On Emma's Bluff, Sara Elizabeth Rice, edited by davebccanada [buy e reader TXT] 📗

murder." He tried to use the word ‘murder’ delicately. "I have been at the hospital these last few hours with her and her family. Beth is still in shock.   She hasn't spoken to anyone at all yet, just cries and rocks back and forth. I was in the room when her parents first came in. That was the only time she said any words." Harvey stopped and ran his tongue across his tobacco stained teeth remembering the emotional scene that had occurred. "She started screaming as soon as she saw them. She was screaming ‘leave her alone’."

"She saw it then." Roy stated.

"Yes sir, she did." Harvey spoke softly. "And when she is out of shock and coherent we will know who this killer is." These words he spoke with conviction as if they were scripture. "I am so very sorry about Barbara Lee, but this madman will be caught."

Roy rose slowly from his seat, his head tucked and nodding. "I see."

There was nothing left to say.        

By the time the three of them returned home there were already a house full of people waiting to comfort them. Roy had called his first cousin, Artis Smithhead, while they were still in Yazoo City and had told her of the tragedy.   She had driven over from her home in Satartia and let herself in with the key Roy had given her long ago. In southern tradition she set about making their home more ‘comfortable’ for their return.

Pastor Long from the First Baptist Church had arrived soon after Artis and then Patrice Penn showed up with a casserole in tow. In the close delta community the news of the latest death buzzed through the telephone wires quickly.

As soon as the Wilsons walked into the house Patrice took Liz from her husband's arm and hugged her dear friend closely. Sobs like fresh wounds broke from Liz and she hung in Patrice's embrace. The Presbyterian minister, Reverend Kirk walked firmly up to Roy and took his hand to whisper condolences into Roy's ear. Artis sprung from the kitchen and threw herself into her cousin's arms. "I am so sorry, Roy. Our baby girl is with the Lord."

"Yes she is." Reverend Kirk solemnly agreed.

No one noticed Emma still in the doorway. She was thankful for this. Quietly, head bowed, she slipped across the room into the hallway. She hit the stairs and raced for her room. Once inside she closed the door and leaned against it. Her hand pressed flat against the smooth aged wooden door and her face against her hand, she finally let herself cry.

By afternoon no one had yet come up to her room. She could hear as more people arrived and some left. Their voices hummed from the rooms below her. Plates clanked in the kitchen as more ladies showed up to help out.   She was certain that her aunt Liz had returned to her drug induced sleep safe in her own bed now. While Liz slept her friends scurried about her house playing surrogate hostess in her absence.

Emma winced remembering the same activities in her childhood home after her mother's death. What a contrast that had been to the dark empty home to which she had returned after her father's suicide. Suicides cut the cords of good manners. Today she felt unworthy of sharing the comfort that reached out from those good souls who came to console.

She was guilty and she knew it. "I wished her dead." This thought echoed through her head. She could not bear to be inside her own mind. "I am vile! I am wicked," she accused herself.

"No, she tricked me." Some voice inside still battled for her sanity. "She tricked me in that dream. I would never have thought of that," she argued. "But you did," a clanging voice rang in her ears. "No, it wasn't me." All these thoughts chased each other around and around in her head. "Pop goes the weasel," She sang out close to breaking. "No more!" she yelled out. Her hands flew to her head and grasped her temples.

Then calmly she crawled from her bed. On rigid legs she went to her dresser. Opening the top drawer she rifled through the contents until she found the smudged envelope. Sitting at the dresser she took out the letter tucked inside. The words, long ignored, sprang out at her. "I've got to write to Adie Grace. I have got to write to her and ask her about her mamma." Unfolding the letter and placing it gently on the dresser she grabbed a composition book from her school bag. After finding a pen she began.

Erna Basset came in to check on her daughter. She had let Cindy stay home from school that Monday after they had heard about Barbara Lee. Now she asked Cindy if she was ready to go over to the Wilson's so that they might pay their respects.

"I guess so mamma. Should I call Emma first?"

"No dear. I am sure lots of people have already been by there. We'll just stop by and see if Emma feels like some company. You can stay there with her if she needs you."

"I just feel so bad for them."

"Just remember though, Emma may want to be alone."

"I know that." It was clear that Cindy did not appreciate being told the obvious. "Mamma, are they sure it was the same killer that murdered the others?"

"Looks like it."

"Was she as bad cut up as the others?" She grimaced.

"I think so, Cindy, but really that doesn't matter now. She's in Jesus' arms. But this thing has really gone too far. None of us are safe any more." Cindy had never heard this tone in her mother's voice before. It was fear and distress.

"Oh mamma." Cindy extended her arms and encircled her mother's waist. "Well, we all just got to start watching out for each other better, that's all." But even to her, her words just sounded like whistling past the graveyard.

Emma had stopped and restarted the letter countless times. She just could not get out the words she wanted to say. Now she sat with half a letter on her lap. Once again she read through what she had written.

Dear Ms. Grace,

I know it must come as a shock to you, me writing this letter and all, because you don't know me and I don't know you. But I have thought and thought and I don't know who else to turn to. I don't mean to alarm you or anything, but I have dreams about your departed mother. To my knowledge I never met her while she was alive, but since her death I have dreamed of her, once so vividly I thought I was actually awake and talking to her. (Emma had decided to not try and explain the first meeting she had with Viola Grace, because she herself could not even believe it.) In one dream she told me about a letter she had from you that she had never been able to read. Her eyesight had gone on her. She even told me where to find it. With a friend I went to her house and found the letter. I am sorry for having taken the letter without permission, but I was very curious. I, of course did not understand all of the letter because it was private and not meant for me. Please Ms. Grace, lots of strange things are going on around here. Anything that you could write and tell to me about your mamma might better help me to understand my dreams and maybe even some of the other things that are happening.

 

Emma had stopped the letter at this point every time. She had no idea of how to approach the subject of the murders or her own part in Barbara Lee's death. "It sounds nerdy and she'll probably think I am just insane," Emma concluded. So without adding any more she signed her name and address and stuffed the dissatisfying letter into an envelope. "This will just have to do."

As soon as Beth Riggins started to talk Harvey was summoned back to the hospital.

"She's very quiet and still shaky, almost child like, but she's lucid." The doctor was explaining as they made their way down the corridor. Patches of light from the overhead fixtures formed pools of light on the dark green floor.   The hospital was chilly and quiet.

"Where are Mr. and Mrs. Riggins?"

"In the visitors lounge. They requested that I call you right away."

"Then perhaps I should speak with them first?" Harvey put this as a question. He did not want any misunderstanding should the daughter become upset during the questioning.

"No, I think you should go on and speak with her now." The doctor peered tight lipped at the marshal.

"I see," Harvey replied reading the urgency in the doctor's face.

The shades were drawn in the hospital room. Beth sat up, rigid in her bed. A wadded pillow supported her back. She watched detached as Harvey approached the side of her bed.

"How are you feeling Beth?" He eased himself into the chair facing her bed.

"I'm fine," she said mechanically.

"I am Marshal Harvey Johnson. I am in charge of the investigation."

"Yes." The word only indicated that she understood.

"Beth, can you talk about last night?" He watched her closely.

"Yes, I can," came her monotone answer. She had been waiting to say these words.

"Well then, why don't you as best as you can, recount the events of last night from the time you picked up Barbara Lee until you were brought here." She coughed lightly and began her story.

He sat back listening, wishing he could take notes, but he was afraid to take his eyes off of her. It was the most incredible tale he had ever heard.

Two hours later Beth had not altered her account in the least.

"Now Beth, I know this is difficult for you, but don't you think that what you saw was a disguise, a mask, maybe even a stocking pulled over some man's head?"

"No." She shook her head steadily.

Harvey sighed loudly and ran his hand through his hair. "So," he started once again slowly, "You are telling me that Barbara Lee was murdered by a zombie, a corpse?"

"I don't know what you would call it," she said stubbornly.

He had to admire her courage in sticking to her story. She certainly seemed to believe this tale herself. "I am going nuts," he thought.

"Have you told anyone else this?"

"Yes, Dr. Caldwell, I told him." That explained the doctor's earlier demeanor.

" Beth, it is important that you not tell anyone else what you have told me." He stopped to make sure that she had understood this. "We don't want to start a panic, people out shooting at shadows. The proper authorities must handle this. We will find this," he faltered, "er, person. Will you do this for me? Will you not speak to anyone else about what you think you saw?"

"But what about my parents?" For the first time since they had begun talking tears brimmed her eyes.

"Your parents will be safe. There is no reason to worry them with this at this time."

"Okay," she agreed, "I won't say anything." She stopped and grabbed his hand, "But Mr. Johnson, please don't let this happen to anyone else."

When she heard the knock at her bedroom door, Emma looked up at it with disappointment. "Great, someone coming to check on me," she muttered.

"Em?" Cindy's voice was a welcome sound from the other side of the door.

"Cindy!" Emma flew to the door and let her friend in. She threw her arms around the redhead and tears that she thought were all wrung out of her flowed anew.

"Emma, are you okay?"

"Uh huh." Her chin dug into Cindy's shoulder as she tried to stop the tears.

"Emma, I am so sorry." She took Emma by the shoulders and pushed her back so that she could get a good look at her.

"It's okay." A nervous laughter bubbled through her tears. "I am just so glad that you are here."

"I