Prologue

            The endless rainy days in the Mississippi Delta finally stopped. Water that previously flowed across the roads remained in the ditches, some water in potholes dried up, and the mud still there split and cracked. Hunter Harley leaned his body as muscular as a pit bull’s against his patrol car parked at the edge of the Sunflower River. From the corner of his eye, he spotted a fire ant navigating the muddy cracks surrounding his boot. He sympathized with the small creature, relating to its struggle to explore new terrain. Hunter had to do the same when he moved to Cleveland; in many situations, he was still finding his way. 

What happened a few months ago shouldn’t have, but it did. Hunter leaned on the warm hood of his car and watched the sun set into the horizon of an orange sky. The Sunflower River flowing at a trickle made him wonder if Mamma Cheche’s body would someday rise up out of its banks. 

Today things were peaceful, but not so long ago this remote area had been a hub of activity. Hunter used all resources available to search the water and surrounding fields for her body, but nothing was found. Many locals, especially those familiar with Cheche’s mojo, felt it was entirely too much unusual activity for a place like Cleveland, Mississippi. They prayed for things to return to being nice and calm with any unnerving activities kept under wraps and solved without all the hullabaloo.

Uncontrollable thoughts raced through the sheriff’s mind and dark memories crept in on his reflective moment by the body of water. A bead of sweat from under his Stetson hat ran down his cheek as he recalled the time in Dallas when he stared out at Lake Ray with a gun in his right hand. Moonlight shining off the polished gun barrel, he had been ready to use it to solve his problems. Then, sanity overruled despair, a hint of faith eased into his heart. He remembered a preacher once told him God and time could fix anything. Giving in to those thoughts, Hunter vowed to find a way to rectify his mistakes and move on.

So, Hunter started over, he expected to be the sheriff of this quiet, small town for a short time, but he experienced the opposite. He still saw remnants of police tape among the weeds, marking where a couple of months into his term as interim sheriff, skeletal remains of a famous blues singer, Goldie Parsons, floated to the surface during a flood. It had ended years of speculation and lore, and the action began.

            Hunter kicked at a jagged bit of dried clay in front of his boot blocking the path of a determined fire ant. Things that happened in Dallas were not fixed; but he was feeling better and the events of his life in Cleveland had helped him come to terms with the mistakes he made in Texas. I came here to escape Dallas and my failure there. Ha! What I expected to be an easy job turned into investigating one of the largest cold cases ever. Nobody realized Goldie Parsons was murdered until over half a century after he went missing. Now that’s a cold case, a very cold case. Yet, I got the job done.

 Hunter’s heart ached when the memories returned in a flash, still as fresh in his mind as if they’d just happened. He was astounded at how Goldie Parsons became famous after cutting only one record in Memphis. He then thought about the Tollar family, the love and loss they experienced, and who tempted fate by hiring a killer. So much drama had happened since that moment. Hunter’s eye twitched as he took off his cowboy hat, ran his hand through his dark hair, damp with sweat, and put it back on. It wasn’t like any case he would have expected, things weren’t resolved like he hoped, but at least he’d solved the case.   Hunter was no longer Cleveland, Mississippi’s newest resident; the population increased last month when Goldie’s granddaughter, Shannon, moved into the old Tollar Plantation house with two children in tow. She had called him before leaving Washington, D. C. to talk about the destination of Goldie’s remains. 

“Hunter,” Shannon told him, “I want my family to be together. I am talking to the Sunflower County Board of Supervisors to create a family cemetery on the Tollar Plantation. I plan to have Goldie’s, my grandmother, and mother’s remains moved there. If you don’t mind, keep Goldie’s bones at the city morgue till the rest come from Mobile. Once I move down there and get the kids settled, we will have a proper ceremony. I don’t want to make a big deal out of this, but I do want to show Goldie the respect he never got when he was alive.” 

            Then she laughed, “As if my life wasn’t colorful enough, I am the guardian of two kids! My half brother and sister. Our dad died and his second wife, a trophy wife, didn’t want them. All Frederica cares about is Frederica. Her name suits her; she was born during Hurricane Frederic. She’s past thirty now, but she’s flitting, or storming, around like a teenager. I’ll fill you in on the rest over a cup of coffee when I get into town and move into the family property.” 

Hunter shook his head in wonder, the last time he saw Shannon she was a sharp-witted Washington D. C. lawyer in a tight suit…and single. I bet that story is going to be an interesting one. Timing is everything. Harley was strangely attracted to Shannon Brown; he had realized how much her flaming red hair suited her personality the moment he met her. She gave up her prestigious city life as a high-powered attorney and moved to Cleveland. From fancy lattes to fields of cotton. I wonder what kind of culture shock she’s going to feel. Maybe more than I did.

            Hunter walked to the river’s edge, dirt crunching under his boots, took in a deep breath, and closed his eyes. A flashback of Goldie’s skull resting in the mud crossed his mind and he opened his eyes wide to shake the image. No mojo for me. No vision. I’m remembering what I saw. Damn, it wasn’t the first time I’d seen remains of a human body but seeing them here was unexpected. Kind of caught me off guard. Ah, it reminds me of Mama Cheche. Smart woman. Knew when her time was up and took care of it in her own, inimitable way. He shook his head. His heart hurt a little as he stared at the sun disappearing in the distance. Maybe she did have the power of the mojo. If there is such a magical charm, I heard a few rumors that Goldie had it but ignored it. It would be odd if it wound up with his granddaughter. 

      Stooping, Hunter picked up a wad of packed dirt and

tossed it into what was left of the  river during the dry spell. It barely caused a ripple. Why am I even thinking about the mojo? I can’t hide in this town forever. Richard Grimes is graduating and is going to come home soon. He’ll take over as sheriff like his father before him. I will need to move on. Where do I go? Whether his deputy, Zita Rocconi, played a part in that decision, he was still unable to admit it. He remembered the sweetness of her favorite perfume and breathed deeply. Forcing such thoughts from his mind, Hunter turned and walked back to his car. Another day; another dollar.