Chapter 8
Whispering Pines Estate was a huge structure with four massive columns across the front and large, bay windows facing the yards. The driveway, lined with tall, thick oak trees, meandered in a curved fashion.
Jacobs parked the patrol unit in the front drive and walked to the front door. When he rang the bell, a middle-aged woman opened one of the two giant doors and stepped back. Jacobs removed his hat, “Hello, Miss Emma. I wonder if I could see Miss Pary for just a moment.”
The woman motioned him inside. “Would you wait here please?”
A moment later, she returned and said, “Miss Pary is on the back porch. This way, please.”
Jacobs followed her down a long hallway into a brightly lit sunroom and then, out through a screen door to the rear porch. Abatha Pary was standing in front of an easel, brush in hand, and turned briefly when Jacobs and Emma stepped outside. “Miss Pary, Deputy Jacobs would like to see you a moment.”
“Thank you,” the elderly woman said without taking her eyes off her work. Jacobs waited until she stopped her work and asked, “Did you catch him?”
“I found him, Miss Pary, yes ma’am. He’s gone so there’s nothing more to worry about. That’s a beautiful picture you’re painting, Miss Abatha. You surely have a talent.”
Ignoring the compliment she snapped, “I will stop by the courthouse and sign a complaint later today.”
Jacobs, exaggerating his southern politeness and charm, replied, “Well, no ma’am. I didn’t arrest him I said I found him. You see...”
Her high-pitched voice shrilled, “I don’t appreciate words games, Mr. Jacobs. I’m sure you’re aware of my specific orders. Any trespassers caught on my property are to be prosecuted. Why aren’t you carrying out that order?”
Taking a deep breath, Jacobs said, “I couldn’t arrest him, Miss Pary because he wasn’t breaking the law. The man was visiting the old cemetery and he has a legal right to do so. The law gives him open right of way to and from the cemetery.”
Miss Pary turned and faced Jacobs with a cold, angry stare. “I don’t need lessons in the law, Mr. Jacobs. Trespassing is trespassing. I own that property including the snake den they call a cemetery. No one is allowed on my land without permission.”
Before arriving, Jacobs decided not to mention the Veal name but something in her attitude toward the law stuck in his throat. She assumed the law would be interpreted any she wanted. She could bend it, break it, or rewrite it and she was trying to order Jacobs around as though he were an employee. Jacobs chose his next words carefully. “The person was not trespassing, Miss Pary. He has family buried in the cemetery.”
With a wave of her tiny hand in the air she snapped, “Impossible. The only family alive with someone buried there....” Her words stopped suddenly and her expression turned dark and hateful. It was as though a dark shadow had crossed the room.
Jacobs, enjoying the sudden consternation in her mood, finished the incomplete sentence. “Is the Veal family, Miss Pary, Matt and Chuck Veal.”
“You tell Matt Veal to stay away from there. The Judge is not going to stop me from taking back my land and turning it into a pig pen.”
“It wasn’t Matt Veal I found out there, Miss Pary. It was Chuck, his younger brother from North Carolina.”
She stammered, “Chuck, the youngest?”
“Yes ma’am! He’s a newspaper writer and I hear he’s just about as good with words as you are with those brushes.”
She turned her back and raised the paintbrush to the canvas. “You will arrest either or both of the Veal boys if you “find” them on my property again. Is that understood, Deputy, or do I need to call the Sheriff and have him explain it to you?”
Jacobs saw something in the shrubbery along the edge of the porch move. He cocked his head sideways just enough to view the area in his peripheral vision but never missed a beat in the rhythm of the discussion. “That’s not true, Miss. Pary. The Judge in Swainsboro said that our Magistrate here does not have authority in the matter. The Veal family has rights to visit the grave of their Grandfather.”
“What?” She shrieked. “ Why don’t you....” then pulled up short, stopped, caught her breath, and more calmly said, “I’ll speak with someone else about this matter but you, Mr. Jacobs, can forget running for Sheriff of West Creek County when Walt Brooks retires, now, good day.”
Backing away gracefully he said, “Yes ma’am, and good day Miss Pary. I’ll see myself out.”
Jacobs wouldn’t let anyone dictate the law to him except those elected to write it, not those who bought and paid for it. The Parys held a tight rein on anything or anybody that had to go through the voters and Jacobs would never be a puppet to the family. He drove away from Whispering Pines but instead of turning left to go home, he turned right and started back toward town. “She’s fit to be tied and probably setting Walt’s ears on fire right now.” Jacobs mumbled.