Fiction

Forbidden Love Part 7

A Sunny Alexander-Johnson and Henry James Series By P.G. & Sharon Barnett

My name is Sunny Alexander-Johnson, and I’m Henry James, and we’re writers for Dark Sides of the Truth Magazine.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6

Using the information we gleaned from examining the case files of Gloria Salito’s disappearance investigation, we asked Donnie and Becca to center their search in an area around Redbud Trail. According to what we knew, Gloria had parked her car on the side of the road.

At the moment, why this young woman had done what she’d done wasn’t as important as where she’d done it.

We were sitting in Robert Johnson’s office when Donnie and Becca called us back in. When we stepped into the computer room, the super-spy twins loved to call “spy central” the largest of the computer displays showed a large satellite view of tiny houses dispersed among dense foliage and a spider network of black lines cutting through the trees.

Donnie swiveled in his chair and aimed a laser pointer at the image. The beam settled onto the center of one of the black lines.

“Okay right here is where you said they found Gloria’s car. Redbud Trail, correct?”

“Yeap.”

Donnie swung his laser pointer away.

“Okay, Henry, here’s the movie theater, and from here to there, Donnie said as he swung the laser pointer back to the first location, “is precisely twenty-six minutes. That is assuming she got on Redbud from Sixth Street, which would have been the quickest route.”

“Make’s sense. I’ve got a feeling we’re not going to like what’s next.”

“You probably won’t, Henry. Donnie and I drilled down on every listed road around where Gloria’s car was found. There’s not a single mention of a Garrett street, a boulevard, an avenue, or even a circle. Nothing.”

“Come on Becca, give me a break.”

“I’m serious, Henry. Nothing.”

“Dammit!”

“Henry, calm down.”

“You calm down, Johnson. This shit is crazy. It’s like we’re taking two steps forward and five back. Everything pans out, and we start rolling, and then, just like that, we run smack dab into a freaking wall. What’s next? We’ll have to get in our car and drive the freaking route she took ourselves and…”

“Old man, you’re a freaking genius.”

“What? I’m mean, thanks, but what?”

“This calls for some old-time investigating Henry. It’s clear that trying to do it high-tech isn’t going to work here, no offense meant Donnie and Becca.”

Both of the surveillance technicians responded in unison.

“None taken.”

“You mean we have to drive the route ourselves? So what happens when we reach the end of the line, princess?”

“We start snooping Henry, remember? It’s what we do best?”

“Fine, but we’re taking my car.”

“Whatever old man, let’s just do this. Before we go, I need to tell Robert he will probably need to pick Dante and Alicia up from school again.”

“Wow, you’re turning my brother into a regular soccer mom, ain’t ya princess?”

“Unlike you, you old coot. Robert actually loves children.”

“So do I as long as they’re somebody else’s.”

“Let’s just go okay, Henry?”

“Slow down, James. You’re driving way too fast.”

“Am not.”

“Yes, doofus, you are. We’re traveling this road during the day Henry, and unless I miss my guess, at night this backroad isn’t lighted as well as the highways are. Plus, this thing has more twists and turns than a snake. I doubt Gloria would have traveled much faster than the recommended speed.”

“Which is?”

“Ten miles slower than you’re driving. Now slow down, dammit.”

“Fine, but expect some nutjob in a hurry to run up our ass, and then flip us off as they pass us.”

“If that happens, you have my permission to shoot them.”

“Seriously?”

“Uh, no, Henry. You keep that pistol of yours beneath the seat where it belongs.”

“Always got to be a party pooper, you know that Johnson?”

“Okay, we’re coming up on thirty minutes. Find a place to pull over.”

“Like where?”

“Like somewhere in two minutes, a minute forty-five, a minute thirty, forty-five seconds.”

“I get it, Johnson. Do you want to reel it in? There. Happy?”

“Ecstatic.”

We rolled out of the car, each of us instantly pulling out our shades and putting them on. June in Austin usually has a very distinct pair of conditions to let you know summer is really on the way. Blasts of warm, humid air and almost brutal sunshine.

Both of which we were experiencing as we turned in circles on each side of the vehicle, inspecting our surroundings.

“Damn lot of trees and pasture land if you ask me.”

“What’s that across the road just behind us?”

“Oh, I don’t know Johnson, another road, maybe?”

“Wow, James, you’re certainly cranking today. Did you have to sleep on the couch again?”

“Not at all. In fact, me and your mother made…”

“You finish that sentence old man, and I will get your gun and shoot your ass myself.”

“Now look who’s in a foul mood. Come on, let’s see where that road of yours takes us.”

Three minutes of walking a rutted narrow road barely the size of a cow path brought us to a dead-end. But this dead-end wasn’t so much a brick wall as all the dead ends we’d come across on this story of ours. We stood there, gazing at the cast iron archway and the two large rusted poles supporting it.

“Ah, damn can’t be.”

“Sure as shit, princess. Garrett. Thirty minutes from the movies to Garrett Family Cemetary.”

“Now that’s just creepy, Henry. Who in their right mind would want to make love in a cemetery?”

“Maybe they didn’t. The main road may end up here, but that road doesn’t. See that cabin in the distance? The road to it runs into this road.”

“Way to go eagle eye. Let’s go.”

Five minutes later, we were facing a large cabin set back in a thickened stand of live oak and pecan trees, the boughs spreading sufficiently overhead to cast the entire area around the cabin in the shade. A metallic blue pickup was parked to the side of the cabin, and we followed a ladder leaning against one wall to the roof. There we spied a middle-aged gentleman working shingles from a stack onto the roof and tacking it down with nails and a hammer.

“Hello. Excuse me, sir.”

“Hey, y’all. Gimme just a sec.”

The gentleman quickly finished tacking down a shingle, then slid on his butt toward the ladder, threw a leg up and over then backed down to the ground. As he approached, he wiped the palm of his hand against the back of his jeans then stuck his hand out.

“Howdy. Name’s Joe Bob Buchanan. Everybody calls me J.B. You two looking to rent the place?”

For a second, we were too stunned to respond. After staring at each other, we returned our gaze on this surprising revelation standing in front of us, this sweat-stained straw hat, dirty jeans, and tattered T-shirt revelation.

“Did you say J.B.?”

“Sure did missy. Like I said, you two looking to rent the place?”

“Uh, J.B., is there someplace we can talk?”

“Sure. Let’s go inside. Air conditioning works real good. They’s window units, but I got enough of ’em in there to keep it real cozy during the summertime. If y’all is from around these parts, you know what I mean.”

“Yeah J.B., we do. And we’re thrilled we met you today.”

“I don’t think I got your names.”

“I’m Henry James, and this is Sunny Alexander-Johnson.”

“Alrighty then. Henry and Ms. Alexander-Johnson. Y’all come on in and set a spell.”

As J.B. turned and walked toward the cabin’s front door, we followed, whispering to one another.

“Oh, this ought to be good, Henry. Another J.B. we have to try and eliminate from the equation.”

“Maybe easier than we think, princess. Like the man said. Let’s go get cozy. At least we’re not standing in the middle of a cemetery.”

Read On — Forbidden Love Part 8