Easter, the Krewe and Another Large White Rabbit by Heather Graham

Author:Heather Graham [Graham, Heather]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Slush Pile Productions
Published: 2020-04-09T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter 4

“Okay, so the victim there is unidentified. He was found by a stream about a mile south of the Andrews home six days ago.”

“Cause of death?” Jackson asked Brodie over the phone, aware of Corby sitting next to him. But his son—he could call him that now—was a most unusual boy. They’d met at Christmas when they’d discovered Corby continually escaped the orphanage to visit with a special ghost. He was a smart kid and a good kid, and Jackson and Angela had mutually wanted to adopt him without ever saying a word to one another at first.

Corby understood what his adoptive parents did. And Jackson believed he was one of those kids who would grow up and want to be in law enforcement, too.

“Drowned, but here’s the strange part. The stream where he was found was only a few feet deep.”

“How old a man?”

“Early fifties.”

“No I.D. on him and no one in the area knew who he was?”

“No.”

“If he drowned, why are they calling it a murder?”

“Because he drowned in only a few feet of water?”

“Still . . .”

“I didn’t write the report. You’re going to have to get the sheriff to talk to you.”

“I will,” Jackson vowed.

He glanced over at Corby. The boy was watching the road.

“Thanks,” Jackson said.

“I’m still digging,” Brodie promised. “I’ll call you with anything.”

“Thanks.” Jackson ended the call and looked at Corby.

Corby glanced at him and grimaced. “I did some research, too, Dad. The town we’re going to—it’s so sad. It changed hands a dozen times during the Civil War. Everyone there lived in fear. Some people were secret Unionists, and some were die-hard Rebels.”

“The Civil War was a painful time,” Jackson said.

Corby nodded. “It’s terrible to think of the lives lost. But of course, the African American part of me is grateful slaves were freed. The white part—hey, Angela isn’t even white, she’s kind of a pretty-pasty-pale. But anyway, that part wishes we could have done what Jefferson envisioned—freed people with plans for schools and jobs and all. I guess it doesn’t matter a lot now. No, wait, it still matters, because a hundred and fifty plus years later, we’re still trying to get all people to be colorblind. Then there are a lot of people like me. I can’t hate either race, right, or I’d have to hate myself.”

“You know what, kid?”

“What?”

“Man, am I glad to be your dad!”

Corby smiled at that. “Hey, we are almost there.”

They were. The town wasn’t very big; houses were scattered throughout the hilly countryside. The downtown was a long strip with just a few intersecting streets. It was charming and picturesque.

“Is this the place?” Corby asked.

“It is.”

About two miles out of the downtown area he found the driveway to Eliza’s old house.

She apparently heard them coming. The door opened as they walked up the stone path to the house.

Eliza spoke immediately and effusively.

“I hugged Angela. I know we have to social distance, but I haven’t seen a soul. I used sanitizer on everything in this house,” Eliza said, opening the door.

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