Another Louisiana Mystery

I was sitting on the marble steps of the old Court House admiring the large oaks that shaded the small park-like area that all the town residents simply called the Court House Square. I was thinking about how lucky I was to have settled in such a quaint town. My son needed to pay his most recent traffic ticket before the court date. Traffic tickets are now paid in the new, and modern Court House Annex, which was built directly behind the old Court House, and connected on the second floors by an enclosed walkway.

My son was taking longer than I had hoped, and I was getting thirsty. A concession stand, which sells snacks, soft drinks, and Daily-Made brand sandwiches, is located immediately inside the old Court House. The walls of the main hall of the old Court House are lined with antique chairs, which are much better than the hard, brightly colored plastic and metal chairs in the new Court House annex. Suddenly my thoughts about how quiet and soothing these dark, hallowed halls are were interrupted by loud, but muffled voices shouting. All but one of the judge’s courtrooms and chambers had been moved to the new annex, so all the typical bustling traffic of lawyers, plaintiffs, and defendants was gone. There sandwiched between the Tax Assessor’s office and the Public Records Division of the Clerk of Courts Office, I sat frozen, straining to hear what was being said. In typical small town fashion, the gossip mill always carried the most interesting and up to date news than the local newspaper. My being here would be my opportunity to make a contribution to the local gossip mill. I laughed to myself, thinking about how much everyone in this town loved new news, especially if it was news about any loud, attention grabbing, very public conflict between elected city officials and anyone else.

An older man, dressed in drab, gray, work overalls, bolted out of the double doors and slipped and stumbled. He lay sprawled at my feet. I was shocked as I looked down and saw Rufus Breaux. He pressed a small metal object into my hand as I reached down to help him up. Before Rufus could get to his feet, four men, who appeared to be in their mid to late thirty’s, came bounding up the steps that came from the basement of the old Court House. They grabbed Rufus, and pulled him to his feet, with more roughness than I thought was necessary. Rufus struggled to free himself from their grasp. As they were leading him away, Rufus turned and winked at me.

My son showed up just as the four men drug Rufus back into the Clerk of Courts offices.

“We gotta go, now.” I said as I rushed out of the old Court House's main entrance, and down the marble steps, and across the Court House Square to my car.

“Mama, what’s the rush? I wanted to get a cold drink.” My son was saying as he dutifully followed.

Once within the safe confines of my car, I looked at the small metal object Rufus had placed in my hand. “Why it's a locker key for the bus terminal.” I said out loud.

“Huh?” Ray looked at me a little annoyed. “You’re talking to yourself again, ma.”

“By now you ought to be use to it.” I said as I drove into the parking lot of the bus terminal that was just two short blocks from the Court House.

I ignored my son’s questions as I got out of the car to go inside the bus terminal. I hadn’t realized until I walked in how long it had been since I had been inside the building. It had not aged gracefully. I walked over to the locker-lined wall, and hurriedly scanned the locker numbers looking for the numbered locker that matched the key. To my surprise none of the numbers matched. I was not about to call more unnecessary attention to myself. God knows the inquisition that I would have to face if anyone even saw me at the bus terminal. I would have no reasonable excuse for being there. I hurried back to the car and drove home.

I put the key in my jewelry box and basically forgot about it. I figured that Rufus would come pick it up when he could. A few weeks went by before I had time to think about Rufus, the key, or the commotion I witnessed at the old Court House. I thought it odd that I had not heard from Rufus.

As I was going through the mail I had received over the last couple of days, I noticed a hand addressed envelope. The writing was barely legible, and the envelope looked like it had been crumpled up, and even gotten wet. . Usually, my mail consists of only regular monthly bills, local advertising flyers, and other junk mail, so this sloppily addressed letter that was in such deplorable condition certainly attracted my attention. There was no return address, and the postmark was smeared.

Inside the envelope was a handwritten letter. The writing was barely readable but I could make out parts of the letter. The letter asked if I had enjoyed by trip to Morgan City, and Rufus Breaux had signed it. I remembered the day I saw Rufus at the old Court House, and the bus terminal locker key that Rufus had sneakily given me.

As I pulled into the bus terminal in Morgan City, I wondered if this is where I would find the locker that the key would open. I walked into the bus terminal, and found a row of lockers. The key did open a locker, and inside there were three large manila envelopes, and each was heavy and thick. The three manila envelopes were banded together with the large and thick rubber bands. A plain white envelope simply marked,“Instructions” was underneath the criss-crossed rubber bands that held the stack of manila evelopes together. I walked out to my car with the contents of the locker and examined my treasure.

Inside the plain white envelope was a letter with instructions to bring the entire contents to a lawyer in Lafayette, Louisiana as quickly as possible. The letter stated that there would be a considerable reward for making the delivery.

If I was going to drive to Lafayette, then there was one thing that I was going to do that Rufus had not asked, and luckily the Lafayette lawyer never suspected. I then went to the nearest copy center and made a complete copy of all the contents of all three manila envelopes. Making copies of the aerial pictures, and other detailed survey maps delayed my trip to the lawyer’s office in Lafayette by several hours. Just as the instructions had promised, I was paid five thousand dollars for making the delivery.

The next week the local paper carried Rufus’s obituary. I attended the services just to see for myself that Rufus was really dead, but it was almost a waste of time since the family had decided to have a closed casket. I did notice some unfamiliar faces attempting to blend with the locals. As I waited to get in the possession of cars that would escort Rufus to his final resting place, I took notice of several out of town license plates. I quickly jotted the license numbers on the back of a piece of old mail I found in my purse. I had no idea what I was going to do with out of state license numbers.

I had been watching the local newspaper closely to see if anything was being said about the commotion in the old Court House. Everyone, including the Sherrif seemed to have no concerned about Rufus's death. The two men that had dragged Rufus into the Clerk of Courts office seemed to be as aware of my presence at Rufus's funeral, as I was aware of their presence. I watched as they casually strode into the parking lot. They stood on the sidewalk near where the funeral procession would begin. As I pulled my car into the funeral procession line, about 20 cars behind the hearse, I watched both men's eyes follow my car as I passed. The short, stocky, balding man made a call on his cell phone. Now I was beginning to wonder if my license plate number was as much interest to them, as the out of State license plates had been to me.

I did not follow Rufus's funeral procession the the graveyard. I pulled out of line and went straight home. Once again my lack of faith and trust in lawyers seemed to have been justified. As I examined the documents that had surely gotten Rufus killed, I soon realized why. Millions and millions of dollars worth of oil was being stolen. Royalties were not being paid. Rufus had found the evidence to prove that several major oil companies were using directional drilling to raid oil fields that they did not own or legally lease.

I desprately needed help to decide what to do with all this information. I needed to figure out who I could trust, before I ended up as dead as everybody wanted us to believe that Rufus was. I had a feeling that that key was important. The people who took Rufus that day needed to know where what he had done with the information. I did not believe that this was the end of it.

I quickly gathered up all the papers, maps, and surveys, and decided that it was definitely time for me to take a vacation. I had the reward money for delivering the information to that lawyer in Lafayette. I had not seen any real evidence of Rufus being dead.

Rufus was a mean, stubborn old man. Rich too, and he didn't need any more money, so that could mean that there could be something more contained in all the paperwork that I had missed. Seemed to me that Rufus would have put up a serious fight. If Rufus was really dead, then there should have been noticable injuries and bruises from a struggle.

I really need to stop sticking my nose into other peoples affairs, before somebody ends up really dead.


To be continued...

Written for

FORUM

The Writer's Cramp  (13+) Write the best poem or story in 24 hours or less and win 10K GPS! #333655 by Sophurky

But not finished in time to submit. So I am just putting it in my portfolio, and since I am no longer limited to 1000 words, I guess that I will just keep on writing. Think that I am going to have to make this a book item.

The New Prompt is:
Write a Mystery with the following items... A bus terminal locker key, an antique, and a handwritten letter.
Since I'll be putting the winner in the Writing.Com Mystery Newsletter keep the rating below 18+.