This is the last chapter in the first draft, and will give you an idea of the direction I will taken in draft two. I'm taking one month off to gain perspective and work on other projects. I will then begin posting the second draft. CV
2009
Melvin looked across the desk at
his interviewer and paused for a few seconds before saying, “That’s it.”
“That’s it?” I asked. “How can that
be it?”
“That’s it,” he said, “because
that’s all there is to the story. Louella Harper never published another book.”
“But she still has a manuscript,” I
said. “I don’t want to start work on this thing, only to find out that she’s
been holding on to this manuscript all these years and is finely ready to
publish.”
“If you don’t write this book,”
Melvin said. “No one will.”
“What about Ernie Smith? Is he
still around?” The truth was I didn’t want to get killed.
“He died about ten years ago. Heart
attack, I think. And anyway, as far as I know, he became a legitimate
businessman.”
“That doesn’t seem very likely.”
“Well, he never got caught then.
All I know is I never had cause to represent him after that. He was a smart
man, though lacking in scruples. He ran his funeral home until about 1980, when
the building burned down in an electrical fire. Luckily, no one was hurt.”
“Who collected the insurance on
that?” I asked.
“He did. I’m told he used the
settlement to help finance his retirement.”
“What about Lester Woods?”
“Well, he went into the state
psychiatric hospital for a week or two. He went through “the revolving door” as
Henry Russell used to say before he died of cancer. Lester moved up to Ohio and
started driving trucks again. His wife called me up a few years ago. She wanted
to see if things had cooled down around here, if I thought any of the
Reverend’s people would come after him, or if the sheriff might try and pick
him up. I told her people around here had forgotten about that case a long time
ago. I didn’t see any reason for them not to come back.”
“She was worried about Lester. She
said he still had nightmares, sometimes about Vietnam, sometimes about being
chased by the Reverend. She said one time he woke up screaming, and ran through
the house with his rifle in his hand, saying the Reverend was after him. She
wondered if bringing him back home would settle him down or only stir up more
nightmares. I heard they came back about six months ago. He lives over in
Johnson’s Gap. You should probably go talk to him.”
I did go see him a while later, but
not before sending a letter to Louella Harper. I needed assurances that she did
not plan to publish a book putting me on the losing end of a competition, but I
think what I really wanted was to receive her blessing.
Of course, I had no way of asking
her. I had no address or telephone number. The people I spoke with who did know
her refused to give out any personal information. One person told me, “The
reason I’m friends with her is because I don’t give out that kind of
information. If I did, I suspect, I wouldn’t be friends with her for very
long.”
As it happened, I managed to get a
letter to her care of her sister’s law firm. After years of splitting time
between New York and Alabama, a stroke caused her to move south full time.
Within two weeks of sending the letter, I was surprised to receive an envelope
in the mail bearing an elderly woman’s scrawl.
I ripped open the envelope and
removed several pieces of card stock bearing her monogram and a response to my
inquiry. This is what it said:
Dear Christamar,
Thank you for writing to me and
stirring up memories I had almost managed to stifle. When I set out to write a
book about Reverend Baxter all those years ago, I intended to write straight
journalism—the thing I sought was the truth.
What I found was something
different—a collection of individuals seeking to trade their accidental
proximity to a serial killer for fame and fortune. People would walk up to me
on the street and ask me when the “movie” was coming out, and could they be in
it? The Reverend’s next-door neighbor followed me around town like a puppy dog
offering to sell me his story. Everyone I met either wanted to broker a deal,
exchange an anecdote for cash, or have me somehow bestow upon them a place in
history.
Then there was the Reverend’s
lawyer, a man who viewed himself as a cross between Gregory Peck and Robert
Redford. But if you are looking for a hero, keep looking, because his main
interest is in his own self-glorification.
The truth proved elusive, even back
then when the bodies were still fresh in their graves. Here are the facts as I
know them: The man, Reverend Baxter, did kill at least four of his relatives,
and the motive was nothing more than simple greed. He had an accomplice for at
least one of the murders, and possibly more. His accomplice was man who ran
criminal activities in town. You would be surprised at the number of people on
whom those two men took out insurance policies.
Other than that, I am afraid there
isn’t much I can tell you. If you go down there, as I did, looking for the
truth, I suspect you will find little more than the memories of old rumors. If
a novel, is your intention, good luck finding a hero.
In either event, I trust you will
brace yourself for the many frustrations that will soon be heading your way.
Consider yourself warned.
Louella Harper
END of draft one
About
This Novel; Chapter
1 ; Chapter
2;
Chapter
3; Chapter
4;
Chapter
5; Chapter
6; Chapter
7;
Chapter
8; Chapter
9; Chapter
10; Chapter
11;
Chapter
12;
Chapter
13; Chapter
14; Chapter
15; Chapter
16;
Chapter
17; Chapter
18; Chapter
19; Chapter
20; Chapter
21;
Blood
Cries at the Half-Way Point; Chapter
22;
Chapter
23; Chapter
24;
Chapter
25; Chapter
26;
Chapter
27; Chapter
28;
Chapter
29; Chapter
30; Chapter
31; Chapter
32; Chapter
33; Chapter
34;
Chapter
35; Chapter
36