David ran his hands through his sandy-blonde hair taking in every aspect of the old shack, with his dark caramel colored eyes. There had to be more to his grandfather’s disappearance than a simple scuffle over corn liquor.
Pulling a sheaf of paper from a shoulder bag, David flipped through the pages scanning the familiar information. The police report was no help at all. The only salient point was the reference to a student from the college downstream finding two horses that may have belonged to a rival bootlegger.
“What happened?” David asked again, frustration ruffling his usual calm. “Where did you go?” the puzzle of his grandfather’s disappearance had bothered David’s grandmother right up until the day she had died, leaving this mysterious legacy for David to unwind.
Heaving a heavy sigh, David turned walking back out of the little hut and retraced his steps, following the stream along the familiar path and through the quiet campus far below as his brain turned the problem over again.
David Watkins needed to talk to the woman that had found the horses. He needed to hear the story from her and find a way to glean any remnant of information that might bring this mystery to a close and put his grandmother’s soul to rest.
There had to be a clue somewhere. There had to be someone who had seen, heard, or felt something that would, at long last, solve the mystery of the disappearance of Harcourt Watkins.
As David made his way to the lower parking area, along the same stream that poured more than one hundred feet over the sheer wall of rock that created the falls, he searched his phone for the address of the woman he needed to see. He could only pray that she was still living and that she could tell him something.
Climbing into his beat up truck, David cracked a window against the sweltering Georgia sun, and turned the key. One way or another he was determined to solve the mystery that had for so long defined his family’s legacy, over shadowing all aspects of joy, jubilation, and cheer.
A missing grandfather, a moonshine still, two stray horses, and a case as cold as the air conditioning spewing from his truck vents.
David had his work cut out for him, but he knew he had to pull the threads together and solve the case putting old ghosts to rest.
The GPS announced that he had arrived and David peered out the window at the massive white house nestled among the big trees. The old home, with its stately columns and immaculately sculpted lawn was not what he had expected to find at the end of his short drive. He was sure that by now the old woman would be in a nursing facility or have moved to Florida, not still residing in the fancy Victorian home at the top of the hill.
Parking on the street, David grabbed his journal and trotted up the stairs, ringing the doorbell expectantly.
“Hello?” A dark-haired young woman opened the door, and David tipped his head curiously.
“I’m looking for Alana Holmes,” he said, puzzled by the young woman’s appearance. The woman he was looking for had to be in her late sixties, possibly seventies by now.
“That’s my grandmother,” The young woman smiled. “May I ask what this is about?” Her bright blue eyes took in the leather packet in his hands before meeting his warm brown gaze.
“I’d like to talk to her about the horses she found back in ’66,” the young man met her gaze boldly. “Is she available?”
Susan scowled at the man on the other side of the screen door. He was tall, dressed casually, and had striking features under a mop of sandy-blonde hair. “Are you selling something?” Susan snipped.
“No, I’m just looking for some details about the day she found the horses in the national forest. I’m doing research.” He knew the words were bordering on a lie, but he didn’t want to be turned away without a chance to interview Mrs. Holmes. The Holmes family, known as one of the wealthiest in the area, were said to be standoffish at best.
“Susan, who is it?” another voice punched into the heat of the sweltering Georgia summer. “Invite them in for a glass of sweet tea. It’s too hot to keep folks standing out there on the porch.”
Reluctantly Susan opened the door. “This way, please.” She let the man walk into the entry hall, grinning as his dark eyes grew wide with surprise. The old family home often had that effect on people upon entry. Over the years the family had modernized their old Victorian house, but kept the elegance, and regal appointments of the time along the way.
Susan’s family had made their money as peach farmers, and over the generations had built an elegant home that fit the north Georgia region perfectly.
The polished marble floor, the sweeping stairs, the warm rich woods of the office across the hall, all blended in a simple sophistication that was common place to her.
“If you’ll follow me,” Susan led the man across the hall to a sitting room, where her grandmother was resting in an upright, pink wing backed chair.
“Grandmother, this is…” Susan stopped realizing she didn’t know the man’s name. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”
“Watkins,” the young man smiled, transforming his serious face. “David Elias Watkins.”
“Watkins!” Susan and her grandmother expostulated at the same time. “What on earth do you want here?”
David felt his temper rise to a slow burn as both women stared at him. His family had been treated this way ever since his grandfather’s disappearance. Clenching his fingers into fists, he opened his mouth, speaking calmly.
“I would like to ask you a few questions about that day in ’66 when you found the horses above the falls. I’m trying to uncover what really happened to
