Missing Witness (5 page)

“Reverend Joppa, I have some information and I felt that you should be one of the very first people to find out,” she began in a loud voice, with her arms tightly crossed in front of her chest.

“Well, Minnie,” the pastor responded diplomatically, “I'm sure whatever it is, it can be talked out and resolved.”

“Well—I certainly hope so,” she snapped. “Mr. Lawrence, our choir director—the one chosen by you and recommended by you to our board of overseers—just posted a music ministry schedule for Sunday services for the next month…”

Joppa nodded politely.

“I'm very concerned about the direction our music ministry is taking,” Minnie said. She turned to her husband, who up to that point had been quietly enduring her monologue with his hands in his lap.

“Now, Wes, tell him…”

Wes Metalsmith looked at his wife blankly and shrugged.

“The other thing. Remember?”
And with that she jabbed her shoulder into his.

“You mean the solo business?”

Minnie rolled her eyes and then nodded.

“Yes. Well, Reverend Joppa, this list for the music programs for the next month,” Wes began, “the solos are all listed there. And Minnie has
not
been included in a single solo. And you know how her singing ministry is uplifting, and how it is enjoyed by the members of the church.”

Joppa took a minute to think back to the last church solo sung by Minnie Metalsmith.
Yes…it was a singularly lackluster, off-key rendition of Cat Stevens' “Morning Has Broken.”

But then another thought struck Joppa.
Hadn't Cat Stevens converted to Islam? Maybe he'd heard Minnie Metalsmith try her hand at his song—maybe that's what pushed him out of the church.

Minnie caught Joppa smiling and launched one of her surface-to-air missiles.

“Do you think this is funny? How dare you laugh at me when I come in here with a concern about the direction of the music in our worship services?”

“Please, Minnie, don't take this personally. I am concerned about whatever is concerning you. It's just that I try to keep a sense of humor as the shepherd of this flock. Sometimes it's all I've got.”

Only half appeased, she unclasped her hands from the sides of her chair and crossed her arms over her chest again. After a moment she continued.

“I really see this as part of a bigger problem. Mr. Lawrence is leaving at the end of next month. We still haven't voted on a replacement. I have suggested that I would be a natural to fill in until such time as we select a permanent music director.”

“Minnie,” Joppa said cautiously, “I can appreciate your desire to volunteer your services to this church. But in all candor, I think we ought to wait on that suggestion. I know the board is going to be dealing with nominations to the position of church music director. I think we ought to leave it in their hands.”

Wes Metalsmith was under the mistaken assumption that the meeting had been concluded, and he began to rise from his chair. But his wife gave him a withering glare, and he sat down quickly.

“Reverend Joppa, are you aware of my work with my husband in securing a commitment with Mr. Metalsmith's employer—Inland Sanitation
Services Corporation—to make a large gift to our church for purposes of the building of the sports complex?”

Jonathan Joppa was quickly losing his sense of humor.

“Yes, Minnie, I am aware. In fact, if you could give me the name of the gentleman I could write a thank-you letter to, I'd be glad to express thanks, on behalf of the church, for his generosity.”

“Oh, no. The name will not be given to you—not yet,” Minnie snapped. “Mr. Metalsmith and I would really like to hear how you're going to handle my role in the music ministry of this church first.”

It all became very clear to Reverend Jonathan Joppa.

Joppa rose and walked quickly around the side of his desk and extended his hand to Wes Metalsmith.

“Wes, it's been good to see you. I'm afraid I must cut this short.”

Then Joppa extended his hand to Minnie Metalsmith, but she rose instead and turned, walking quickly to the door. When she reached the door she turned abruptly.

“You must know,” she added, “that there are rumors in the church. Some of the members of the board have just not been very satisfied with you over the last year or two. And also, I wonder what the board would think if they knew they were paying your salary so that you could read
National Geographic
on church time.” And with that, after nodding toward the magazine on Joppa's desk, she swung the door open and disappeared.

Wes began following her, but then turned and gave a half smile to Joppa.

“Reverend Joppa, thank you for seeing us without an appointment.”

After the two were gone, Joppa walked to the opening of his office and leaned against the doorframe. Sally, his middle-aged secretary, was seated at her desk in the lobby just outside his study.

“Reverend Joppa?” she asked. “Are you all right?”

Joppa was pensively gazing out into space.

He turned to look at Sally.

“I'm going to change into my jogging trunks and go running with Hank.” His voice was flat and tired and his shoulders were slumped as he shuffled out of the church building toward his car.

6

W
ILL
C
HAMBERS PULLED INTO THE PARKING LOT
of the restaurant. It had a large, bright sign with the words
Melvin's Café
in red painted letters against a yellow background. Along the bottom of the sign there were painted blue waves.

Will glanced at his watch. It was nine o'clock A.M. He figured that Reverend Jonathan Joppa was already there, with a table, waiting for him.

At Aunt Georgia's urging, Will had responded to Joppa's request for an initial meeting. “Melvin has the best French toast on the Outer Banks,” Joppa had told him.

As Will walked to the front door, he noticed a friendly, tail-wagging border collie tied to a newspaper stand by the front door. The collie was stretched out on the warm pavement next to a bowl of water. Will stretched down and gave him a friendly scratch to the backs of his ears, and then entered the restaurant.

As he entered he looked around the room and saw a handful of folks eating breakfast. Over at a far table, a man reading the newspaper set the newspaper down, gave a look toward Will, and then waved him over.

“You must be Will Chambers,” Jonathan Joppa said with a friendly smile, rising to shake hands.

The two sat down. Will, of course, decided to try the famous French toast—and so did Joppa.

After a few pleasantries about their common connection through Georgia Chambers, Will started going into the legal issues.

“I'm not sure I can help you, Reverend Joppa…” Will began.

“Just call me Jonathan. And I understand that. It's just that you came highly recommended. From what I heard from Georgia, and from Bull before his stroke, you have handled a number of high-profile and very unusual cases. This is not your average, run-of-the-mill lawsuit, I don't think.”

“So this is a probate matter involving a will?”

“Yes, in a manner of speaking. I was mentioned in the will of a very wealthy businessman by the name of Randolph Willowby. He owned a fleet of fishing boats, and a fish cannery, as well as a shipping line. He died recently of cancer.”

“Were you close?”

“Quite honestly, I can't say that we were. But he and I are remotely related. We have a common genealogy connecting three hundred years back.”

“Well, what's the connection?”

“Thirteen generations back. A fellow by the name of Reverend Malachi Joppa. He was a preacher down here in the Bath, North Carolina, coastal area in the early 1700s. He had thirteen generations of male heirs who carried on the Joppa name. I trace my connection to the older of his two sons, Adam Joppa.”

“How about Randolph Willowby?

“Well, it's this way,” Joppa said, thinking back through the genealogy. “Randolph Willowby was the thirteenth-generation male heir on the Willowby side. Back in the early 1700s, there was a guy by the name of Elisha Willowby, who married Myrtle Joppa. Myrtle was Reverend Malachi Joppa's daughter, one of his three children.”

Will was jotting down a few notes, but was already starting to find the genealogy a little confusing.

“All right, what you're saying is that this Reverend Malachi Joppa, back in…when did you say?”

“Well, let me give you some dates,” Joppa said, noticing Will's confusion. “Reverend Malachi Joppa and his wife, Elizabeth, lived in Bath, North Carolina, in the early 1700s. Malachi Joppa died in 1719—the year after his wife, Elizabeth, died—1718.”

Will jotted the dates down. “And how many children did Malachi Joppa have?”

“Three. His oldest was Adam. Next came his second child, Isaac. Isaac is the one who this whole probate contest is about. He was charged with piracy. And there was his youngest, his daughter Myrtle. Myrtle's the one who married Elisha Willowby. The line that led to Randolph Willowby.”

Will had jotted a small chart on his notepad with Malachi Joppa at the top, connected to Elizabeth by marriage, and having three children, Adam, Isaac, and Myrtle. He then connected a line between Myrtle and her husband, Elisha Willowby, and then a long line from Elisha down to the
bottom of the page, connecting that lineage to Randolph Willowby. On the other side of the paper he drew a long line connecting Adam Joppa down to the bottom of the page, where he had jotted Reverend Jonathan Joppa's name.

“You mentioned that this probate case is all about Isaac, the alleged pirate. But I didn't hear that Isaac had any descendants. What's the story there?”

“Well, as best as we can figure out, Isaac died at the battle of Ocracoke Inlet, without an heir. In fact, without ever marrying.”

“You know,” Will replied, “my Aunt Georgia told me a little bit about that. As much as she knew. The guy was apparently tied, in some way, to Edward Teach—Blackbeard—at the time of the battle that killed Teach and most of his pirate crew.”

“Have you ever heard the stories about Isaac Joppa?”

Will shook his head. “Can't say that I have. Except what Aunt Georgia told me.”

“Did you ever notice a tavern called ‘Joppa's Folly' on the way to Hatteras?”

“Now that you mention it, I have. I guess I never thought about the connection between you and the tavern. What is it?”

“Well, there's a story behind why it got named that way, I guess,” Joppa said, looking down somberly, “but that's a whole other story. The point is that the history about Isaac Joppa is the target of a lot of jokes down here. Apparently, Reverend Malachi Joppa was a real firebrand—hellfire and brimstone—Calvinist of the ninety-ninth degree. He felt that his son ought to help him convert all of the wild-eyed pagans down in Bath, North Carolina. And admittedly, from what I know, Bath, in the early 1700s, was a pretty wild, frontier kind of place. I mean, if Blackbeard the Pirate felt right at home in Bath, I guess that will tell you something.”

Will chuckled and nodded. “Bath is at the end of the Pamlico Inlet, right?”

“Exactly. Past the barrier islands of the Outer Banks, into the waters of the Pamlico Sound. Upriver. Pretty well-hidden place. Which, I guess, is why Blackbeard decided to settle there before he met his demise.”

“Well, tell me more about Isaac—you were in the process of describing Reverend Malachi Joppa…”

“Well, Isaac really wanted no part of his father's religious fervor, I guess. And so he took off, ran away from home in Bath, and set out for England. And the next thing you know, he returns a year later, on board Edward
Teach's pirate ship. Isaac Joppa had been in the English navy, but went AWOL from an English ship before joining Blackbeard's group.”

“Interesting,” Will replied. “Sounds like this Isaac Joppa made a series of bad decisions.”

Joppa nodded.

“That's just the point. Around the Outer Banks Isaac Joppa is known as your fool's fool. He runs away from home—then runs away from the English navy—then he's shot while trying to escape from Blackbeard's ship during the Ocracoke Inlet battle. Some of the folks in my congregation, who have children who get schooled on local history, hear that kind of talk all the time.”

“Well, that's all very interesting,” Will said, trying to press in on the issue at hand, “but how does that concern the will of Randolph Willowby?”

“Randolph Willowby had a very large estate. Millions and millions of dollars. Most of it went to his present wife, Frances Willowby. But Randolph also included a specific provision granting some real estate to me.”

“Is that the island that I heard about?”

“Yes. Stony Island. But there's a catch. To get the island, the last will and testament says I have to prove before the probate judge that Isaac Joppa was innocent of those piracy charges.”