Magnolia Gods (River Sunday Romance Mysteries Book 2) (3 page)

Jesse paused, “You add all that suspicion to the fact that my family lives in one of the most patriotic areas of the country. The people in River Sunday think, and I guess rightly so, that betraying the United States is like burning a church.”

“Not a very pleasant situation, being a traitor,” said Mike. “I never thought much about the families of spies, what life was like for them.”

Jesse sat back in his chair, the spring squeaking. He relaxed, as if telling the story of his grandfather had somewhat relieved his shoulders of weight. “I can tell you the Aviatrice Corporation and that old guy who owns it have made my family miserable over the years.”

“I know about Chairman Wall,” said Mike. Mike had been told by his father long ago that if Wall, the patriarch head of Aviatrice, hated someone, he had a reputation of making sure that person or company was hated by everybody. His father, who could get along with most anyone, never liked the old guy. He didn’t like the fact that Wall sold airplanes to Germany before the war. Now, the Museum got funding from Aviatrice because Tim O’Brien, one of his father’s oldest friends, still worked there.

Jesse said, “At first the problem was the public hatred. People all over the country sent mail for years. Some still comes to our box in River Sunday, repeating the same tired accusations. When I was a child it was a lot worse. When we’d go into River Sunday, we were always taunted. For sure, we never left the farm on the Fourth of July. We were always afraid someone would come out and set the place on fire. We actually had one fire set. That was enough. Take, for example, the Fourth of July parade in River Sunday. I’ve never been to one. My mother wouldn’t let me go because she didn’t want me to be scared by all the hatred, the way the people looked at my Mom and me. Even today, the older folks still have the hatred and venom. They look at me and my family like we were responsible for every son or nephew who got killed in every war since World War Two.”

He went on. “I know about your father, how he won the Navy Cross. I respect that. Just because my grandfather was accused of being a spy, doesn’t mean I'm not a good American.”

Jesse paused, then said, “I tell you what. You give my grandfather’s wreck an honest looksee. I’ll take your word for it. If you find nothing, then I’ll cross off your debt, sign it over. You won’t owe me a thing.”

“You’re calling the shots,” said Mike.

Jesse grinned. He had a friendly face. He said, “You’re wondering how the grandson of a traitor got all this money. I got it because I have a service that farmers are willing to pay for. I help them get real good crops and they like that.”

Mike bent forward and said, “Let me see if I understand what you want from me and the museum staff.”

“It’s simple,” said Jesse. “You get your equipment out there into the ocean and make a search. That’s all I want.”

“Well, we know the Navy found nothing,” said Mike. “As far as they were concerned, the plane disintegrated without a trace left to find. We’ll have to figure out where to look. The seaplane may not be there.”

“How long will this all take?” asked Jesse.

Mike thought for a moment and then said, “We look up the records and try to come up with a research area that makes sense. We’ll need money for the equipment, the research.”

“When you want money, you let Dulany know,” said Jesse.

“Does that mean more loans for the Museum?” asked Mike.

“No, I’m paying you for the project costs too,” Jesse assured him.

Mike looked at him and asked, “Anything you can tell me about the wreck?”

“Nothing,” said Jesse. “Look, Mike, you think I treated you badly.”

Mike didn’t answer.

Jesse added, “I may be right about my grandfather. Then you’ll be redeemed.”

“What do you mean, redeemed?” asked Mike, looking up.

Jesse explained. “If he turns out to be falsely accused, you’ll come out pretty good. You’ll get recognition from your peers.”

Mike did feel a tinge of excitement at the thought of discovering new historical information. He tried not to let Jesse see his emotion. “It’s not our job to find out whether he was guilty,” he said.

Jesse smiled and said, “I’ll take my chances. I read in the paper your team cleared the record of that Navy pilot, found out that he was a hero taking on a German sub, when the records stated he was negligent. Look, I got faith in you. I put out the money for the search for that P47, didn’t I? I could have lost it all.”

Mike took charge of the conversation, speaking like a project leader, asking questions. “If we find the plane, what then? Do you expect us to bring your grandfather’s remains to the surface? Maybe salvage some of his equipment or papers?”

“That’s my hope, yes,” said Jesse.

Mike smiled, warming up. He began to feel that he could work with Jesse, that Jesse was being honest with him, “Before we go any farther,” he said, “I have to tell you bodies have very little chance of surviving that long in the ocean. We might find some of the wreckage but it’s unlikely we’ll find anything else.”

He pulled a large yellow marine chart from a cardboard tube he had been holding.

“OK to put this here?” Mike asked.

Jesse nodded. Mike placed the chart across Jesse’s desk, carefully avoiding the piles of business forecasts and daily farm reports.

“This will help you to understand what we‘re up against,” Mike said, his hand steadying the chart.

Jesse leaned over as Mike continued. “The map is centered on the offshore waters from Atlantic City, New Jersey to Ocean City, Maryland.” He pointed to a black line heading east over the Delaware River and into the Atlantic from Philadelphia.

“This is the flight line from where your grandfather took off to where the Navy said his plane crashed.”

Jesse studied the map, his finger following the black line. “My grandmother,” he said, “She always felt that my grandfather was misjudged, that the public bought the story that it was handed. She said he wasn’t a communist, had no reason to be, that he might have been a little crazy because of the war, but that he wasn’t disloyal to the country.”

 Mike grinned and said, “Jeremy, my assistant, and I like to say that we let the wreck tell its own story.”

The men were silent for a moment. Mike glanced out the window. In the bright sun, the colors of a cornfield in back of the building looked washed in greens and browns.

“Looks almost patriotic, doesn’t it, just like one of the waving fields of grain out west,” Jesse said.

“The Fourth of July is almost here, “Mike said.

“The Fourth isn’t a good day for me,” said Jesse.

“That’s what you said. Tell me, did anyone ever prove for sure that your grandfather was a traitor?”

“They tried,” Jesse said.

“I imagine you’ve looked into this yourself.”

“Me and my mother had pretty much decided to let the whole thing rest.”

“What caused you to get interested now?” asked Mike.

“I found you people, an outfit that I think I can trust, to do the looking.” Jesse stood up. “My family has been accused of this terrible thing for too long. Do you have any idea what that is like?”

“So you don’t think he was guilty?” Mike said.

“No, I don’t,” said Jesse. “I don’t know why except that’s what I was told as a kid. I don’t have any proof.”

Jesse blinked his eyes, a little mist forming on the deep tan of his strong face.

“See, Mike, on top of the accusations against my grandfather, I have another reason. My own father was murdered by a mob of Vietnam War protesters in 1973.”

“Murdered?” Mike asked, astonishment in his voice.

Jesse went on, “He had just got off the plane from Oakland, California. Just arrived in Baltimore. Fresh home from Vietnam, in uniform with all his medals. Outside the airport in Baltimore, he got into a fight, got beat up, died on the street. The police never found the people that did it.”

“That’s ironic,” said Mike. “He survived the war and still it killed him.”

“Yeah but it’s more complicated,” said Jesse. “You see, my mother never thought it was protesters. She thought it was Aviatrice, waiting for him, letting him know they were still around. He pushed back. Coming out of Nam he must have thought he could take on anything.”

“Didn’t the police investigate?” asked Mike.

“My mother believed the police were told to stop the investigation,” Jesse explained.

“Did she have any proof of that?” Mike said.

“Figure it out for yourself,” Jesse said. “A mob kills a man in broad daylight and highly trained big city police detectives can’t find anyone to arrest.”

Mike thought for a moment. “He was killed twenty-seven years after the plane was stolen. You got to admit, Jesse, that’s a long time for anyone, even a man like Wall, to carry a grudge.”

“Those Aviatrice people are vicious.” Jesse shrugged his shoulders. “One time when I was a kid, they came to our house. I still feel the evil of their invasion. The River Sunday police chief told my father that Aviatrice was within its rights to come to our house and ask us questions. That was typical of how we were treated in those days. One time our kitchen caught on fire and the fire department didn’t bother to come until that whole section of the house was lost. My parents knew we were on our own, that no one would stand up for the Lawsons.

“I can still see those men sitting with my grandmother in the old parlor, which she called her front hall. I can smell their sweat drifting through the warm rooms. I imagined the stink remaining on every seat and place they touched, even for weeks afterward no matter how hard my mother would clean the chairs for me. My grandmother sat there not saying anything as they asked her over and over about where her husband was going with the plane. Then they got angry and went through the house, ransacking at will. They said they were looking for any notes or letters my grandfather might have left behind. They laughed at her as they tossed around the old family documents, ones signed by George Washington and Admiral Farragut. She never moved from her chair the whole time.

“After they got through, they went outside to their car with my father. He tried to fight them and they beat him. My grandmother got up then and screamed at them that her son had been too little, only a baby, at the time of the theft, that he knew nothing. “Why don’t you bastards leave us alone?” she yelled. Her words echoed out over the isolated farm, the rustling cornfields. The men surrounded my father, talking to him in harsh voices. I had to watch from inside, through that screen door, my mother telling me that the men were threatening my father’s business if he did not tell them about Grandfather. I remember the slamming of the car doors, one after another, as the men finally left. I cried as my father walked slowly back to the house. The tires squealed as they drove away. My father got real quiet after that. He sat alone on the porch for hours and wouldn’t let my mother help him with the cuts on his face.

“That day my grandmother took me upstairs to her bedroom where she had the huge bed that I used to climb on. She said, ‘Your father’s doing all he can do. That's all we can expect of a person. You watch and wait ‘cause your turn will come and you’ll make me proud of you too.’

“After my father was killed, the visits stopped. My grandmother had died the year before and my mother said no one was left to push around.”

“Did your grandmother ever talk about Captain Lawson’s flight?” asked Mike.

Jesse answered, “My grandmother just said that her husband played hell with the devil one time too many and got himself caught. That’s the only thing I remember her saying. I never figured out what she meant. “

“Strange that the Aviatrice people still came around after the Navy recorded that the plane went down at sea,” said Mike.

“They might have thought that some of the stuff Grandfather took was hidden around the farm,” said Jesse. “It wasn’t, but no one could ever convince them.”

 Mike looked at Jesse and said, “You think that finding the seaplane wreck will get Aviatrice off your back once and for all. You think it will give you answers about the mystery of your father’s death?”

Jesse nodded and stood up. “Maybe. Anyway, I’m willing to spend all this money to try,” he said. He was taller than Mike. “Come on, Mike, I want to show you something.”

Outside, they climbed into Jesse’s Mercedes. Jesse held the back door open while the Chesapeake jumped in, throwing dust all over the leather seat.

“We’re not going towards River Sunday,” Jesse said as they pulled out. “I want you to see Captain Lawson’s home.”

Mike liked to drive fast but he was no match for Jesse. “You have a family, Mike?” Jesse calmly asked as the car lurched to avoid a slow pickup truck. Then Jesse speeded up.

“No,” answered Mike, holding the door handle tightly. “My father died a few years ago. My mom was killed in an airplane crash. I live at my father’s house outside Wilmington.”

“That’s tough losing your mother,” observed Jesse.

“I never knew her,” said Mike. “She died when I was only a year old. My father met her when he was still flying. He was a test pilot after the War. She was a lot younger than him. They were both pilots and I guess that was one reason why they were together.”

Mike’s mind went back to a small gilt frame on a mantel at his Wilmington home, a picture of a smiling young woman standing next to his father and holding him, a baby, in her arms.

“They went on a trip to the Adirondacks,” Mike continued. “They were in a float plane and something went wrong as they set down in a lake. She was crushed in the wreckage. My father had to get help. By the time the rescue team got back, she was dead.”

“Must have been pretty rough on your old man,” said Jesse.

“Not him. He was a Navy hero,” said Mike. “He told me one time that when trouble comes, you have to keep on flying. Something he learned when his buddies got killed during the War. He was like that. Nothing stopped him. He just kept on going with his life. He never talked about her again.”

The road was narrow and, with several cars ahead of him and no way to pass, Jesse had to slow down. They drove in silence for a few minutes, gravel clattering against the metal fenders. Behind them a rooster tail of dust rose into the sky. Then Jesse slowed again as they approached a property sign. Mike read on the sign the words, “Lawson’s Post, 1690.”