Death by Lotto Page 5

“Something not kosher is going on. I assumed you listened to the entire conversation.”

  “Absolutely. I know that I’ve seen that man before.”

  “I’m going to have a long talk with Charles. He needs to be warned,” I said.

  “I’m going to look through all my papers from my time in Bermuda. I know it was there that I’ve seen him.”

  “Good. Let me know if you find something.”

  “Did you hear the contempt in his voice when he was talking about Charles’ family?” Eunice asked.

  “Don’t take it personally. It’s not about race. It’s about class. Sir Anthony probably scores high on the narcissism chart and thinks everyone else is on the planet to cater to those of his station. I know he and his man are lying about something. For one thing, his man said his name was Giles. Now Giles’ accent sounds Irish to me and no good Irishman would take on an English name without cause. I think the name is phony. We need to get a look at that guy’s passport.”

  Eunice kidded, “I’m sure you will arrange that somehow. Thank goodness you are on the side of the angels, Josiah. I’d hate to see you slide over to the Devil’s side.

  I turned to Eunice. “Don’t think that because I’m on the side of angels, I actually am one.”

  I wasn’t kidding.

  I was serious.

  Dead serious.

  7

  Shaneika Mary Todd stood at her office window, scrutinizing Cheapside Park below, which was located to the left of the old courthouse facing Main Street.

  She wondered how many people knew that the park with its tired fountain and patchy grass held a statue of an ancestor of hers – slave owner John C. Breckinridge.

  John C. was a devoted believer in slavery and opposed any dismantling of legal protection for it. He served as Vice President of the United States, ran for President in 1860, and became Secretary of War for the Confederacy during the Civil War. Yet he represented freed slaves in court, protecting their rights while supporting voluntary emancipation.

  When he visited his cousin, Mary Todd, in Lexington he met Abraham Lincoln and they became good friends despite their political differences . . . until the War came.

  So that a statue of such a complex man should stand on the site of the busiest slave market in the nation prior to 1860, second only to New Orleans, was fitting. Slavery was a complex issue.

  Kentucky had the third-largest number of slave owners in the Union with 38,385 households owning an average of five or more slaves. Even the state’s song, My Old Kentucky Home, is connected to slavery. Stephen Foster first called it Poor Uncle Tom, Good Night; a possible expression of sold slaves mourning for their Kentucky home.

  In the middle of the park had stood a wooden block where slaves were auctioned, while over in another corner had been a whipping post for those who resisted being bought.

  Some of Shaneika’s ancestors certainly were sold there. And some of her ancestors bought there. There were dark stories on both sides.

  Besides her passion for Thoroughbred racing Shaneika loved history, especially that of her esteemed family and the locale. Sometimes she gave talks to schools about the history of slavery and indentured servitude in Kentucky and compared it to human trafficking today.

  She tried to give both slave owners and slaves a human face. Shaneika knew from bills of sale stored in her office safe that as soon as some of her relatives got their freedom, they ventured to Cheapside to buy a slave before the Union boys shut the market down.

  Sometimes a free black person would buy a white person who had sold him or herself into slavery, as they were no longer able to fend for themselves. The most famous case of this was Aunt Charlotte and William King Solomon in the 1830s.

  How complex human nature is, Shaneika thought. Would she, a freed slave in the early nineteenth century, have bought another human being at Cheapside if given the opportunity?

  Her great, great, great aunt had done so, and the slave had died under her neglectful care. It was one of those dirty little stories in the family.

  Post Civil War, former slaves’ lives were in some ways worse, as they did not have their masters’ legal protection.

  Many whites could not accept the emancipation decree. The Ku Klux Clan raged against the former slave class in rural areas by sticking victims’ heads on pikes along the roadside as a warning to other blacks.

  Newly emancipated slaves fled to Lexington seeking protection in newly formed black neighborhoods while others went further north to escape the violence.

  Life was harsh for people of color in the Lexington area especially.

  Between 1882 and 1968 there were over two hundred lynchings in Kentucky. Records show that one hundred people were lynched within a fifty-mile radius of Lexington.

  While the majority of the victims were African American males, white men and black women were also lynched.

  Many white men were hung because they were trying to stop a lynching, but African American women were lynched just for being “uppity.” It didn’t matter if they were in the right.

  In 1904, Marie Thompson of Shepherdsville, Kentucky was attacked by John Irvin, her landlord, with a knife. Being a woman of substance, Marie got the knife during the struggle and slit Irvin’s throat. She was arrested for murder but Marie never got to trial.

  She was busted out of jail by a lynch mob who hung her. As she was swinging in the air, Marie grabbed one of her attackers by the collar and grabbed his knife. Then she reached up and cut the hemp rope. Fighting through a crowd of drunken men, she was finally gunned down. One hundred shots were fired at her. Marie Thompson suffered and then died the next day in jail from gunshot wounds.

  Even those who were convicted and sentenced to die by the electric chair still had to fear the lynch mob.

  In 1920 a little white girl, Geneva Hardman, was beaten to death with a rock on her way to school.

  Will Lockett, an African-American man, confessed to the murder. He was also responsible for the murders of three other women.

  But even though he was convicted, a lynch mob formed. The National Guard was called in and the riot that ensued left five people dead and fifty wounded. Martial law was declared in Lexington.

  This was the first time Southern authorities took a public stand. Lexington was the first city in the South to try to officially stop lynching and Kentucky was the first state to make anti-lynching the law of the land.

  Shaneika shuddered. How much blood had that park soaked up the past two hundred years? And the Native Americans fighting here even before the European era added to the town’s bloodletting history.

  She had heard rumors recently that the city had plans to build a pavilion there for entertainment purposes and to house the Farmers’ Market on Saturdays. Her cheeks twitched as she thought of young kids strumming guitars and people selling tomatoes where lives had been destroyed.

  But perhaps everyone should forget the past in Lexington and just get on with the business of living.

  That’s the advice she was going to give Josiah Reynolds. “Be glad that you are alive and keep going forward.” That is . . . after she gave her the bad news: Fred O’nan was free!

  In a plea bargain, Fred O’nan had entered an Alford plea of guilty. The Alford plea is a catch-22. You can plead guilty and yet not be guilty. It was just a way for a defendant to say that he had had enough fighting the courts, and the court’s way of saying they didn’t have enough evidence to convict or didn’t really believe the defendant was guilty. Either way, the books could be closed on the case and everyone was happy.

  The judge still had the power either to give O’nan a sentence or set him free, but everyone knew this judge had never liked the case. It had to do with the lack of mirandizing until O’nan had set foot on American soil. The judge felt O’nan had a good case of kidnapping on foreign territory if he had chosen to pursue it, but with the Alford plea – that ended. Basically, the judge slapped O’nan’s hand with a ruler.

  But still there
were some parameters that O’nan had to observe.

  He couldn’t come within a hundred feet of Josiah or her property.

  The same with Franklin.

  He couldn’t sue the city, Josiah Reynolds, Franklin or the police department for his dismissal in either criminal or civil court.

  He had to attend psychiatric sessions for six months and then the court would review his progress. The court felt O’nan had anger problems with middle-aged women.

  He was on probation for three years.

  But Fred O’nan would not serve one more day in jail. His tracking bracelet would be removed, and as long as he observed the terms of his release, he was basically a free man.

  The D.A. had wanted to call Josiah and inform her, but Shaneika stopped her. Over the past year, Shaneika had come to know Josiah Reynolds and what made her tick.

  Shaneika knew that Josiah skirted around the law when it suited her, but down deep Josiah would do what she thought was the righteous thing to do.

  In Kentucky that could be different from book law. There was the law and then there was Kentucky justice.

  Shaneika knew that Josiah was going to take this hard.

  Very hard!

  8

  I didn’t know how to respond. I just stared at Shaneika with a silly expression on my face that somehow corresponded to “duh?”

  We sat in silence until Mrs. Todd unclasped her hands only to flutter one hand about her neck. The gesture made me flinch. “I think I will make some tea.” She rose and went into the kitchen.

  “Does Franklin know?” I asked.

  “Yes, I talked to him earlier. He’s coming out here later on. He wants to talk to you about it. I told him it would be all right. That is okay, isn’t it?”

  “Of course. Franklin is always welcome.”

  “I told you that this judge was quirky and very pro-police. He thinks O’nan’s rights were violated.”

  “That man tried to kill Franklin and me and then ran off to a foreign country. What about our rights!”

  “I know. I know. You don’t have to tell me this stinks.”

  “I know you warned me, but I didn’t think in my wildest dreams that this judge would really let O’nan go. No prison time. None! Surely there is something that can be done about this?”

  “No, there isn’t. And you stay away from both the judge and O’nan.”

  “What about a civil suit? O’nan had to be getting money from somewhere to hide that long.”

  “I wouldn’t advise it. It’s over. I know it’s not fair, but I’ve seen burglars that have broken into people’s houses sue the victims if they got hurt during the process, like falling over toys and breaking a leg. And the burglars won their cases. You can never tell what is going to happen with a judge or a jury. Let it go, I’m tellin’ you. Let it go.”

  “What if he comes back to finish the job?”

  Shaneika shook her head in exasperation.

  Eunice put down a tray and handed a cup to Josiah. “She won’t say it, but I will. Then you’ll have to kill him and make it look right for the law.”

  “Mother!”

  “Don’t mother me. The woman has a right to be concerned. The law does very little to protect women in this state. Husbands and boyfriends kill their women folk all the time. You know as well as I do that they sometimes get off even with lots of evidence against them.”

  Eunice reached over and patted my knee. “I know that the thought is repulsive to a decent person but if the time comes and your life or someone you love is in danger, instinct will kick in. You will do the right thing.”

  “You said you thought he was high that night, Josiah?” asked Shaneika.

  “Yes, his eyes were dilated and his skin flushed.”

  “He has to do talk therapy as part of his probation. Maybe he’s calmed down and will work this out. Maybe he’ll heal and forget about you.”

  “Fred O’nan taking responsibility for his own screw-ups is about as probable as a dog in a manger.”

  Shaneika smiled. “Mom always uses that phrase but I have never understood what it means.”

  “Sweetie, it means that the dog can’t eat the hay in the manger, but doesn’t allow other animals to eat it either, just out of pure meanness,” explained Eunice.

  “Eunice, you were right about living my life,” I announced. “We are going to proceed with the weddings and open the Butterfly more. The truth is if someone wants to get you, locked doors and security cameras aren’t going to keep them out. They will find a way in sooner or later. I know that from my daughter’s work.

  “I’m only fifty-one. I just can’t curl up and die, waiting for the boogie man.”

  “You’re way too young for that,” concurred Eunice.

  I took a sip of tea. “You know this would taste better with some of my honey.”

  “I knew there was something I forgot,” stated Eunice, looking happier.

  Wanting to change the subject, I glanced at Shaneika and admired her new haircut. It was cut very close to the scalp. “Every time I see you, you have a new hairdo.”

  “You like it?”

  “Yes, I’m very glad you cut off those dreadlocks.”

  “Too ethnic for a white girl like you to appreciate?”

  “They looked uncomfortable.”

  Shaneika laughed. “Don’t tell anyone but when my scalp itched, I couldn’t scratch it. It was driving me crazy.” She laughed again.

  The image of silver bells falling over waterfalls filled my mind as to describe her laughter. Shaneika rarely laughed. She should laugh more as it was lovely.

  “I’m so glad that you’re taking this much better than I thought you would. It would be in everyone’s best interests if you could calm Franklin down when he comes. He was very agitated when I left him.”

  Nodding, I assured Shaneika, “I will take care of Franklin. You leave him to me.” I took another sip of my tea. As far as I was concerned the conversation was over . . . as least where Shaneika was concerned.

  When Eunice and Shaneika left, I called my daughter’s secret private number. Someone picked it up but said Nothing. I could hear breathing on the other end of the phone.

  “Rosebud,” was all I said.

  9

  “Franklin, get the hell out of my closet!” I yelled.

  “I spent all that time getting clothes for you that fit and look stylish, and you turn around wearing granny clothes again. I will not be seen in public with you looking like that.”

  “I have to wear clothes that are easy to get on and off. I can’t wear things that have zippers or too many buttons. Sometimes those types of clothes are not the most trendy, but they are comfortable and easy for me.”

  Franklin gave me a blank stare. “Blah, blah, blah. You’ll never catch a man looking like that.”

  “What would I want with a man at this stage of my life?”

  “It’s only been a month or so since Jake left and now you are taking vows of chastity? Oh come on, honey gal. You two were probably doing the nasty all the time. I know you better than that. That one leg might not be working so hot, but what’s between those legs is doing just fine.”

  I turned away. There was no way I was going to wrangle Franklin out of my closet and I didn’t want to discuss Jake. The thought of him leaving still hurt deeply. How could I have been so stupid as to fall in love at my age!

  “Oh, good lord!”

  “What!”

  “Are you wearing these huge granny panties again . . . and here is one with a hole.” Franklin held out the offending garment. “Trash bag, sister.”

  “How come you are so duded up?” I asked, wanting to change the subject again.

  Franklin was wearing black pants, a dove gray shirt with a silver tie, black hard-sole shoes and belt. He looked smart, successful and grown-up. Very conservative. Not at all like his usual getups. “I had a job interview in Cincinnati.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, really,” he replied, th
rowing a beloved pair of my stretch pants over his head. “And I have another interview in New York next week.”

  “Running away, huh?”

  Franklin gave me a contemptuous look. “I knew you’d say that. I’m not running away. I’m running to something. There’s nothing for me here, and yes, if the truth were known, I’d rather not be in the same town with that lunatic O’nan having free reign. Sometimes it’s best to move on. That’s what I’m doing.”

  He looked at some old pantyhose and ripped them apart. “No one wears these anymore. And you should do the same.”

  “Same what?”

  “Move on.”

  Franklin moved over to my jewelry box.

  “Can’t. Dug in.”

  “Go live in London with Asa.”

  “What about all my animals?”

  Franklin started trying on my necklaces and rings. “This is costume jewelry. Where’s all the good stuff?”

  “Around the neck of Brannon’s mistress.”

  “OOOOH. Sorry. Didn’t think before I spoke.” He admired himself in the closet mirror. “Have Charles’ grandsons live here while you’re gone.”

  “Are you nuts? The whole place would be trashed. They’re barely twenty. There would be a party here every night.”

  “I’m just telling you that a plan is needed. None of this thinking everything is gonna be all right if you just sit on your fanny. You need to be proactive.”

  “Franklin, take that brooch out of your pocket and put it back in my jewelry box.”

  “You never wear it. It’s just going to waste. I have a ’70s yellow jumpsuit that it would look sweet on.”

  There was a knock on the closet door. Both our heads swiveled. Standing in the doorway lounged Matt, wearing a gray flannel suit with a crisp white shirt accented by a charcoal tie with red stripes. His hair was freshly combed and nails manicured, with expensive cologne subtly drifting towards us. He looked like a model out of a magazine. I stopped breathing for a moment.

  “Mind if I come in?” he asked. He directed his gaze towards Franklin.

  Franklin swirled furiously in my direction. “Did you plan this?”