Markers (Joshua Stokes Mysteries Book 3)

Markers

Markers

Joshua Stokes Mystery

Lila Beckham

Markers - (Joshua Stokes Mysteries - Book 3)

Copyright © 2014 Lila Beckham aka Susan C Beck

Cover art: S C Beck

Sold by Amazon Digital Services Inc. and CreateSpace Publishing Platform

O
ther Joshua Stokes Mysteries include - Dumping
Grounds, which is the first book in the Joshua Stokes series and - Fallout, the second book in the series.

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without express written consent of the author, except for excerpts or brief quotations in a review.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, events or locales, is purely coincidental.

This book is dedicated to genealogists and family historians around the world for the many hours of research they endure in their tireless efforts to preserve family history, and to find and mark the graves of our ancestors. I sincerely thank you for your efforts.

Joshua Stokes is the charismatic, dedicated sheriff of Mobile County. Known for his manners, strength, and old-fashioned approach his passion for maintaining the pride and chivalry of the ‘Old South’ make him a desirable lawman. If asked to use one word to describe him, most folks would say, trustworthy. Women find Joshua attractive, and who could blame them. His six-foot lean frame, swarthy complexion, piercing green eyes, and charming smile make a handsome combination; and, although he could have his pick of available women in the county, which on occasion he does spend time with one or two, he chooses to live alone. He enjoys the solitude afforded by his 160-year-old cabin that sets alongside the Escatawpa River at the Mississippi State Line. It was once the residence of the overseer for the Caledonia Plantation. The plantation spanned over a thousand acres along the river back in the 1850’s when William Moffett, a cotton broker from Ireland, bought the land and rebuilt the old cabin and the original Federal Style home that was built in the early 1830s. The main house was destroyed by fire shortly after the Civil War when a gang of notorious outlaws known as the Copeland Gang was raping the land with impunity. They murdered the Moffett family and then set fire to their home.

A spiritual man, Joshua is unconcerned with material things. He spends a great deal of time sitting on his porch, drinking whiskey, and reminiscing the past. Land that has known such violence usually hangs on to bits of the past and occasional visits from the spirit world mystify Joshua but usually alert him to impending dangers. Joshua Stokes is also a lonely man. He drinks too much and hides his pain behind a brave face and dry wit. Joshua’s quest to unravel the forty-year-old mystery of his mother’s disappearance is interrupted yet again by forces beyond his control when a young mother is fatally injured while trying to escape an unhealthy relationship. Her death and her husbands subsequent suicide leaves a child orphaned and set him on a different course. Eventually, all paths lead to more questions and point him on an inward journey of self-exploration, as ultimately he has to face demons from his own past.

“
Some people die and you realize that the only mark they left on earth are the tomb stones under which they lie. The impacts you make on earth should be something worthy to improve lives
.” ― Israelmore Ayivor

One

Markers

Joshua Stokes drove up to the rusty-hinged old gate, shifted into park and shut off the ignition. He made no move to get out. His impulsive decision to stop at the burial place of his ancestors had him debating whether to get out or to crank up and continue on to his grandfather’s farm. It seemed like every time he started toward his granddaddy’s old place, something stopped him.

Through the fence, he could see the partially buried, broken cinderblock that was next to an azalea bush on the first row. It marked the final resting spot of his great-grandfather, Jeremiah Stokes.

Jeremiah Stokes, Born 1844 - Died 1929, proud Civil War Soldier, thought Joshua. His granddaddy was proud of his ancestors Civil War service. Almost bragged of how he had lost a leg at Gettysburg when he was only eighteen years old - did brag of how he carried his honorable discharge from the Confederate Army in his back pocket until the day he died. It was somewhere in his granddaddy’s house. He was sure he would find it in the attic if he ever went through their belongings.

The second cinderblock to the right of the azalea bush marked the final resting spot his great-grandmother, Josephine Byrd Stokes.
Born 1846 - Died 1930
, Joshua’s mind recited what his grandfather had told him each time they came there when he was a boy. As he sat there, his eyes swept the small fence-enclosed cemetery. An assortment of markers marked the many graves there. From small rotted wooden crosses to gigantic carved monstrosities made from the finest granite.

“The same in death as in life, Hoss,” his grandfather’s voice spoke the statement as if he stood right beside him. “If people live plain they die a plain death and are buried in plain graves with plain markers. If they live fancy lives, they want graves with fancy markers; but that don’t make ‘em any better, Son, just more noticeable.”

“Why do folks have to die, Papa” asked Joshua, who was about ten at the time?

“The Bible says that ‘
to every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven.
’ Our old bodies only last so long. The seasons of our lives are much like the seasons of this earth, son. Our childhood is the spring. Our young adult years are the summer. Our mid-life is the autumn, and our latter years are the wintertime. Once the winter is over and our sap has gone deep into the ground, our bodies expire.”

Joshua lit a cigarette and sat there smoking, thinking of his grandfather and of his childhood. He had spent much more time with his granddaddy than he had his father. He wondered how his father could be so different from the man that raised him…

He was glad the inquest into Tom Stringer’s death was over. He could get on with his life. It was the first time in his career in law enforcement or as Sheriff of Mobile County that he had ever been questioned about shooting a suspect in the line of duty.

Joshua Stokes did not like his word doubted
or
his motives questioned.

He finished his cigarette, shook Tom Stringer from his thoughts, and then got out of his patrol car. He walked through the old gate and stopped at the foot of Jeremiah and Josephine’s graves. Joshua closed his eyes and bowed his head thinking of his ancestors; and, as he thought of them, he remembered his grandfather showing him several photographs of his great-grandparents. One photo was of them on their wedding day. The other was of them surrounded by their children and grandchildren. They were sitting outside their home in rocking chairs. The chairs were the same ones he now had on his back porch.
They must have been good people
, thought Joshua as he moved to the foot of his grandfather’s grave.

“Jebediah Byrd Stokes - Born 1866, Died 1951,” he said aloud, his grandfather’s image was fresh in his mind. Beside his grandfather, was his grandmother’s grave. “Sarah Davis Stokes - Born 1870, Died 1949,” he whispered. As he stared at the makeshift markers at the head of his grandparents and great-grandparent’s graves, he thought back to the day he asked about the markers. His granddaddy told him that fancy markers were not important. “What’s important Hoss is that you make your mark in life and leave behind someone to remember you. They will know who you were. They will know where you are buried. Most importantly, they will know the date of your birth and your death. That is all that is important in this world, Son,” he replied solemnly. “Live a good clean life and leave behind someone who remembers you.”

“I remember you, Papa,” Joshua spoke aloud, sadness filling his heart.
But, I’m gonna play hell leaving behind someone who will remember me
, thought Joshua. “I don’t have anyone who knows all this stuff,” he whispered, tears stinging his eyes as he realized that after he was gone, there would be no one left to remember his grandfather. His father had been an only child and in turn, Joshua was an only child — he was the end of the Stokes line on Jebediah Byrd Stokes branch of the family tree.

Joshua moved past his grandmother’s grave to that of his father. His father’s WWI marker headed his grave. “Jefferson Davis Stokes” mumbled Joshua. ‘1899 - 1946’

“At least you have a marker for after I am gone, Pops” Joshua mumbled softly. Much of the anger he had felt after his father’s death had abated. Now, he remembered the better of the times they had together and the stories his father had told him of the Joshua trees and how he had named him. The spot to the right of his father was void of any sort of marker; Joshua knew that his mother should be buried there.

“Annaleigh Touart Stokes, - born 1906 - died, 1938 - burial unknown,” he whispered. Sadness, weighty and dark filled Joshua’s heart. He did not know if he would ever know his mother’s final resting place…

Joshua spent a few more minutes visiting with his ancestors and walking around the cemetery looking at the different markers and the names of those buried there, before deciding he had better get going. It was already mid-morning. He wanted to go through his mother and father’s personal belongings that were stored in his grandfather’s house. He hoped to find his mother’s journal. He knew he might never know where she was buried or even if she were buried, but if he could find her journal, at least it would tell him more about who his mother was as a person.

By the time Joshua left the cemetery, he had decided to check into putting some kind of marker on his grandfather’s grave. He did not want him to be forgotten… he did not want any of them forgotten. If what Hook said was true, the double eagles he found while clearing the underbrush around his cabin, were worth a small fortune. He could easily afford to buy markers for all of his relatives’ graves and have some sort of memorial placed there for his mother.

Joshua shoved his Bob Seger tape into the 8-track player and his foot on the gas pedal.
Places to go and things to do
, thought Joshua as he pulled out onto Lott Road.

Two

Sympathy for the Devil

The tranquil sound of Bob Seger’s raspy voice singing ‘Ramblin’ Gamblin’ Man’ serenaded Joshua as he drove north on Lott Road. Having shaken off his pessimistic mood he was flying low and singing at the top of his lungs.

“
I ain’t good lookin’ but you know I ain’t shy. Ain't afraid to look a girl, in the eye, so if you need some lovin' -
” He topped the hill, rounded the curve and directly in his path was a car turned upside down on the highway. Joshua slammed on brakes sliding sideways to within ten feet of the wrecked vehicle. He knew the accident must have just happened; the wheels were still in motion and smoke rose upward from the engine. His eyes took it all in quickly assessing the situation. There were no other vehicles involved that he could see, and unless they were going in the same direction he was, there was none. He had driven several miles since passing any other motorists. Something wet flowed out of and was surrounding the vehicle.

Joshua backed his cruiser about twenty feet away and off the pavement. He shifted into park, turned on his blue warning lights, and then ran toward the wrecked vehicle. Before he reached it, he saw a bloody hand protruding out from between the flattened roof and the passenger door. At first, it did not move and he feared the worse, but then the fingers stretched outward and began to tremble. Joshua came to an abrupt halt, shocked by the morbidly grotesque scene.

He stared at the hand a moment before looking up and down the highway. It appeared that the car had flipped end over end several times before sliding on its roof for a ways. Suddenly, the hand began to claw frantically at the pavement as if it was trying to grab a hold of something, anything they could get their hands on. Usually calm and collected, the bloody hand freaked Joshua out and for a moment he felt almost as frantic as whomever the hand belonged to apparently was. He almost wanted to turn and run but stood fast. What if no one had been there to calm him when the Blackwell boy t-boned him in front of the barbershop a few months back. When he first came to, he did not know where he was at or even who he was and for a few minutes, he was frantic; Buck Powell’s calm reassurance that he was okay was what enabled him to stay calm.

He bent down to try to look inside. He hoped to see who was in the car. Whoever it was must have heard him because he heard a weak moaning voice say, “help me.” The odor of gasoline was strong in his nostrils. He quickly circled the vehicle to see if there was any other way to get to the person or to get them out of the wrecked car.

The driver’s door was partially bent outward and upward leaving a small opening of maybe a foot by a foot and a half. Joshua got down on his belly to look inside. He saw an unshod foot and reached in to touch it.

“Please, help me,” a woman’s voice begged weakly.

"Hold on, I'm trying to get you out," he said, loudly. “Can you feel me touching your foot?” he asked. The person did not respond with any intelligible answer, just moaning.

“Do you think you can move backward toward my hands?” he asked. Again, he heard nothing intelligible, just more moaning noises. He was surprised anyone lived through accident - the metal was bent to hell and back.

His mind compared it to a flattened a beer can. It was just one big, twisted, crumpled, smoldering metallic heap.

Joshua ran to his patrol car and radioed the dispatcher, Ida Mae. He told her his location and that he needed help as soon as possible. He told her he had a live victim that was probably suffering from shock, and he could not get to them, he also told her that there was a real threat of an explosion because oil and gasoline was leaking out onto the roadway. Without waiting for a clear response, he threw the microphone onto the seat and then ran back toward the car. Before he reached it, he heard a vehicle coming from the north. He ran off to the side of the road just in case they did not have time to come to a safe stop. He heard them braking before he could actually see them.

When he knew for sure they were stopping, he ran back to the driver’s side of the wrecked car. He was surprised to see the top of someone’s head instead of the foot that was there just a couple of minutes before. The head was bloodied too, but he could tell that whoever it was had long brown hair.

“Do you need some help?” he heard a man ask.

“You damn straight!” he responded. “The roof is mashed flat as a fritter and this partially opened door doesn’t leave much room for anyone to get to them.”

The man came around to where Joshua was and got down of all fours. Joshua could smell beer on him but it was no time to be choosy; he needed help anyway he could get it. Right then, he would have accepted help from the devil himself.

As if taking him up on his thought, the radio in the disabled car turned on all of a sudden and began playing music. Mick Jagger’s voice rang out loud and proud singing ‘Sympathy for the Devil.’
Joshua
looked at the man that stopped to help him and the man looked to him. They both looked into the opening to the vehicle.

“Maybe we could jack it up,” the man suggested.

The music was so loud they could not hear anything or anyone, but they could definitely see the bloodied head that was easing its way toward the opening. As the head came forward and they bent down, the words to the song surrounded them -

‘
I was around when Jesus Christ had his moment of doubt and pain,

Made damn sure the Pilot washed his hands and sealed his fate.

Pleased to meet you, hope you guessed my name,

But what’s puzzling you, is the nature of my game. Woo, whoo.’

The entire scenario was surreal. If Joshua had not known for sure that he was awake, he would have sworn that he was having another one of his weird dreams. And as Mick Jagger yelled, ‘what’s my name’ over and over and the background singers were singing ‘woo, whoo’ between his what’s my names, the woman slowly crawled out through the opening.

First came her hands, then arms, her head and upper torso slowly moved outward-with all the blood, it reminded Joshua of the time he witnessed the birth of a calf.

The woman slid slowly forward and upward. She propped her upper body on her elbows and looked upward toward them. For a moment, Joshua and the man both stood transfixed, staring at the horrific sight.

Blood covered the woman’s face hiding her features. It flowed over her lashes and down her face but when she opened her eyes, he could see that they were blue. Her forehead had a deep gash at the hairline, her nose, a small cut and blood was oozing from her mouth. When she opened her mouth to say something, blood gushed outward. Joshua could see that her tongue was bleeding when she mouthed the words, ‘help me’, but did not think
that
much blood had come from her tongue.

He and the man both responded as each grabbed an arm and slowly pulled the woman from the car. They then eased her as far away from the vehicle as they could without dragging her body too far along the edge of the pavement. They did not want to harm her anymore than necessary; however, both felt the need to get her as far away from the wrecked vehicle and leaking gasoline as they could.

“You stay with her, Sheriff,” the man said, “I got a blanket in my truck. I’ll go get it. We can use it as a gurney.” Joshua was on his knees at the woman’s shoulder. He wanted her to lie flat but she had begun to try to sit up, reaching wildly in the direction of the car.

“Ma’am, you need to lie still,” he said loudly, trying to be sure he was heard over the sound of the music. “We have an ambulance on the way,” he said, but she still kept trying to sit up. Joshua heard the truck crank and he immediately thought the man was just going to crank up and drive off, leaving him with the injured woman. However, the man drove off the road and around the wrecked car. He pulled his vehicle down by Joshua’s patrol car. When he came to where Joshua and the woman were, he had a woolen blanket and a rag he had soaked in ice water. He spread the blanket over the woman and then placed the wet rag over the gash on her forehead and applied pressure to staunch the flow of blood.

“Do you want me to go call an ambulance?” the man asked.

“No, I already radioed it in; one should be here shortly,” Joshua replied.

“Damn’it to hell and back,” Joshua grumbled as the woman kept struggling to get up. “What’s taking them so
damn
long?” It seemed as if it had been an hour since he came upon the wrecked car, but in reality, it had been less than ten minutes. He knew it would take an ambulance at least twenty to twenty five minutes to reach them. They were near the 22-mile marker, which meant they were at least twenty-two miles from Mobile.

“Sheriff, we really need to get her further away. That thing must’ve had a full tank of gas,” the man said worriedly. “One spark and we’ll all be goners.”

Joshua looked from the man down to the woman lying on the ground. He realized the victim had quit struggling. Mercifully, she had lost consciousness. At least he would not be so worried about causing her pain as they moved her.

“Like you said, maybe we can slip this blanket under her and use it as a gurney to move her further down the road,” said Joshua. “Or, we could put her into the back of your pickup,” he thought suddenly.

“Let me run move some stuff around and let the tailgate down. If nothing else, we can just lay her on that.”

The man stood up, went to his truck, and after a couple of minutes backed it up to where Joshua and the woman were. He and Joshua rolled her slowly from one side to the other slipping the blanket underneath her. They then picked her up and placed her as gently as they could onto the tailgate. Joshua walked behind the vehicle as the man drove about fifty feet down and off to the side of the road, then shut it off. He was afraid if she came to she might roll off the tailgate and be injured worse.

Joshua sure was glad when in the distance he could hear the sound of sirens approaching. When it arrived, it meant the injured woman would then be the patient of the ambulance attendants and he would be free of the responsibility of looking out for her. However, he was disappointed to see that it was one of his deputy’s vehicles instead.

Deputy Cook had barely come to a stop when he heard more sirens coming their way. Next come Deputies Calvert and Davis, and then finally the ambulance came. He knew that a skid truck would be there soon to load the vehicle and take it to Chessman’s Garage where it would remain until the woman was able to tell them what she wanted done with it. Before they did that and took it away, Joshua wanted to flip the vehicle upright. He hoped there was something in it that might help them identify the driver. He also wanted to see if they could stop the radio from blaring.

When the ambulance attendants took over the care of the injured woman, Joshua, with the help of his deputies, flipped the vehicle upright onto the shoulder of the road. As soon as they did, the trunk lid popped open and everything inside the trunk fell out onto the pavement. Flipping it stopped the gasoline leak; however, the radio still played, even louder if that was possible.

Joshua saw a suitcase along with the spare tire and bumper jack, but that was about it. He hoped there was a purse or a wallet inside it that would have the woman’s identification in it.

He and Deputy Calvert were able to pry the driver’s door open by using the tire tool. Then Joshua got down on his knees and tried to reach inside to the radio; he could not reach it. He picked up the tire iron he had laid on the ground and used that to pop the hood loose. He disconnected the battery; it put an end to the radio blaring.

Joshua had gone to where the stuff had fallen out of the trunk, he was about to pick the suitcase up when he heard Deputy Cook ask, “Do y’all hear that?” Everyone became as quiet as possible and listened. When they did, they could all hear a soft cry.

“Sheriff, I hear someone in there!” Cookie yelled.

“I hear ‘em too,” Joshua responded as he turned and walked back to the side of the wrecked car. “But how
in the hell
are we going to get to them?”