nauseous and ill. My brother has gone insane!

The office door snapped open and Max Pary stood in the opening, glaring out at his sister. He pulled the door open wide and said, "Get in here, Edie."

She took a deep breath and stepped through the doorway. He motioned at a nearby chair, closed the door, and barked, "Are you crazy or something? Why do you keep getting mixed up in these things? "

Edie stared at her brother and asked, "Why are you mixed up in murder?"

He raised a hand to slap her but stopped. She didn't flinch or draw away; she simply stared back at him, almost daring him to hit her, glaring into his eyes with something he had never seen before coming from his sister. Hate.

"Go ahead, dear brother. Slap away but you're not going to stop me from telling the FBI about all your little schemes, especially about having Matt killed."

His hand wavered in mid air and then slowly lowered back to his side. "Edie don't you understand? I'm doing this for all of us; the Beaver Dam project and protecting Aunt Abatha, everything."

She hissed, "So you had Matt killed to keep the family secret quiet or was it to protect your little side business with the drug runners? If not all that then maybe you were out to steal Matt's property to help finance your precious real estate scheme?"

"Shut up, Edie. Nobody knows the family secret but you and me and that has little to do with what's happening tonight."

"What about Aunt Abatha and what about those people outside? Are you going to kill them all too? They have our Mother's diary now, Max. They know everything. Did you also know that Ed Barton is an undercover FBI agent?"

Max shrugged, "It doesn't matter because all of them have to go. They know too much and could wreck everything I've worked so hard for in the last three years."

Her eyes widened in disbelief. "Why, max? Why do you have to be a part of murder? Is the family money and prestige that important to you?"

His eyes narrowed to slits and his face became a mask of darkness. Through clenched teeth he hissed, "Matt Veal was going to expose and destroy us. If nothing else, he was going to take us to court to try to take Whispering Pines away. We don't have the money or time to fight something like that right now. You knew that yourself because you were helping him."

She could see that Max had lost it mentally. He had snapped. Now all she could try to do was stall for time, praying the FBI would arrive soon.

Sooth him, cool him down. Make him ease up and relax.

She chose her next words carefully. "Max? You're my brother and I love you."

"I don't want to hear all that right now, Edie. I don't have a choice. I have to get rid of them all, tonight. As you said, the cops are on the way and if I'm not here later this week to receive another drug shipment then I'm a dead man anyway, so there's nothing you can do to stop me. It has to be done."

"Then you'll have to kill me too, Max. I'm not going to sit quietly by while you murder my friends outside."

He stepped back leaning against the desk and spread his hands wide, pleading. "Edie they're not your friends. Aunt Abatha has been broke for over a year now and I've managed to keep it hidden from her. All our money, everything I could scrape together is tied up in the real estate project. I ran out of cash and needed more to keep us solvent until the lake front property starts selling. The farm is broke too, Edie. I had to make deals with certain people to distribute their drug shipments in exchange for hard cash. I had to bribe bankers here in town to launder their money."

Edie snapped, "How could you deal with such scum of the earth? You should know that once they get their hooks in you, they never let go, Max. They'll kill you first."

Pary shook his head. "No. They promised I could get out any time I wanted and this project at Beaver Creek will let me cut loose and go back to an honest living."

"Max?" Edie cried. "Nothing justifies murder. Did you kill Matt for drugs or was it because he knew about the diary."

She slowly rose to her feet, "Or maybe it was because you knew I was in love with him?"

"I knew all of that, Edie, and yes. He was close to taking Whispering Pines Plantation away from us and with how I've got it tied in with the project; he would have taken the land around the lake as well. He was going to ruin us, put us out on the streets flat broke and homeless, including Aunt Abatha. Is that what you want? Why in God's name didn't Aunt Abatha burn our mother's diary?"

Edie shouted, "Don't you realize that Aunt Abatha murdered her own sister...our mother? She forged all those papers that gave us title to Whispering Pines. She never owned it legally. You, Matt Veal, and I owned it and she stole it like everything else you are trying to steal right now. Give it up, Max. It's all over."

He jumped to his feet and shouted harshly, "We don't have to give it up. The only proof is destroyed. We burned our mother's old diary. Remember?"

She shook her head. "No, we burned a fake copy I made. The real one I kept and gave it to Matt. It's in her handwriting and proves everything. It's legal and will hold up in court."

He sighed heavily. "Edie the money from my business associates is going to put the project back on track and make us rich again. Can't you understand that? The only people stopping us are those outside so we have to get rid of them."

She stood silent. He finally waved his hands in disgust and shouted, "I can't even make payroll beyond the next six weeks unless I receive that shipment this week. When Thompson caught Veal at the airstrip, I realized I could kill three birds with one stone. Getting him out of the way would save Whispering Pines, it would save the Beaver Dam project, and most important of all, it would save our life and lively hood, our only source of income. Would you rather I took a job at one of the timber mills as a lumber stacker or something?"

She stood, turned her back and whispered, "I'll have no part of murder. We can survive without killing to do it and stacking lumber is at least an honest way to make a living."

Spinning quickly, she added, "Only now you've destroyed any chance we had of doing that and killed the man I loved and wanted to marry in the process."

"I am not going to explain it to you again, Edie. Matt was the key to saving us and he had to go. "

# Chapter 23

Two vehicles pulled into the mill yard. Max glanced out the window and said. "It's Anderson and Rusty with Sheriff Brooks."

Max stepped around Edie and opened the door. Moving out on the porch, he waited until Anderson walked up and braced one foot on the lower step. "He came along quiet."

Max moved down the steps, trying to be out of Edie's earshot then whispered, "Take all of them down to the chipper and kill them."

Anderson smiled, nodded, and turned to leave but Max grabbed his shoulder and added, "Take the Sheriff too. The FBI will be here soon and we can't afford to have him turning against us to save his own hide."

Anderson raised an eyebrow in surprise. Pary simply nodded. "Do it Anderson. Our necks depend on it."

Edie gasped from behind. She had overheard. "The Sheriff too, Max? You can't do that. For God's sake, you can't do that."

He pointed at Anderson. "Do it and make it clean and quick."

Anderson said, "They dug up some of the merchandise and they found the body of Ackerman. We need to clean that up tonight too. You want me to send somebody back over there now?"

"Finish up here first, and then do it."

Anderson walked away and Edie grabbed Max by the arm. "Please Max. Don't do this. They'll know. The FBI will know and you'll never get away with it."

"Edie, shut up now. There's no other way. I've got to."

Edie said earnestly, "Then you better kill me too because I'm going to tell the FBI everything. I could never live with all of this on my mind"

"If you don't co operate, Edie, I've already made plans for you at the mental institution in Savannah."

"Do what?" She cried. "Me insane? Maybe you'd better have a look in the mirror, dear brother."

"You appear emotionally unstable at the moment. I will have you committed for all these distorted, grand illusions about all that has happened recently. I'm sure the judge will sign the papers to have you institutionalized."

He walked away, back into the office and sat down behind the desk. The lights in the room suddenly dimmed and from the far end of the mill, Edie heard the squeal of engine belts and the angry hum of electric motors struggling to start and turn the rotor drum and blades in the wood chipper.

A cold shiver raced up her backbone. She had to do something, but what? Stepping back into the office, she focused her eyes on a gun lying on the desk before Max. Walking over slowly and reaching, she said, "Then I guess you leave me no choice."

Without looking up, Max said, "That's better, Edie. This is the only way."

***

Jacobs, seated behind the wheel of the patrol car, watched the exchange between Max Pary and Anderson. Sheriff Brooks stood just outside the open car door of the patrol car oblivious to anything said from the porch.

"Walt?" Jacobs said finally. "I can't believe you are involved with this. How long have you been his little tadpole?"

"Shut up, Bill. I've already told them I'm out. I didn't know anything about killing Matt until the other day. They told me and that is when I told them I was through."

"Walt, are you stupid enough to believe that Max Pary will let you simply walk away? He can't risk that Walt and the drug runners can't risk him leaving either. They'll kill both of you first. Help us get out of here and maybe I can get the GBI to cut you some slack."

Brooks leaned over into the car and barked, "I said shut up. I know what I'm doing."

Anderson returned to the car a moment later, nodded at Brooks and then pointed to the open door."

"Climb in, Walt. You're going for a little ride with us."

"Didn't Max tell you? I'm out?"

"Sure, he told me. We just have to finish up with business here and then you can leave."

Brooks shook his head. "No. I'm leaving right now. Get out of my way."

Anderson swung the gun barrel up to Walt's sweaty face and growled, "Get in the car, Walt. You're going with us."

With his free hand, Anderson reached for the holster on Brooks' belt and removed the police issue automatic. Walt stood gawking in disbelief for a second too long. Thompson, who had been standing near the front of the car, moved back to where they stood, looked at Anderson who nodded, then shoved Brooks down and into the car. As he slid in beside Brooks, Thompson snapped at Jacobs and said, "Drive."

"Where to, we could be at Six Flags in a couple of hours or how about Tybee Island? Don't you love the beach?"

"Move it Jacobs and head over toward the gang saws. We've got some waste wood that needs to run through the chipper tonight."

Jacobs' throat turned dry and scratchy. They would need that break soon to get out of this mess. He started the car and looked over at Thompson. "You'll never get away with this. The GBI and the FBI are going to wrap this town up tight before sunrise."

"Well, none of you will be around to see it. It's a shame to waste such a pretty lady like that one too," he added, pointing at Gail in the back seat. "Maybe she and I should take a little walk to the other side of the chip pile first."

"You do that and I'll choke you with my bare hands." Gail snapped. "I'd rather jump in the chipper than have you touch me."

The patrol car swung up to the sawyer platform and Thompson motioned at Jacobs. "This is far enough. Shut it off and get out slow. If anybody makes a sudden move then you're all dead."

Thompson got out first, keeping the gun pointed at the car but mainly the Sheriff. He waited for the other men to arrive including Anderson. Then with all the guns covering, he opened the rear doors while motioning Jacobs and Brooks out.

Meadows moved his hand toward his ankle but Chuck quickly stopped him and whispered, "Not in the car. It's too tight for a clear shot."

With Anderson in the lead and Thompson at the rear, the group of prisoners quietly climbed the steep steps and walked onto the platform above the chipper belts.

Jacobs stood motionless, staring at the mouth of the machine and feeling the platform vibrate as the three phase electric motors fought to keep the ten-ton rotor and blade system inside the machine revolving.

Chuck pulled Gail closer and felt her quivering. He made a silent vow that if he was going to die then somehow, someway; he was going to drag Thompson into the machine with him.

Anderson, rifle in hand, stood to one side of the trough that held the turning, flat feed belt. The constantly revolving belt system was made to catch scrap pieces of wood and limbs from the block saws and then pull them into the teeth of the chipper. It didn't take a lot of imagination to realize that a human being stood little chance of rescue once they were down in the seven-foot deep tray and on the moving belt.

Anderson's partner, a kid named Rusty, stepped closer to the group with his gun cocked and level at Blake. Chuck thought it amazing how crooks could easily spot the most dangerous person in a crowd and single them out and Blake was a raging bull just waiting and looking for a slight edge to swing into action. Rusty, looking into the man's burning eyes, well knew it too.

Sheriff Brooks turned to Thompson and said, "Are you going to kill me too?"

"No." He said and stepped over beside him. He placed his free hand on Walt's trembling shoulder and said, "I'm not going to kill you, Walt."

Brooks grinned. "Good. I thought there for a moment..."

Thompson cut him off. "But the chipper is going to grind you into itty bitty pieces and save me the trouble."

Brooks' eyes widened in horror "No, Thompson. Don't do it. I'll keep quiet. I'm not going to talk. I promise! I promise!"

Thompson shoved Brooks backwards toward the belt tracks. The Sheriff stumbled to the edge of the drop off and hung in mid air for a second. Chuck knew that even a six-foot tall man like Walt, once down in the mouth of the machine, would find it impossible to crawl back up the shiny, slick metal sides.

Jacobs, still feeling something for his old boss and fellow law officer, stepped forward to stop the man's plunge but Anderson's rifle swung quickly in line with his belt buckle. The man stood smiling, almost daring Jacobs to move again.

Helplessly, they watched Brooks lose balance and disappear over the edge of the rim. His body landed on the moving conveyer belt and rolled. He screamed. "No, Thompson. I'll keep my mouth shut."

Desperately he grabbed at a loosely riveted seam in the sheet metal and for a second, his fingers locked and held. Blood poured from them as the sharp edges cut deeply to the bones. "No, Thompson. Get me out of here. I'm not going to talk."

Thompson, unhappy that the Sheriff had found something to hold onto, stepped back and pulled a lever on the gang saw console. A heavy thud sounded from the forward end of the plant and a twenty-foot long oak tree trunk hit the belts. The huge log plowed along, pulled by the belts of the conveyer, and then caught Brooks squarely in the chest.

With a sick screech of fingernails and wood against metal, he lost his grip from the finger hold, the appendages ripped from the joints. His arms flailed wildly in the air and huge geysers of bright red blood spurted from the tips of what had been his four main fingers.

Gail screamed, turning her head and hiding it in Chuck's chest. The others watched in sick disbelief as Brooks rolled and tumbled along, forced by the huge log into the feeder on the huge machine.

For a desperate second Brooks grabbed the top of the log and managed to flip sideways and the log rumbled past but a protruding limb stub caught his shirt. It dragged him to the edge of the machine's mouth.

With a last, tremendous effort, he pulled himself forward and almost reached an overhead support brace but his blood-coated fingertips couldn't grip the slippery edges. The belt carried him the final few feet. With a horrified scream, he fell forward, head away from the blades, and the first set of cutters took off both of his legs even with the calves. The machine's suction and force from the first blow jerked his body deeper and he squealed one last time. The next set of blades caught him across the waist and cut him in half. Brooks' face was now expressionless, and then the machine sucked what was left of him off the belts and into the bowels of the grinders. The powerful electric motors barely paused.

Thompson watched the empty belt tray for a moment with a sly, wicked grin of enjoyment on his face. Then, he turned to Catfish, laughed happily, and said, "At least Clark didn't beg when I pushed him inside."

Catfish ripped his eyes from the spot where Brooks disappeared and snapped, "Clark? You've killed Clark?"

Squires stepped closer. "When was this, Thompson?"

With a toothy grin, he sneered, "About two hours ago. Rusty caught him making a phone call at the quick stop downtown. It was easy pickings."

Chuck shouted, "If I get my hands on you, Thompson, you are a dead man. Come on. Give me five minutes with you. You can tie my hands behind my back so how about it?"

"Don't rush it, Veal." Thompson laughed. "I hadn't planned to feed you in until after your lady friend there. So you just wait your turn real patient like."

He motioned to Rusty and watched the expression on Chuck's face as the man leaned his rifle against a nearby wall, grabbed Gail's arm and pulled her away from Chuck. Chuck lunged but Thompson swung the gun barrel and caught him across the side of the face. He went down on one knee in agony.

Thompson sneered at Gail, "Now let's see. I do believe you said that you would jump in the chipper rather than go with me? Is that what you said, pretty lady?"

Chuck, still holding his head, rose quickly and yelled, "Let her go, Thompson. I'm the one you want. Just kill me and let her go."

Thompson laughed and said, "Look, boy, you can run your mouth and I'll put a bullet down your throat or you can sit quiet and I'll be nice and bust your head again before I feed you down the belt. Now it doesn't matter to me if it's a bullet or the chipper."

Rusty snatched at Gail again and Chuck lunged quickly. Squires, seeing the break he wanted, jumped at Anderson. Jacobs, with his back to both men, was too slow to get immediately involved. Thompson whirled quickly and fired at the big black man. Blake grabbed his chest and crumpled to the floor. His arms dangled over the edge of the conveyor belt and blood began pouring from his shirt.

Meadows shouted, "Oh God. I'm sick, I'm sick," and fell sideways, toward but behind, Chuck's figure. Chuck froze when Rusty grasped Gail's head in a deadlock and yelled, "You move any closer and I'll break her neck, Veal."

Meadows hit the floor and pretended to gag and groan.

Thompson, with a gun barrel keeping Jacobs at bay, burst out laughing. "Aw, look at the little federal sissy. Can't take it, can he?"

Meadows, using Chuck's figure to hide his intent, grabbed the hidden pistol from around his ankle and rolled quickly to one side.

Thompson, still laughing, didn't notice until it was too late. Meadows leveled the gun and fired from the floor. The sound was little more than a pop above the machine's roar but Thompson lifted on his heels and clutched at his chest. A look of shock and surprise covered his face.

Chuck stepped over and knocked the gun from his hand, watching it uselessly clatter down into the tray and onto the belt. A second later, it disappeared into the mouth of the machine with a clink and pop. He looked directly into Thompson's eyes. He knew the man was going to fall backward into the chipper and his eyes knew it as well. Full of shock and fear, he moved his hand away from his shirt looked. It was soaked in blood. He held it out and reached toward Chuck for help.

Chuck knew he could save him but a vision of Matt and knowing that Thompson was one of the people responsible for his death, made him hesitate. Could he help the man who seconds ago was trying to kill him?

Before the turmoil in Chuck's mind could be resolved, Thompson's hand groped for thin air and then he tumbled backwards down into the belt tray. He couldn't move, couldn't even try to struggle against the forward motion, and his last vision in this world was of Chuck Veal, standing on the platform over him, still trying to resolve in his own mind, the question of saving Thompson. The motors groaned slightly and the issue became moot. Thompson was gone.

Anderson shocked and still, saw Catfish from his peripheral vision, moving toward him from the side. With a quick motion and turn, he grabbed Catfish by the shirtfront and spun him toward the conveyer tray. Catfish landed on the rough floor, rolled over the edge, and then down onto the machine's belt. He felt the pull of the conveyer dragging him closer to the mouth of the machine. He could hear the razor sharp teeth whizzing on the rotors at 1700 rpm. He tried to stand but fell sideways, and then slipped forward. He made it to his knees but belt motion rolled him over again. With a quick snatch, he caught himself with a sloppy jump upward and made a one hand catch on the upper brace that Brooks had ever so slightly missed reaching himself. The bar was thin and weak, but was holding for the moment. The tip of Catfish's boots dangled inches from the massive, whirling, blades.

Jacobs, seeing his cousin go over the edge, dove forward, sliding on his belly to the edge of the belt tray. With both hands, he reached over the side and stretched himself out as far as he could but it was a half-foot short.

At the same moment that Jacobs hit the floor, Rusty realized that Chuck would leave him alone to save Gail, much like Jacobs had gone for Catfish. He shoved her forward and toward the belt tray. She landed face down and then rolled over the edge but managed, with her smaller hands, to grab at a crack between the tray and the plank deck of the platform. She had a weak handhold on the lip of the tray with the tips of her fingers. Chuck jumped to save her. Rusty broke and ran but Anderson swung the barrel of his gun in line with the moving figure of Chuck and began to tighten on the trigger.

From the distant fence of the lumberyard, a lone rifle shot cracked. The powder flash from the end of the barrel lit up the area all around and a heavy "boom" echoed through the sheds of the mill.

The bullet hit Anderson in the throat that proved to be just enough action to knock his aim away. His gun fired and wood splinters spit upward from the floor near Chuck spattering him in the face and neck, but he still reached Gail.

Ignoring the pain, he grabbed both her hands below the wrists and pulled her back over the edge of the tray lips. He turned and watched Anderson fall sideways and hit the floor. His rifle clattered beside him.

Rusty, having stopped his escape for a moment hoping Anderson could get the upper hand with the rifle, lunged for the dropped gun, grabbed it and rolled over on his back. He took quick aim at Jacobs and Catfish spotted him and yelled, "Bill? He's gonna' shoot. Watch out for the gun, Bill."

Chuck, once Gail was safe, turned and yelled at Rusty. "Hey. Do you have trouble with acid indigestion?"

Rusty looked and then moved his aim from Jacobs to Chuck. Meadows, down on the floor bleeding, couldn't fire because Chuck and Gail were standing in the way. He moved sideways for a clear shot.

Rusty saw him moving, saw the gun in Meadow's hand, aimed and fired at the FBI agent. He felt the jolt striking his body and tried to take another aim. Rusty, seeing the blood pouring from the topside of Meadow's chest, found new courage, tilted the rifle back toward Chuck and Gail. Above the roar of the machines, Chuck heard a familiar shout. "Chuck? Catch."

Standing on the ground some twenty feet away was his brother, Matt Veal. Beside him stood Edie Pary and a female State Patrol Officer holding a rifle. Edie's face was scratched and ashen and her clothes torn in several places. Matt had tossed a handgun into the air and it was sailing toward Chuck. The state trooper was taking aim with the rifle but couldn't fire.

Chuck gauged the arc of the gun in the air and could tell that it would fall several feet short so he jumped just as Rusty's rifle boomed and a bullet whizzed past his ears.

Chuck made a wobbly catch in mid air with the tips of his fingers. The Patrol Officer's rifle boomed and a metal crossbeam near Rusty pinged loudly and the bullet ricocheted harmlessly away into the night.

Rusty fired again and Chuck felt the hot lead whip past his head. Still in the air, Chuck's fist and fingers fumbled the thrown gun, wobbled it a precious second more, and then locked onto the barrel. With a radical flip of the wrist, Chuck made a fast spin and the gun handle settled into the palm of his hand. Just as his body began to fall, he swung the barrel up and at Rusty. The floor won the race and knocked Chuck's aim off by a foot and the bullet whizzed away harmlessly. He steadied himself from the fall lying prone on the floor, aimed again and fired two rapid shots back to back.

Rusty jolted backwards against the wall and a red blotch formed on the front of his shirt. The second bullet missed but spattered wood splinters off the wall and into his eyes. The State Patrol officer's rifle barked again and this time made it home. Rusty's chest exploded and he was dead before his head touched the floor. His body then rolled several times and finally went over the edge of the tray and into the chipper belt.

Meadows, now about to pass out, saw the flash of the rifle from the corner of his eye. He swung his gun around, found a figure with a rifle standing in the open yard, steadied himself for a second, and fired. In his pain-racked mind, he didn't realize that his bullet missed to the right by several feet and struck Matt Veal. Edie Screamed.

Jacobs, still leaning over trying to get a handhold on his cousin, was in serious danger of falling head first into the tray himself. He glanced up and watched the huge figure of Rusty rolling down the belt toward them.

Chuck shouted but neither of the men could hear while they were so close to the whine and roar at the mouth of the machine. He began running but knew he would never get there in time. Gail, who was closer to Jacobs, dove at the man's feet to give him more ballast from the weight of his body over the gulley of the chipper's mouth.

Catfish struggled to grab Jacobs' extended hand but realized Bill was overbalanced. When he saw the crumpled body racing toward him on the conveyor belt, he first thought it was Blake and he would need to save him. When he recognized Rusty's body, he was back to saving his own self from the coming collision that would jar him loose from the delicate handhold. Could he jump at Jacob's outstretched arms without dragging them both to their death?

Catfish saw Gail dive and pile her weight onto the back of Jacob's legs, realized it might be enough, and with desperate determination, he released his fingers from the beam and lunged at Jacobs' outstretched arms. They locked together and Jacobs took the full weight of both their bulks. It was too much and Gail flew several feet into the air as Jacob's legs lifted off the floor. He started sliding forward and over the edge.

Catfish shouted, "Forget it. Let me go. Let me go."

Jacobs wouldn't do it. He couldn't do it. Using the tips of his boots when they hit the floor again, he tried to dig into the wood, searching for any hold, but he still kept sliding forward. Just as he was about to go over the rim, Gail's body struck his legs again only this time with the added momentum of her fall. It was just enough to tilt the balance back in his and Catfish's favor.

Catfish's feet found a slight indention in the metal wall of the tray and he got the tip of his boot jammed into the area. It was just enough lift to take some of his own weight back from Jacobs but if he slipped again, it would mean the death of them both.

Jacobs felt his grip on Catfish's arms slipping but at the last second, Catfish suddenly felt lighter. With the body of Rusty rolling closer and closer toward them, Bill tossed all caution aside and yanked with all his strength. The force lifted Gail, who was sprawled over his legs, shooting back into the air for a second time only this time she had a hard grip around Jacob's knees and held on for all their dear lives.

Jacobs lifted Catfish's body up and over the edge of the conveyer belt and rolled him down safely on the floor next to him. Gail looked up with a flushed face and a cut on her chin from hitting the floor earlier. Catfish had cleared the tray just as the body of Rusty slammed against the wall where only seconds before, he and Jacobs both had dangled so close to death.

Chuck, still ten feet away but moving saw Catfish clear the sides and roll with Jacobs and Gail against the building's wall. He raced over and helped Gail to her feet, and then hugged her with both arms. Catfish lay staring around in surprise and gasping for breath, then spotted Blake laying on the floor bleeding. "Blake?" he yelled.

Everyone raced over to Blake whose shirtfront was soaked in blood. Chuck felt for a pulse looked at Jacobs and said, "He's alive but this is a serious wound. Catfish? Go get a car and let's get him and Meadows to the hospital."

Gail checked Meadows while he tried to focus his eyes on the three shapes in the yard, one a woman who was on her knees beside a man, another was also a woman holding a rifle and wearing a uniform? She was shouting something he couldn't understand through the pain and the woman on her knees was holding up the palm of her hands toward him and yelling. Was she protecting him?

"Okay" Meadows mumbled to Gail. "I'll shoot the sucker later." Then, he rolled onto his back and passed out cold.

Jacobs stepped over and saw the blood on the agent's side and more coming from his chest. "Chuck, Frank is hit."

Looking down at the yard below, he saw Edie leaning over a figure on the ground. At first glance, he thought it was Max Pary. On closer look, he realized it was Matt Veal.

"Matt?" Jacobs shouted. "Oh my God it's Matt?"

Chuck saw Bill shouting and followed his gaze to where Edie was leaning over his brother and then he saw the red soaked front of his shirt. "Matt?"

Gail followed Chuck's eyes and saw Edie and the man on the ground below. "Is that your brother?"

Together, she and Chuck raced to the steps of the platform and took them down two at a time. Chuck skidded in the dust at Matt's side. Blood was pouring from a hole in his side and he cried, "Matt? Matt? Don't die on me now, big brother. Not now, Matt."

Matt opened his sharp, brown, eyes and focused on Chuck. "Did you get 'em, little brother?"

"We got 'em, Matt. Now just lay still and save your breath."

Matt grabbed Chuck's arm and asked, "Was that Frank who shot me?"

Chuck nodded. "Yea I guess he thought you were one of them."

"Is he alive?"

Chuck nodded. "Yea, but he's hit pretty bad. Catfish's going to move the car and we'll take all of you to the hospital."

Matt smiled and said, "Awww...If it was Frank who shot me then I'm going to be okay. He couldn't hit the broad side of a barn if I locked him inside the darn thing."

His eyes closed and he let out a deep sigh. Chuck yelled, "Catfish? Where is the car?"

Five minutes later and with Catfish behind the wheel of the police cruiser, they raced out of the yard toward town leaving a cloud of heavy, reddish dust in the air. Between Catfish and Chuck was Blake, slumped forward with Chuck holding a towel to his chest. In the back seat, Gail sat between Matt and Meadows, trying to hold towels on both deathly white men.

When the car had pulled out of the lumber mill yard and out of sight, Edie Pary asked, "Bill, why did you stop me from going with Matt just now?"

"There wasn't enough room in the car plus I need to find your brother. I wanted you here for that. Where is he, Edie?"

State Troop Jan Johnston walked up and said, "He's in the office and he's dead."

Edie cried, "I didn't mean to kill him. I didn't mean to do it. We fought over his gun and it went off in his face."

Tears streamed down her cheeks. "It was an accident. I didn't mean to kill my brother. I was trying to get the gun and stop him from hurting all of you."

Over the thunder of the chipper's dying motors the "Whoop...whoop. Whoop" of a helicopter echoed across the yard. A bright floodlight switched on and the area lit up. The voice over the chopper's PA system shouted, "This is the FBI. Everyone remain where you are."

Jacobs looked up and motioned with one hand. The voice on the PA said, "Bill Jacobs? Is that you?"

B ill waved his hand again. The voice said, "Stand clear. We're going to set her down in the yard."

As they stepped back to let the helicopter land, Edie cried, "I want to go to the hospital with Matt. Please?"

Jacobs nodded. "Okay. Give me just a second to fill these FBI people in on what's happened and we'll head over that way."

Johnston said, "You two go ahead. I'll fill them in and you can give them the details later."

# Chapter 24

Blake Squires lay in the hospital bed looking around at the faces that surrounded him. Catfish, holding the TV remote control in his hands and flipping channels on the set, mumbled, "Now I know these fan dangled TV sets has got the Braves game on someplace."

Blake teasingly snatched the control away and punched two buttons on the unit and the face of an Atlanta Braves pitcher appeared on the screen. "There it is, Catfish. Now sit back and close that mouth of yours. Are you on the time clock right now? I'll fire you if you are."

Chuck and Gail smiled and watched Catfish move closer to the screen. Blake pointed and said, "There is only ONE thing he likes as much as watching a Braves game."

Gail asked, "What's that?"

Chuck said, "TV wrestling and the Atlanta Falcons." Blake laughed. "That's it, Chuck."

His dark face glanced out the window and then turned back. "I'm real sorry about Matt. I can't believe how it happened."

Chuck lowered his eyes and nodded. "But you can't blame Frank. He just saw somebody shooting our way and he thought that Jan Johnston, the state trooper, was one of the bad guys. He fired back but missed, hit Matt instead."

Gail sighed. "I saw him a minute ago down the hall. Doctor Marks says he will transfer him to the Atlanta Hospital tomorrow. What about you, Blake? When are you supposed to get out?"

Catfish, with his back turned to them and his face inches from the TV screen, said, "I hope not until this here game is over. My old TV at the house doesn't look this clear."

Everyone laughed as Blake shook his head in disgust and said, "In a few more days. Doc Marks said he was only worried about infection or I could have been out of here by now."

The door to the hospital room swung open and Edie Pary, pushing Matt in a wheelchair, entered the room. She smiled cheerfully and said, "Blake? I've tried to keep this pig headed man in bed but he insists."

Blake smiled and motioned, "Yea. Shove him on over here and let's have a look at him."

Edie pushed Matt beside the bed. He grasped Blake's hand and then looked around. "Well? What are all the long faces about? Did somebody lose their pet alligator or something?" Noticing the Braves Game Catfish was so intently watching, he added, "or worse, are the Braves losing again?"

Chuck laughed. "No. We were just trying to put all the pieces of the puzzle together."

How did you escape from the airplane?"

"I didn't escape. I just woke up in a hospital in New Orleans. A fishing boat found me in the Gulf of Mexico hog tied to a cargo pallet. They saved my life, really."

Edie said, "The skipper of the boat saw Matt pushed out of the plane when it was flying low over the water. The pallet hit the water just right and skidded along like a surfboard or something. Matt had a concussion and a few bruised ribs but that happened when...when...."

Gail finished the sentence for her. "When Anderson and his group caught him at the airstrip and beat him up."

Blake sighed. "You know? It's hard to believe something like a major drug operation could happen around here."

Everyone nodded just as the hospital room door swished open again and Bill Jacobs walked through with State Patrol officer Jan Johnston in tow, only she wore a soft yellow summer dress and her hair was not tied back in the official police knot. On the other hand, Jacobs wore the full dress uniform of the West Creek County Sheriff's Department. He looked around at the somber faces and asked, "What are all the long faces about? Did somebody lose their pet alligator?"

He couldn't understand why everyone found the remark so funny.

Catfish turned from the TV screen and whistled. "I see you are back in uniform again, Bill, and Miss Jan I see you are out of yours. What happen, they fire you?"

Jan laughed. "No, Catfish. I had a few days vacation time and took them but Bill can't get time off right now with so many Deputies fired, quit, or vanished. I'm trying to help him stay ahead of crime in West Creek County."

Jacobs nodded. "Yea, but the commissioners hired me in a new capacity. You are looking at the new acting Sheriff of West Creek County."

Matt laughed, "Acting? Are you kidding? Are they going to hold a new election anytime soon?"

Bill nodded. "In a couple of months but in the meantime I'm the Sheriff."

Blake shook his head. "In the meantime, come on, Bill. You are going to run for the office full time, aren't you?"

Jacobs shrugged. "I don't know, Blake. I don't like the idea of a having an elected law officer. I am not a politician although I do have a friend with the State Patrol who would help me file an application for a job."

Jan laughed. "I've been after him a long time... in more ways than just helping him get a State Patrol job."

Jacobs blushed and grinned. Catfish spouted, "Bill. You can get yourself elected easy. I'll tell all my buddies to vote for you, too."

Blake shook his head. "Don't count too much on that, Bill. Most of his buddies are in jail or on probation."

Matt nodded and smiled, "If you decide to run, Bill. Count on me. I'll donate enough lumber to make you 50 or 60 road signs that say, "Elect Bill Jacobs for Sheriff. Your bribery money is appreciated."

Everyone laughed. Matt cried, "Oh my God. My side is killing me. How many holes did Meadows shoot in me anyway?"

Blake pointed and asked, "How many you got? That's how many times he fired."

Edie smiled and added, "His side isn't the worst thing. He was in a coma in the New Orleans hospital for two days.

Matt nodded. "I woke up thinking it was a Friday afternoon but it was Sunday. While I was out, they got a line on me through my Army fingerprints. The hospital tried to contact you, Chuck, but your boss said you were away visiting your brother in Georgia. They called the house but got nothing but a flubbed up answering machine. Your cell phone was out of service too."

"I know. The tape was full and I didn't reset it. I didn't want to erase anything on there that might be important. My cell phone shorted out when I lay on that logging road in the rain."

"When they couldn't reach you, I called a buddy of mine in Atlanta with the FBI. I wanted him to get in touch with Meadows but they told me he was on assignment. By the time I filled them in on everything, he had already missed his check in time so they let me join up and tag along."

Is this FBI friend the reason you hired such a scab as Thompson? I never could figure that one out and you never told me any different."

Matt nodded. "Yea, I was trying to help them figure out the drug ring and they had Thompson pegged first. They asked me to hire him as yard boss just to see if he would lure in his partners. It worked a lot better than they figured."

Blake asked, "How did you find us at the Mill the night Thompson was trying to feed us to the chipper?"

Matt shrugged. "I spotted the Sheriff's car that night and saw all of you packed inside like sardines. Jan and I followed in an unmarked cruiser. It was that easy."

Edie said, "The FBI wanted to place him in protective custody but he pitched fits."

Matt smiled. "Well, I wanted to call Chuck and I wanted to call you as well, Edie, but the Feds wouldn't hear of it when Frank was late checking in. They didn't know who we could trust and who we couldn't. I had to sneak out of New Orleans pretty much the same way you snuck my brother out of the hospital here and rent a car over to Atlanta."

Blake pointed and asked, "So Meadows really is the one who shot you?"

"Yea Blake, he was already zonked out pretty bad from two rounds. By the time he shot at Jan here, it was just pure luck he could even hold the gun."

"No," Edie snapped. "It was pure luck the bullet wasn't half an inch either way. It would have killed you on the spot."

Jacobs said, "You know? Why were Blake, Meadows, and Matt shot but, Gail, Catfish, Chuck and I were hardly scratched? I mean, a few times there was a lot of lead flying around up on the platform."

Before anyone could respond, Catfish sighed deeply and turned from the TV set. A commercial was on between the innings of the game. He said, "Blake? You gotta' sign the payroll checks tomorrow morning or the boys ain't gonna be too happy."

Blake nodded. "I know, Catfish. I appreciate you filling in for me while I'm laid up."

Chuck nodded and then turned to Matt. "I've hired three new men and a woman for the mill. Things are back on line and we are catching up with the orders thanks to Catfish and some of his crews. The place should be back on track in a couple of weeks. Thompson cost us a lot of money while he was wrecking the place."

Chuck paused, and asked Matt, "One more thing. Were you really going to dig up Grandpa that night? Were you going after the hidden Will?"

"Yes I was. I know how morbid that sounds but I needed proof and daddy always said he thought that paper would be buried there. I wanted to do it but didn't want to do it in case I was wrong."

Chuck said, "Why didn't you call me? I would have come down and helped."

Matt nodded. "Well, if you had been here then both of us would be fish food in the Gulf of Mexico right now and besides, Gail wouldn't be here either, would she?"

Gail said, "No, I wouldn't."

Matt smiled "I'll be out of here soon, so you and Gail can get back to your newspaper in North Carolina any time you need to go."

Gail laughed and poked Chuck in the ribs. "Why don't you go ahead and tell them?"

All eyes went to Chuck who smiled, blushed, and said, "Well. I'm in the process of buying the Newspaper here in West Creek County so I guess I'm back to stay. I've asked Gail to be my partner."

Catfish said, "Your partner? Is that all?"

Gail smiled brightly and with one finger over her lips, she hushed Catfish.

Matt looked at her and then to Chuck. "Is there a little more to this partnership than you are telling us? I must be blind as a bat but that diamond on Gail's finger has been glaring in my face for five minutes."

"What!" Edie cried and reached for Gail's hand. "Oh it's so beautiful," she cried admiring the diamond clustered engagement band and the matching wedding band beside it. She looked up in surprise and gasped, "What?"

Chuck nodded. "Gail is my partner but it's nothing more than what is given under the law of Georgia and in Georgia, a man's wife owns half of all community property."

Blake sat up in bed. "Wife; You two are getting married?"

Edie shook her head and pulled Gail's hand into the air for everyone to see. "Why should they get married? They already are married."

Gail laughed and said, "We just got married day before yesterday in Charleston."

Everyone started talking at once and passing congratulations around. Finally, Matt shifted his weight in the wheelchair, cleared his throat, and looked up at Edie who only nodded. "Well? I guess I might as well tell everyone too. Edie and I are not going to run off to South Carolina like Chuck and Gail."

Blake interrupted and added, "Nor Tom Veal and Miss Claudia either."

Matt said, "Like Blake has pointed out, unlike our Grandparents, and my brother, Edie and I will have a big church deal with all the dressing and trimmings she deserves and every one of you better be there."

Again, congratulations passed back and forth until a happy silence fell back on the room. Blake broke it and said, "Edie? What about Miss Abatha? What is going to happen to her?"

Edie's face darkened. "Aunt Abatha collapsed when the FBI told her that Max was dead and then started asking questions. The Doctor sent her on to a hospital in Atlanta. When we told her everything, she just folded up mentally and isn't doing well right now. I'm driving back up there later today."

Catfish shrugged. "I'm real sorry to hear that too, Miss Edie, but, what's gonna' happen to Whispering Pines and all the property and stuff?"

Edie shook her head. "We don't know yet. Aunt Abatha's will gives it to Max and me, but of course, she can't give that which she does not own. I really would like to know for sure what happened when the murders took place but I guess we never will. My Aunt's mental state right now is pretty much gone."

Matt took her hand and held it for a moment. She looked down at him lovingly and added, "I'm going to sign the deeds to everything including Whispering Pines, over to Matt and Chuck, full title to the estate, the project lands, everything. I don't want our grandchildren having to drag any more skeletons out of the closets fifty years from now like we had to do."

Chuck and Gail looked at one another. Gail said, "Edie? If you'll come out to Matt's place right after lunch today, I want to talk to you. I know you want to get back to your Aunt in Atlanta, but maybe I can help resolve some of those skeletons in the closet, that is, if you can find a way to believe me."

Edie looked at Matt who only nodded. "Okay, I'll meet you there around two pm?"

"I'll have some coffee ready for all of you. Bill? Catfish? I want the both of you there as well. Since I'm no longer a West Creek County outsider, it's time our friends learned everything about me there is to know."

Blake cleared his throat and looked away. Gail put her hand on his arm and said, "You've known or been suspicious all along, haven't you? You tried to get me to hold the diary that day out at Matt's."

"Yes I did. I knew you had some gift or talent that let you see things like that. I got suspicious the first time that day at the creek when we were pulling Matt's car out of the water. I saw you close your fists on those keys and then your eyes were like somebody off in another world."

"She was off in another world," Chuck said.

Gail nodded. "Okay. Everyone at Matt's place at two pm except the non-walking wounded here."

***

Matt's digital clock on the stove read 2:12. Jacobs, Jan, Catfish, Chuck, and Edie sat around Matt's dining room table sipping coffee, all except for Catfish who was not much of an afternoon coffee drinker. He was chugging a Sugar Free Dr. Pepper.

Gail said "Edie? I knew that you were very much in love with Matt the night I first met you."

Edie looked across at Gail. "How would you know that back then?"

"I can feel and sense things from other people through touch. It's sort of a curse and a gift all under one roof."

"Is that like ESP or psychic?"

"Similar, but not exactly the same, I can feel and sense things but not every time and not from all objects. I can feel the energies and memories coming off things. When a person dies those energies change, they become different, but I've learned to tell them apart. That's how I've known all along that Matt was alive."

Jacobs asked, "Can you tell what really happened with Abatha Pary at Whispering Pines all those years ago?"

"You know the old car in the barn out back?"

"Yes," Edie said. "It was Matt's Aunt Cindy's car. He and Chuck worshiped her. How did you know that? Did Chuck tell you about her?"

"I've been picking up visions off the car since the night we got here. I've seen some wonderful things and some not so wonderful. The car kept trying to tell me something, to make me see something that, at the time, I didn't understand."

"Matt loved the car, Gail, probably because he loved the Aunt who drove it."

"I know Edie. She took them everywhere it seems, to the beach, skating, swimming at the creek, many fun places for kids that age. I saw that in my visions, and I saw Matt alive but hurt in one of those same visions."

Chuck smiled. "You are not kidding about Aunt Cindy. If she was around then we went places. I don't think that woman ever sat still more than five minutes in her entire life."

Edie bit her lower lip as though trying to make some deep decision or other. Finally, she said, "Matt told me that his father and mother had met at a skating rink or something. Her sister was this Aunt Cindy. She was older and had been a nanny out at Whispering Pines many years before when she was a young girl. Apparently it was around the time Tom Veal was murdered because she quit and never set foot back in the house again, ever."

Gail looked at Edie and said, "I know. I finally saw that vision and everything that happened to her. She was very young when Abatha poisoned Claudia and Tom Veal."

Edie sighed. "It's so hard to grasp, Aunt Abatha a murderess."

Gail said, "The original will of Tom Veal is hidden and I know where. She showed me in a vision where she saw Abatha hide it."

Chuck said, "I wonder why she hid it instead of destroying it or something, burning it in the fireplace maybe."

"Can you take us to it? Edie asked."

Gail looked at Chuck. "Matt was right. The will is hidden in his Grandfather's casket and buried at the cemetery."

Chuck nodded. "That explains my dream and why I was told "The answers are in the grave." So, why don't we let it stay there since we have enough proof otherwise, and Edie, don't just sign away Whispering Pines to us. You own a share too and we can prove that if we have to."

Gail said. "Right and it was the car that made me realize something was out of place about everyone thinking Tom Veal was married to Abatha. Chuck's Aunt Cindy was trying to tell me, to show me, that she was there at Whispering Pines the night of the murders. She saw exactly what happened and why. She knew the truth all along but was too young for anyone to believe her. By the time she was old enough, the lie was deeply ingrained in everyone's minds so she continued to keep silent. She lived the rest of her life with the guilt of knowing that Claudia and Tom were not buried side by side and it really ate away at her. They say a spirit with something or some issue weighing heavily on their soul can't move on to the next plane until that issue is resolved back here."

Chuck spoke. "So that's a new matter we need to discuss, the Cemetery. Claudia and Tom should have been buried side by side and if we fix that then our Aunt's spirit can move on to where she belongs."

Gail said, "That's the message I got. Why, in death, am I not buried beside my beloved?"

Edie gasped. "Oh my God I hadn't thought about that. My mother is Tom's wife and they should not be apart like this. Is it possible to have him moved to North View and put him beside my mother?"

Chuck said softly. "Why don't we do this instead? Let's hire a landscaping company to go into the old Veal cemetery and clean it up, find all the graves and remark them. Then we put up a new fence and have a proper road built to the gates and then move your mother out there next to him where she belongs."

Edie hesitated. "You want to move my mother into that briar patch? I don't know Chuck. Twenty years from now it might return to neglect and all."

"Edie, Matt and I are going to have our mother and father moved out there to be with his father and then we are going to mark off an area where we ourselves, will be buried. If that cemetery ever falls back on neglect then it will be long after Matt and I are dead and gone."

Catfish, the normally silent type in discussions such as this, spoke up. "Dang, North View Cemetery's population is going to go down. I've never heard of a cemetery getting smaller and smaller, have ya'll?"

Jacobs said, "Maybe you could leave a trust fund of some kind that will pay for upkeep on the place for a long time."

Catfish chimed in. "I know a feller who takes care of the cemetery out on the east 80 highway. I bet he could give you a good price on something like that. He's got a big old tractor with a bush hog on the back too."

Edie smiled and said, "Okay then we can have my mother moved too."

Gail stood, "Let me show everyone something."

She walked over to a nearby shelf and pulled Claudia's diary down. As she walked back to the table she opened it to the last page, back cover and laid it out on the table open. With one finger, she pointed to the lower left corner of the page and said, "Ya'll see that? This book sold in the year 1944 for five cents."

She then reached into her pocket, pulled out an old buffalo nickel, and held it up for all to see. "Every vision I've had about Whispering Pines involved something that called itself a "nickel. Now this buffalo nickel was in my purse in North Carolina and when I touched it, I saw Whispering Pines for the first time in a vision, but then the vision wanted me to be afraid of this nickel once it had shown me all that it held."

"I don't understand" Edie said.

"It's like this Edie. This nickel, the coin, was the trigger that got me to come down here in the first place; otherwise I probably would have taken Chuck's invite as a romantic prelude or something."

Chuck said, "It was a romantic prelude. I'm a good liar you know?"

Everyone laughed then Gail continued. "Thanks to this coin, it gave me curiosity enough to accept his invitation as it was intended and I agreed to come. When I got here the new visions from the car and later the diary itself, all kept saying that the "nickel has much to show you. It took me a while to realize that the coin's purpose was over and I needed to listen to the new nickel, a nickel that had much to show me."

Edie pointed at the diary. "And that was the new nickel, the diary. I bet that's what they called them back then, a nickel diary or something?"

Gail shrugged, closed the diary, and said, "I don't know but I'm going to put these two nickels in a safe place and keep them."

(Two Weeks Later)

Chuck and Gail were cruising along lazily down the river front highway on the east side of West Creek County. Chuck was at the wheel of his Aunt's 1951 Chevy. He looked at Gail, smiled, and said, "She really rides beautifully, doesn't she?"

"Where's the Air Conditioner. It's hot in here."

"Gail, they didn't have Air Conditioners in 1951. Roll your window down."

"That'll mess up my hair."

"I've never seen your hair messed up."

Patting the dash of the car Chuck said, "She runs good, purrs like a kitten."

"Chuck, that's a metal dash and no padding. Also, there are no seatbelts in this thing. What if you have to stop suddenly or worse, what if you hit something? My head is going to burst open on that thing."

"Gail? You really don't care much for cars, do you?"

"I like cars that go when I need to get somewhere. I also like cars that take me back after I am done going. Most important of all, I like cars with seatbelts and larger windshields, and short hoods so you can see the road. The hood of this thing looks forty feet long. I am too short for this high dash too. Did they build smaller cars back then for people like me?"

Chuck looked over at Gail grinning from ear to ear. "This car came from the same era as the expression, to which you are now officially assigned. It's called "Motor Mouth."

A Georgia State Patrol officer was sitting beside the roadway monitoring traffic when he noticed a jet black 1951 Chevy topping a hill. It was a mint condition classic and he admired it jealously almost. There were two people in the car, a man driving and a woman seated beside him. They were laughing and the woman was slapping playfully at the man. The officer, the pride of Georgia, watched it pass and then turned on his blue flashing lights. "I bet that old thing doesn't have seat belts."

He spun the patrol car into a sharp U-turn and floored the accelerator pedal.

Off into the evening sunset they rode, deeply in love, cherishing their seconds together in harmony... with a Gray and Blue Georgia State Patrol Car hot on their heels.

Pick up your Nickel... pick up your nickel... it has much to show you...

THE END

#  About the Author

Wells was asked why he became a writer and responded with the following.

"I didn't choose writing, it chose me. I've spent the better part of my life (and I'm 60 years old) writing, but I still hesitate to call myself an Author. I've written and published 9 psychic/drama fiction books, 3 books of short horror stories with a humorous twist, and 2 books of three panel cartoons called "Talk Show."

I don't feel like a writer because I don't fit my mental image of one. I don't feel compelled to be the next Mark Twain or Tom Clancy. I don't want to get filthy rich from my writing and I don't care for the recognition while walking down the street. All I want to do is entertain and hold that wisp of power and control knowing I can make you laugh, or make you cry. I can take you to heaven or send you straight to hell, all with a few words placed appropriately. I can do in one paragraph what God needs seven days to accomplish. Best of all, I can make you think great thoughts or I can help you dream in a reality that I create. A reality you can enjoin or not with the flip of a book cover or press of a digital reader button. All of this isn't writing, its insanity and escape for the sake of entertainment."

Before turning to fiction writing, Wells spent most of his career as a newspaper reporter and journalist in middle Georgia. He covered everything from high school sports to hard news stories. During the last fourteen years of his career, he worked as Managing Editor for "The Robins Review" a military town's 25,000 weekly edition publication. The city's mixed population of civilian and military called for a unique brand of writing skills that Wells found comfortable supplying. The highlight of his career was in 1988 when a sharply written article was picked up by the national wire services and republished around the world. The topic was the advance of technology in the Air Force's electronic warfare division and aptly titled "Stone Age to Star Wars." Copies of the article made it to the desk of then President Ronald Regan who had initially emblazoned the term into the minds of the world.

The article also caught the attention of an NBC News Producer as well as ABC's nightline's Associate Producer, Terry Irving. The sad news through it all was that just as Wells' writing career was taking off, his personal world was "going south and silent." Plagued since childhood by an ongoing progressive hearing loss, Charles Wells lost all usable hearing and went completely deaf. When the handicap peaked, Wells found it impossible to function for the newspaper any longer and resigned at age 38. He fell back on his original "day job" returning to work as an electronics technician at the same military base where he once "entertained the troops." When his hearing problems also unraveled his efforts there, he threw in the towel, took a disability from service and dropped out of sight for three long years.

During that time he switched his writing presentations from the "pomp and ceremony" of print to the more open and space filling approach of the www. The writing needs of that medium grew to an insatiable level as more and more quality articles and information was needed to fill the millions of web pages springing up online. Best of all, those markets offered Wells a "deaf friendly" environment in which to work. He began his new career using old skills after refocusing his talents and adjusting them to the new technology and class of readers it presented. By swapping pen and paper for a keyboard and mouse, he positioned himself on the cusped of the informational highway. Still, he needed to crack the shell and get inside the medium which meant calling on his reputation as an old print writer and trying to capture the younger audiences of the internet.

Normally bashful about self promotion, Wells shamelessly flaunted his accomplishments from the newspapers and soon gained the attention of higher ups in the news organizations that were testing the waters to see if there really was an audience online. All those "loud noises" made during his print career opened the doors for Wells and landed him a "digital online" job with CNN News of Atlanta. His "computer based" job description became one of the first "telecommuter" jobs in the world and for the next year he worked from home full time.

CNN's bold move to the internet was followed by a joint venture between computer software giant Microsoft and television's NBC network. The two companies formed what is today MSNBC and then took CNN's internet/TV interactive format and ran it deeper into the digital realms of society. Both networks quickly discovered the power behind having instant viewer response taken from "online news chat rooms." MSNBC realized it faster and quickly moved the concept deeper passing CNN's online presence during the second year of operations. After that, MSNBC became the envy of every news operation on earth especially to those wanting to work for them on the computer. Wells, still with CNN when MSNBC went flying past, watched and waited, trying to gauge the right moment to attempt a jump over to MSNBC. That moment came when MSNBC hired ABC's Terry Irving and put him in charge of the "Don Imus in the Morning" simulcast show on the network. Irving's first order of the day was to start an online interactive chat room and the man he wanted to operate it was Charles Wells. He had quietly spent a lot of time online in the CNN chats and had watched how well Charles had interacted and inspired comments from the users, comments that quite often made it to the bottom of any given news show's TV's screen as well.

Wells enjoyed the interactivity and fun dealing with regular people online and relaying their questions and responses over to the on air television people. Best of all, his handicap wasn't an issue or a problem. It never interfered with his work because one didn't need to hear the words spoken. His computer scrolled them across his screen flawlessly. Still, Wells was a writer at heart and the tug to write fiction adventure stories was still strong but dormant.

During the year he stayed at CNN he was constantly asking for web space in which he could write short journalistic features, a concept that today is referred to as "Blogging." Wells idea was simply too far ahead of the times and his idea fell on deaf yet hearing ears at CNN. When he persisted and then demanded the space, his manager made it clear that CNN was not interested and to not mention it again. They felt that online readers would never sit still long enough to read a thousand words of personal opinions and commentary.

Frustrated at the lack of insight shown by his employer, Wells resigned and almost gave up entirely on his attempt to join the web. He was on the verge of unplugging the computer when Terry Irving heard about his departure from CNN and dropped him an email asking if he was interested in opening a new chat room for radio personality Don Imus. Wells agreed to do so on the condition that he would get a small spot on the MSNBC website to write his daily commentary feature. Irving loved the idea and six weeks later, Imus in The Morning on MSNBC took to the air on the same day that "The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly" by Charles Wells hit the MSNBC web pages. It lasted over eight years and Wells never missed a deadline.

The highlight, if one cares to look at it that way, of his career at MSNBC happened on that fateful morning of September 11, 2001. Wells was in charge of the morning Imus chat and assisting another host working in the news room chats. Between the two, there were over 150 visitors in the two chat rooms when the first aircraft hit the World Trade Center. His steady and cool handling of site visitors as they flooded in for the latest information, established his reputation as being one of the internet's top hosts controllers after he juggled a staggering 2400 chatters solo for almost an hour until help could arrive. He then stayed on duty for a solid twelve hours straight.

Even with such public exposure under his belt, Wells did not feel quite ready for prime book publishing especially since he was switching from factual reporting to fiction mystery as his genre of choice. After MSNBC ended the chat room days and let Wells and a dozen others go, he stayed below the radar for several years until 2009 when his first fiction novel hit the markets under the name "Sand Hill Estates the Murders." That book, one of the first classes of digital only books offered online, trudged along quietly with modest sales but drew few raves or reviews outside the mystery community. In 2010 he took the characters and plots and reworked them, then expanded into today's "Whispering Pines."

During one interview, Wells was asked if he had plans yet to eventually wrap and end the series. "I haven't told all the stories yet so no. At this time I've still got one story in progress and two more in mind waiting."

To see all the Whispering Pines Series, visit the Author's website at:

http://www.charleswells.us
