The Bel Air inside the Bog
Synopsis: A retired English teacher learns of a rumor about two missing high school students and sets out to solve the fifty year old puzzle.
The Bel Air inside the Bog
For Sale
1956 Chevrolet two-door Bel Air.
Light blue and white.
Blue rims and whitewall tires.
Like New!
I retired from teaching English within rustbelt schools and found my slice of heaven in a country town with tall pines, lakes, and wildlife. I never imagined my small home outside the tiny town would provide me with the inspiration to write a murder mystery novel.
I purchased a vintage car from my elderly neighbor, Mrs. Jenkins who had buried her husband of nearly sixty years. I helped her clear out the garage which resembled a photograph album of their lives together including the centerpiece, a 1956 Chevrolet Bel Air.
It pained Mrs. Jenkins to part with her deceased husbands prize possessions including vintage tool sets, woodworking equipment, and nick knacks Sheriff Jenkins had collected during his long career as a deputy and elected Sheriff of our County from the fifties up through the eighties.
I was new to the neighborhood and didn’t know the Jenkins. They were kindly elderly people always quick with a wave and a smile. Old glory was hoisted every morning and taken down with honor before sunset by Sheriff Jenkins. When the flag disappeared, I knew Sheriff Jenkins had fallen ill or died.
Mrs. Jenkins invited me inside for tea after selling off the final set of tools and I inquired about the car. It was her husband’s prize possession and the last to go. I showed an interest and knowledge about vintage cars, and she offered me the Bel Air for one dollar with my promise I would take good care of the car.
There were old, framed photographs of the Sheriff and Mrs. Jenkins throughout the house including photographs of a baby, young lady, and beautiful teenage cheerleader. I asked about her daughter, and she cried.
“Emily is no longer with us.
“She left us not long after the photograph of her as head cheerleader was taken the night she disappeared.
“I miss her dearly and pray our family will be reunited in the afterlife.
“Selling the car will enable me to live my final years in peace.”
“I’m very sorry about your loss.
“What’s the car’s connection to Emily’s disappearance?”
“My darling daughter was the last to drive it to a cheerleading camp.
“She never came home.
“We assumed the worse about Emily and the car was stolen.
“My husband was retired from the Sheriff’s department when our vehicle was pulled out of the muddy bog with no signs of life.
“My husband brought it home, cleaned it up, and it became a keepsake.
“He made it immaculate in memory of Emily and runs like new.
“After my husband died, I’d spend many an hour alone inside the car as if speaking with Emily.”
The car was a painful reminder about losing her daughter. I drove the car home immediately in hopes its absence would provide Mrs. Jenkins with peace.
It was only a month later when Mrs. Jenkins passed to meet her family in the afterlife.
The Sheriff did a fine job restoring the Bel Air and with a little more work, the Bel Air would resemble the day it left the factory floor except for a locket hanging from the rearview mirror Mrs. Jenkins forgot to remove. It contained a photo of beautiful Emily dressed as a cheerleader holding a trophy.
I came upon a wrapped high school yearbook which had been placed between the seats.
“Canyon High Bicentennial Yearbook 1976”.
As I carefully turned the glossy pages, I came upon two pages which had been “dog eared” including a page with Mrs. Jenkin’s daughter and a Black kid whose name was Wendell Washington with a caption below his name,
“Student Body President; All Conference Running Back; and Center Fiedler”
Pasted to the inside cover was a photo of a young mother cradling a baby girl. I turned the photo over to find a handwritten inscription,
I’m placing this heartfelt message to you inside the yearbook and the car which became your coffin. I’ll be joining you and your father soon.
I never came to realize your fate until the end of my life, darling. A woman’s intuition is a strong feeling that led me to the painful understanding of what I know happened to you and Wendell.
I never shared my suspicion about your death with anybody including your father which would have destroyed him and ruin his beloved career as Sheriff.
There are ugly secrets inside this county, and I’ve suffered knowing the truth all these many years.
I pray you and Wendell are together in the hereafter.
I’ll see you and daddy soon on the other side of the rainbow.
Love,
Momma
I was puzzled by finding the sequestered high school yearbook including the photo and handwritten inscription. Mrs. Jenkins alluded to a dark secret surrounding the car and the disappearance of Emily and Wendell. This matter was reminiscent of the mystery thrillers I devoured and inspired me to learn more about the mystery in honor of Mrs. Jenkins’ and her daughter.
Clear Lake High School
“Home or the Rumblin’ Reb’s”
“Thank you for seeing me, Principal.”
“And your name, Sir?”
“I’m Vincent Light.”
“How may I help you?”
“I’m attempting to locate records relating to a young lady inside this yearbook named Emily Jenkins.
“Her photograph is marked inside the 1976 yearbook.”
“May I take a look at that yearbook?”
“You’ll also find the photograph of Wendell Washington which was marked by Mrs. Jenkins who sequestered this yearbook inside a car I bought from her.”
“My grandmother graduated in 1978.
“She’s on page 88.”
“I’m trying to solve a puzzle why Mrs. Jenkins marked these photos and left a note inside for her departed daughter.”
“Are you saying Emily passed before her mother?”
“Yes.”
“How terrible!
“I can’t fathom the thought of losing my beloved little girl.”
“I hope to solve the mystery of Emily’s disappearance.”
“Disappearance?”
“She never returned home from a weekend cheerleading camp and your high school might have documentation relating to the cause.”
“Even if you were a family member, I have no records to give you.”
“How’s that?”
“Back in the seventies, all records were kept solely on paper.
“The records were placed into cardboard boxes and taken outside town and stored inside the warehouse.”
“Don’t you have a method for retrieving files?”
“A flood washed away the warehouse.”
“You have nothing left?”
“It’s as if everybody attending this high school never existed until we upgraded to electronic record keeping in the eighties.”
“I’m flabbergasted a generation of students’ lives simply vanished.”
“Life in a small, rural, county, is like living inside a time warp where seemingly simple matters like record keeping become enigmas.”
“I taught English before retiring and this entire matter is ‘Kafkaesque’”.
“Speaking of literature, after hiring on here as a new teacher, I overheard near retirement age teachers speak about an interracial ‘Romeo and Juliet’ romance involving two former students.”
“Why would they be speaking about it?”
“There’s always been a racial divide inside this town.
“White people live north of the county highway up in the woods near the lakes, and the Blacks live south of the highway down by the sawmill, quarry, and slaughterhouse.
“The racism remains today, but I manage to keep the lid on the simmering pot of racial animosity before it simmers over.”
County Sheriff’s Office
“The Sheriff will see you, now.”
“I’m Sheriff Portia.
“I understand you’re seeking information about the two missing kids back in the seventies.”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
“I bought a vintage Bel Air from Sheriff Jenkin’s widow who passed, and I found this yearbook with the Sheriff’s daughter and a classmate named Wendell Washington marked.
“Emily never returned home from a weekend cheerleading camp back in the seventies.
“I’m trying to learn about Emily’s fate in memory of Mrs. Jenkins.”
“I found two archived missing persons reports filed.
“Sheriff Jenkins reported his daughter and vehicle missing after she departed for a cheerleading camp.
“The second report was filed by the Washington family reporting their son, Wendell, missing.
“Both reports were investigated but the young people were never located, and the cases were closed.
“If investigating the reports today, I’d assume the two kids ran off together.”
“Wasn’t that suspicion investigated?”
“A Black young man disappearing with a white young lady who was the Sheriff’s daughter likely caused quite a stir in this county, and frankly, it was politically expedient for all concerned to let it go.
“Sheriff Jenkins retired after the cases were closed and Deputy Perkins was elected Sheriff.
“The car belonging to Sheriff Jenkins was towed from a bog after sitting beneath the murky water for decades.
“There were no remains or any other evidence.
“We don’t have a cold case unit here, Mister.
“We’re a low-tech law enforcement agency.”
“I’m pleased to find a woman heading up the Sheriff’s department.”
“I’m a local girl.
“I did a hitch inside the Army’s military police, came back home, and signed on with the department.”
“Did you know Sheriff Jenkins?”
“Sheriff Jenkins is the third photo to the left of mine on the wall.”
“Who’s the Sheriff in the photo following Jenkins?”
“That’s Sheriff Pointer.”
“I’m reminded of the Comedy and Tragedy masks of Greek theatre.”
“I don’t follow you, Sir.”
“I apologize for the literary reference.
“I was pointing out the difference in appearance between Jenkins and Pointer.”
“Sheriff Jenkins was a ‘Sheriff Andy Taylor’ type from the television series but he did carry a sidearm and knew how to use it.
“He kept the peace and treated everybody with respect.
“Sheriff Pointer wasn’t liked within the department and didn’t take kindly to women or minorities serving on the force.
“He was elected Sheriff after Sheriff Jenkins retired.
“He represented ‘tragedy’ inside your literary reference.
“He committed suicide with a self-inflicted 9-millimeter gunshot to the head and was incinerated inside his house which burned to the ground.”
“Why did he commit suicide?”
“He was a lonely man without any friends, and nobody came forward with a motive.
“I don’t have the resources to investigate any cold case.
“Most of my time is answering barking dog complaints.
“I suggest you visit the VFW Saturday night which attracts a few old timers who likely graduated from high school with Emily and Wendell.”
VFW POST
It was a small smoke-filled room with a juke box spinning seventies southern rock music with a pool table. I took a seat at the bar with a sign hanging above the register saying,
CASH ONLY
I was ignored until a hand resembling a bear claw was extended towards me.
“I’m Sarge.”
“I’m not a veteran but thank you for your service.”
“If you ain’t a veteran, what ya’ doin’ here?”
“Sheriff Portia suggested I stop by and ask about two missing high school kids from the seventies inside this yearbook which I found inside a car I purchased from Mrs. Jenkins.”
“Mrs. Jenkins was a fine woman and so was Sheriff Jenkins.
“Sheriff Jenkins won the Bronze Star.
“We’re all graduates of the same high school.”
“This is a nineteen seventy-six yearbook.
“The girl is Sheriff Jenkins’s daughter, and the young man is Wendell Washington.
“Recognize them?”
“I was a year behind Wendell, and I played on the football and baseball team with him.
“Wendell was a standout student and natural born leader who did a lot to heal the racial divide within the student body.
“He was heading off to West Point and would have made a good officer.
“I’ll raise my glass and toast the soldier he never became.”
“Do you recognize Emily?”
“She was out of my league but a standout student like Wendell.
“It must have been tough on the families not knowing the fate of their children.”
“Why wasn’t their disappearance ever accounted for?”
“It was frowned upon ‘round these parts a White girl may have taken up with a Black kid and I think the investigation was conveniently dropped.
“I never cared for that pencil neck Deputy Pointer who won election after the Sheriff retired.
“I heard he was medically discharged from the Army for psychological reasons.
“I think the bastard had a Napoleon complex the way he carried himself as Sheriff.
“I’m sorry I can’t be of more help but good luck.”
“Bartender, please buy a round of drinks for the bar.”
I was approached by the bartender who was an elderly Black man who motioned me to the end of the bar and spoke quietly.
“I’m born and raised in these parts.
“I graduated a few years after Emily and Wendell’s disappearance but didn’t know them.
“There was a janitor who worked at the high school when I attended who may know more about the kids.”
“Where do I find him?”
“Go over to Perkinsville which is a Black neighborhood just south of town.
“Walk inside the barbershop and ask for ‘Mister Green’ who is the shoeshine.
“Tell the Black folk ‘Robbie’ over at the VFW sent you or they’ll think you’re the police.”
The Stylistic Barbershop
I felt like I was in the segregated sixties inside an all-black barbershop. The shop fell silent and tense when I entered. It reminded me of teaching inside tough Detroit schools.
“Excuse, me, gentleman.
“Robbie sent me over to ask for ‘Mister Green’.”
“I’m Green.
“Shine?”
“Yes, please.”
The din of the barbershop resumed, and I breathed a sigh of relief.
“I’m attempting to learn about the disappearance of Sheriff Jenkins’s daughter Emily and a student named Wendell Washington who are inside this yearbook.
“You ain’t no undercover police, are you?”
“I’m a retired English teacher who moved to town from Detroit.”
“I got family in Detroit.
“What you want to know?”
“How did a Bel Air end up in a lake for decades and two high school students within the yearbook placed inside by Mrs. Jenkins, disappear?”
“I’m gonna’ whisper to ya’, young fella’.
“I was a Janitor at the jail back in the seventies.
“It was late at night, and I worked quietly.
“Nobody inside the Sheriff’s office knew I was in the hall mopping the floor.
“I overheard Deputy Pointer speaking frantically inside his office.
“I heard him start and stop several times like he was recording his voice.
“The conversation went somethin’ like this.
‘I was eatin’ my dinner just off the county highway at about twenty-three hundred hours and saw the Sheriff’s Bel Air speed across above the speed limit with two passengers.
‘I gave chase and as I grew near, I saw the Sheriff’s daughter in the passenger seat and the driver was a male Negro.
‘Fearing for the girl’s safety, I hit the lights and saw the arm of the male Negro quickly removed from around the girl’s shoulder appearing they were romantically involved.
‘It was my intention to pull them over and get to the bottom of the matter, but whatever the circumstances, I’d teach the Black boy a lesson and leave him to walk home while driving the Sheriff’s daughter home.
‘The Black kid got scared, turned off onto a dark dirt road and drove into the ice-cold lake.
‘The car sank like an anchor.
‘The Sheriff’s daughter screamed and attempted to claw her way out of the car window.
‘The car sank quickly in the freezing water, and it was impossible for me to render any rescue without sacrificing my own life.
‘I accidently killed the Sheriff’s daughter and decided to let it go or face charges.’
‘This confession is being made on this fifteenth day of March in the year nineteen and seventy-six while the facts are clear in my mind and may be useful as future evidence in my defense.’
“The Black kid was Wendell Washington.
“His family wasn’t aware of the interracial dating and in those days ‘round these parts, neither the Washington family nor the Sheriff would have approved of their dating.
“Wendell’s family reported their son missing but as time passed, both families and everybody in town presumed the kids ran off together.
“The parents lived out there lives never knowing the circumstances surrounding the disappearance of their children who were dead inside the car at the bottom of the bog.
“It didn’t smell right with the Black folk, but Sheriff Jenkins’s was never the same.
“Deputy Pointer saw an opportunity to run for Sheriff against his boss using the racial runaway gossip as leverage in the election.
“The Sheriff chose to retire rather than lose.”
“Why did you remain silent?”
“I’d end up deader than those two kids.
“I quit the janitor’s job at the Sheriff’s department and took up cleaning the schoolhouse until I retired.”
“We need to expose the murder.”
“I’m an old man with lung cancer from smoking my entire life.
“Let me die in peace and forget the matter.
“I’ll deny everything and have nothing to lose.
“What do you have to gain?”
“I want to bring Justice to Mrs. Jenkins and the Washingtons.”
“Life around these parts won’t be friendly towards you if you keep poking around.
“I’m an old man and can tell you from firsthand experience, ‘let sleeping dogs lie’.”
“I’ll leave you out of it but is there anybody who can corroborate your story?”
“Sheriff Pointer was a racist prick and kept a tight lid on life around these parts.
“I had a distant cousin who told me Pointer was seeing a Black prostitute named Billie.
“She might help you.”
“Where can I find Billie?”
“Billie is livin’ out her final days with a bad case of Alzheimer’s at the Shady Oaks Rest Home.
“You can speak with her but the gibberish comin’ out of her mouth won’t make no sense.
“Billie always had a taste for whiskey.
“Give her a bottle and maybe she’ll remember somethin’.”
Shady Oaks Memory Care
The sign painter failed to properly paint over the word “Asylum” when replacing the word with “Memory Care”.
“I don’t recognize you, boy.”
“A friend told me to visit and ask you about a former client.
“He said you enjoyed whiskey.
“I snuck this bottle in for you hoping it will rekindle your memory.”
“The dear lord has sent his angel bearing Billie’s favorite friend in the entire world, mother whiskey.
“Give me that bottle, boy!”
Billie nearly finished half the bottle in one long swallow.
“Tell me about Sheriff Pointer.”
“That White devil was a tough kinky snake who enjoyed a big Black women dominating him.
“He’d come in hot and horny, and momma Billie would give him lines of coke to snort off her big ass.
“He’d have fun, get high, and talk about what a big shot he was.
“He needed a secret job performed by somebody he could trust, and I referred him to my pimp, Maxwell.
“Maxwell was an ex-con and wanted to stay on the good side of the law.
“He found a tow truck and drove with Pointer to the bog and towed out a Bel Air.
“There were two skeletons inside.
“Pointer and Maxwell smashed the bones and scattered them from the bridge into the river.
“Pointer retrieved a portion of a skull as a souvenir but didn’t realize Maxwell also kept a portion of that skull when Pointer wasn’t lookin’ which was a ‘insurance policy’ against the law.
“After one of our sessions, Pointer revealed a portion of a skull sayin’,
‘This is what happens to Black folk who don’t toe the line in my county.’
“He threw me a bone which looked like part of a human skull.
“He passed out and I knew it was a portion of a skull from the two missing high school kids Maxwell towed from the bog.
“I hid my ‘insurance policy’ knowin’ he’d forget about it.
“I kept my mouth shut not wanting any trouble until he started threating me with jail unless I serviced him for free, but Billie showed that ‘ol cracker justice.”
“What was justice?”
“Maxwell decided to blackmail Pointer.
“He threatened Pointer sayin’ if anything happened to him or me, an unknown person would mail the bone to the FBI and demand an investigation.”
“How did it work out?”
“Deputy Pointer pleaded for mercy.
“Maxwell demanded Pointer pay him one thousand dollars every month in cash and allow the whorehouse to operate with immunity.”
“Did Pointer agree?”
“Hell, yes, and paid Maxwell like clockwork for decades.
“Maxwell shared the extortion money with me.”
“I heard Sheriff Pointer committed suicide.”
“Maxwell and I were getting’ older and decided to tighten the screws on Pointer.
“Maxwell upped the monthly blackmail to three thousand dollars which would have been more than half of the cracker’s annual salary.
“The Sheriff was a church goin’ hypocrite and rather than be exposed or live out his life payin’ us, he swallowed the end of his service pistol and blew his head off after settin’ his house on fire destroying everything.”
“What about a tape-recorded confession I was told about?”
“Pointer was a hoarder and every earthly possession of his including recordings, kinky vids and pics of him and me, were consumed by the fire of hell where Pointer lived.
“I’m getting’ tired, young man.
“Bring by another bottle some time and I’ll tell you more stories.”
“Stories, Billie?”
“My memory is jumbled, and I don’t know what’s real or not,
“I won’t remember you stoppin’ by when I wake up in the morning.”
“Where’s Maxwell?”
“Maxwell died many years ago and took my heart with him.”
“Read this note Mrs. Jenkins placed inside the yearbook which includes photos of her daughter and Wendell.”
“I don’t have to young man.
“After Sheriff Jenkins died and Mrs. Jenkins was getting up in years, I mailed her an anonymous note tellin’ her everything, and I included the bone fragments.
“I couldn’t imagine a mother suffering all those years and being married to the Sheriff who was blindsided by his own deputy.”
“Why would Mrs. Jenkins keep silent and not seek justice?”
“She had her family’s reputation to defend, and thought it was best to remain silent and take the truth to her grave.
“May God bless her soul.”
“Did you contact Wendell’s parents?”
“Wendell’s family received a lot of hate inside this county and were pressured to move far away.
“I left the decision to Mrs. Jenkins to contact Wendell’s folks.
“I suspect Mrs. Jenkins felt the same as me, Black folk makin’ charges against the Sheriff’s department would only find trouble.”
Weeks later, I was awoken by my bedroom window breaking in the dark early hours of morning. My floor was littered with glass and shards of a broken whiskey bottle smelling of gasoline including a wick. A note was attached,
Your snoopin’ opened old wounds and brought the heat down upon the dark side of town.
Best you get steppin’.
A friend.
A tin of pomade and a 9-millimeter bullet was taped to the bottom of the bottle.
The small town became a slice of hell, and I moved away after having the funeral home bury the locket and yearbook alongside the graves of Sheriff and Mrs. Jenkins.
I hope Mrs. Jenkins is reunited with Emily and Sheriff Jenkins. I pray for the family of Wendell who also suffered silently. I’ll dedicate my future murder mystery novel to their memory.
For Sale.
1956 Chevrolet two-door Bel Air.
Light blue and white.
Blue rims and white walls.
Like new including Provenance!