Brownstonelit's Blog

12/12/10 at 12:21 P.M.

Don’t you just love synchronicity???

Angel Numbers denote all the number sequences above, 121, 210, 122, 1 and encourage me to support positive thoughts for manifestations of the highest possible rewards for my faith.

Last night sleep was fitful and I would have written myself into slumber, but I could not get past my own angst to do so and all within this bedroom were so tired and in need of uncompromised rest. Yet he came to visit… in a dream. Conversations and conclusions being shared- books being packaged for a long trip.

The sky is blanketed with clouds that, thick and low are tinged with the loveliest shade of charcoal gray and I am eager for the ambience they bring. Last night I sat and wondered what had happened to the magic of my childhood. Lost amongst my adult endeavors, I longed for the gift of innocence. While the cacophony of Christmas carols and colors ambushed from every conceivable angle…the rustle of theatre patrons both young and old played underscore as they scurried to and fro in aisles… I should have been in absolute delight and yet I could not rise above myself to find the joy.

So this is my Christmas this year? Lives once filled with the wants and needs of tiny folk that consumed your every momentum… weaving from their omnipotent joy the inner calm that makes this season bearable to those too old to remember how to fabricate the miracle of imagination. While downtown last eve, I watched freckled children and young parents eagerly rushing about- sweaters twisted and mittens dangling… I watched young lovers pace the streets with winter’s first blush abut their cheeks and envied their chaotic travels. So lost of late with all the rigors of holding fiscal walls together for the future, I have lost the art of living within the moment.

They encouraged me to stop in my steps and breathe deep.

Vacation only days away, I continue to paddle amidst rolling waves of change that threaten to capsize my small boat of assurance and I grow weary of treading water as I work so hard to reach the solid shoreline of the New Year. Yesterday’s plea went out to Charley and the cosmos in earnest. I cherish my husband and stable of furred friends as constant companions and while I treasure their commitment and comradely existence, I remain stalemated by posturing; my future hanging in the balance of others evolutionary ledgers. Minus grown children, proximate siblings and deceased parents, the circle about my tree feels broken and even though I am newly reconnected to my parents through Charley… I yearn for the tangibility of an earthly hug from them all. Bring it back Santa. Whatever it was that was hidden in the bottom of my stocking that made me smile… whatever brightly packaged serotonin that was once tucked underneath my tree… whatever inspiration sleigh bells and twinkling lights once spoke to me…let me find it there again this year for I am in need of their magic.

With heavy heart I called out to the stars that hung above my decorated door last night asking for a new way to believe. Asked that they help me find the joy of purpose and the reward of patience and faith that I have not lost another year to mindless folly. Once again the angels heard my prayer, brought no doubt by courier of my dearest friend.

Thank you Charley…

Like metaphorical snow flakes from the heavens, new information has drifted down, that I might have more to ponder. Though I was close on the dates, I believe now that Jessica died on or closer to July 11th, 1966. Both she and Roxanne worked at the same club together and served these 4 men in flannel their drinks. But there is more…
December 17th will indeed a day of interest and this case is in for another twist. Another twist that will perhaps explain further why Grim was so adamant about trying to get Charley’s wedding ring off his finger the night he was murdered. That helps explains the blood splatters on his curled fingers in the crime scene photos. Too much blood painted on your sleeves and your hands, Grim? Was your raincoat not large or long enough to hide your sins? Silly fool… Is that why you had to leave the scene and return later? Just like your counterpart? You both had to flee…one to take a bath… the other a shower… but both to rinse away the blood of an innocent man? Do not think that the darkness on that road that night granted you protection. Eyes from another realm can see all your miss-steps and broadcasts them from the heavens. What was the real reason you wanted his ring so bad? Was it for G as token of your affections- or for your trophy chest? Was it to try and promulgate the theory that Charley was leaving home- was this for that, that you wrung his fingers to and fro in an effort to remove his fidelity? Was the tiny ad for another place of residence another part of your planting? Did you really think that he would give to G in death what he would not give to her in life??? A home… a hearth… a wedding ring?

Hazel? Would you like to weigh in on this?

12/11/10

The sky outside my window is a restless kind of gray- teasing and tempting precipitation of some sort and I shall so welcome whatever spoils it brings. Last night I did indeed attend the Moore’s Ford Bridge Christmas party and was both honored and humbled at the same time by people whose kind hearts and generous souls have offered up much more than I for the cause. As I explained to them, we each come to this world with gifts the universe begs of us to share. Mine is an inherent thesaurus, laced with ink and motivated by instinct. For others… it is their keen sense of injustice and their emotional obligation to set things right.

I applaud their efforts and ask only that whatever gifts the gods have seen fit to bestow upon me, are used with intelligent navigation and with soulful contemplation. With so many social errands and seasonal obligations I ask only this…

Do not forget me Charley. There is still much I need to learn… much to find and much still to confirm and disseminate to others. Do not loose the thread dear friend. Tell me what Jessica’s relationship was to the insurance agent… when she told you she thought she might be pregnant. Who the lawyer was and who is Maxwell? Tell me what lies in Moultrie on Route 44…and does this have to do with the shack? The lockbox documents? The train??? Or the 4 in flannel???

It has been an odd year filled with challenges and changes that have swirled about my family as so much a chattel in the wind. A graduation, a wedding, a heart attack, a loss of career, a gaining of a new one through education, loosing and finding valued friends…a mixture of additions and deletions that have caused both great pause and great relief upon my heart. All understood as part of an evolutionary plan for my success and yet not easily digested. You have been as saving grace; granting tolerance when there should have been none- gaining grace when I have fallen short. I have found and lost you a hundred times each day and yet still you remain constant as the Northern Star when called upon. Your faith in my abilities strengthens my belief that we may yet find vindication for your efforts to connect from your world to mine. Would that I could with supreme intellect divine what it is you say when you are not speaking and yet derelict of such prowess- you must make amends and spoon-feed that which I am unable to discern for myself just yet.

Would that I could produce such unaided, you could now be free to move forward in your escalation. So forgiveness is the order of the day. R presents that are posturing to take your leave and in my selfishness I am reluctant to let you go. I desire not to keep you any longer than designed and hope that I have been more ballast, than anchor- more joy than ill wind in your path back to Julie… still, I am not without regret that your path will lead away when the time is right. So what of this season my friend? What can I give back to you? Holding on by financial shoestrings this year- I have nothing glamorous as Christmas present to offer you in return than my dedication to your cause, yet still bold and crass enough to ask additionally for one more present from you.

Tell me what I need to know Charley… the hours grow thin and I must be able to put this all to rest before the beginning of the new cycle. The next nine years should be celebration and not filled with eternal regrets.

Neither for you… nor for me. Send a message through R and I will listen in kind.

12/10/10

I did receive my GRPA award the other night for a program I developed at the theatre and I am hoping that the mayor and commissioners will not soon forget it in this season of budgeting- but I have little hope as it seems all around me suffers from the endings now becoming the final signature of the nine year. Today however is a busy day and should help to refocus my energies. I have work, research on this and then after a book signing later this evening and a Christmas party to attend with the Moore’s Ford Bridge folks to celebrate my new novel and then on the ‘morrow, two more celebratory events to attend. The sky is rich with that blue construction paper color of my youth and begs to be sketched in with winter scenes of white chalk. Perhaps some snow flurries will grace the heavens in this next day or two… I remain hopeful as I so need the magic of the season to settle in my bones and calm this impending restlessness.

So many things have been happening of late that tell me change is abounding everywhere in my life and I should take stock of where I am on many levels to increase stability. Charley baits from afar and teases with information he knows I cannot find segue to without more…the course of my job remains an enigma for want of a better description… and my world is slightly off its axis in terms of everything else. There is a disconnect or a stalling that permeates the cold air- Mercury is in retrograde and that always seems to toy with my congruity and sense of balance. As patient as a small child before a lit Christmas tree at midnight on Christmas Eve, I stand still with open arms ready to receive more information on my many questions, especially on this latest note. (Yes… that was an oxymoron and absolute sarcasm! I am desperate and impatient for more information as Charley has become the ballast in my life these days and to go so many without corroboration leaves me in an intellectual wobble.)

Do you recall the day that I received great information about “it”, Elizabeth, the lock box, the train and about the red card that was tucked away in Charley’s wallet?

Well… the name on the red card in his wallet bore the same last name as Jessica. And… if she had confided in Charley about her possible condition, then this makes imminently more sense that he would be alarmed when the young woman suddenly went missing. You see- Charley was crazy about his kids- any kids. He and Hazel had in fact lost two prior to J and so this would have been a sacred matter for Charley. And because the potential father may have been an attorney… well, it certainly explains a few more things. Though I cannot just yet tie one to the other- it is rather incriminating that an attorney who knew Charley’s case very well later on- was the same person who confessed to me that he was shown evidence eight years after, proving that Charley’s death was indeed a homicide. Why this individual decided to remain quiet about such was painted with altruistic intentions. Now in this light- I wonder if maybe the reasons go much deeper. Maybe there was an association to this case that was hidden from me. Perhaps he may have been the liaison between Jessica and death… or maybe he knew of another attorney who was the potential patriarch. Hmmmmmm…. it does beg one to wonder and it certainly meets the high stakes required for an agent of the law- especially when promoted to higher rank- to have obfuscated the facts and hidden evidence.

I need to get more information. I am told of Route 44- I Googled it; it is in Moultrie near a road I believe bears the same last name as a former revenue agent involved peripherally with Charley’s case. I am told of a person named Maxwell; I do not know if this is first name or last, but I will find out. I am now given the date of December 21st as significant, in addition to the date of December 17th which I was given earlier as one to be mindful of.

My, oh my! This just gets more and more curious!

12/8/10

And so I waited… but not for long! The wonderful thing about Charley is he knows when I get to a bridge I cannot cross or when I feel as though I have left someone… or something behind undiscovered. He understands that I cannot leave things left undone. That I must follow my gut when I know there is more to a situation than has been presented.

Roxanne’s murder may have been an, “Oh, s____ moment!” A… “How did things get so out of hand” moment. But, Jessica… with a shovel??? What was that about?

You know… I always wondered what the impetus was that led to Jessica’s murder. It didn’t make sense for it to have been a random act, when all the players had most likely slept with her. This was a crime of passion. They damaged half of her face. That’s not random violence-it was personal vengence. Very personal and so the trigger must have been very personal too. Let’s extrapolate the facts, shall we? Someone sleeps with a myriad of men- but one… one ends up with a possible bill at the end of dinner- so to speak. The mental segue is easy… the implications for this man, in his station in life and public eye mind numbing. Could it be? There is a possibility that someone confided something to Charley early on. Something very, very personal. Something so scandalous that would have put this someone else in a very bad spot- both publicly and privately.

Some one else had been with Jessica too. Someone perhaps, outside the 4 in flannel. Someone who was not the law, but someone who knew the law. Someone who didn’t want the world to know… Jessica may have been pregnant!

12/7/10
Today is a day for good luck. Today I found a lady bug on the inside of my window- a sign of said good luck and so I shall sally forth into this day looking for only good things to happen. Tonight I will receive an award for developing a theatre program that has won state recognition and until then… I will watch what else unfolds in between. Today I have sent both the cosmos and those who continue to aid in my research a request that certain questions be answered.

Until then, I shall continue to go back through my notes and follow leads that will confirm what I believe happened in this case. I continue to look at all sessions that contain information about the “4 in flannel” to help fill in some of the holes about Jessica and Roxanne. Two of these men are still alive. The two that are dead, just might be ready to talk!

And so I wait…

12/6/10

Continuing in my pursuit of railroad transportation of illegal moonshine, it is interesting to see which rail lines run from Clyattville north and west of Valdosta back in 1966. You must understand that the rail system was some what disconnected back then. Segments ran from one juncture to another- then switched ownership and ran in other directions. Suffice it to say that even though it would have been beyond belligerent to be as bold as to run moonshine via railcar back then– you could manipulate such a feat considering the power this group of individuals possessed. Nothing was sacred. In fact, it was this disconnectedness that made it very possible that smaller segments could have been secured for such illegal errands and gone undetected by anyone of true authority. After all- who was going to tell the law… on the law??? And thus we have the total conundrum of this entire case. How do you go to the law to insist that unlawful things were happening, when it was the law who was puppeteering the events? Now I know that this begins to sound like a bad Kirk Douglas western… but it is fact. In 1966 the law was corrupt- every strain in that tiny little sandbox burg of it was corrupt and without apology for being so.

Ahhhhhhhhhh… those in position of authority- there’s the rub. What does one do? Thus brings to mind the, “Lucifer Effect” as charted by Phillip Zimbardo. Look it up my dears and educate yourselves as to how seemingly good people can come to do bad things. But even more than those phenomena- how bad people can commit such crimes and suffer absolute immunity of conscience. Hey… wait a minute. Maybe that should be the title of this book. “Immunity of Conscience”. Yea, I like the way that sounds. OK- so now duly copyrighted as appearing in print- I shall consider it. (Though I believe I have decided to go with Exercise of Evil as final choice- this looms as great alternative or segue to another novel in outline already.)

Alas, I digress. November was a cosmically violent month for me with more unexpected changes than I believe I care to shoulder into the New Year- but there too, I am but traveler and not navigator these days, even unto my own world. Still, this past weekend has served my sense of balance well. I sold many books and met some wonderful people. In my sharing of segue from my first novel, The Danburg Diary (about Moore’s Ford Bridge Massacre 1946) into this next about Charley… I believe I have captured the imaginations of many who may begin to follow here now, his story. I caution them again:

Go back to the beginning my friends. You must start from the beginning a year ago now. This is not a tale in which one can simply plop down into the middle and comfortably move forward… it must be begun from the first and followed with keen memory, attention to detail and brutal diligence to understand the web being constructed. Because it is real- it comes without script or schedule. You see, that is the thing. I cannot suppose or fabricate these events. They are orchestrated from places I cannot go. Hindsight is my only compass and serves me better in my deciphering, but it is the addiction to the anticipation that captures and holds me captive. I fear many who will read my first book and then blindly venture here will not understand that the first book was constructed- this blog however constructs itself day by day as I wait for further instruction. It is not the Hallmark Channel rendition of murder where we find crime, then backfill. I am very much still with paint brush in hand, waiting on further canvass to create. This is raw and unbridled flow of information- based on others greed and disdain that has brought such literary footnotes before you. Many people bought the first book and I pray that they understand that one cannot tackle such as this without reflecting the horror that it is.

For here you have a man; a family man whose eyes may have wandered for want of something less familiar for a brief moment… but to serve up cold and cruel death as penalty for what Jimmy Carter once voiced as, “I lust with my eyes only” is abuse of the highest order… especially when we see that sex was both impetus and default in this murder. Lust is lust and as has been learned, the imagination breeches boundaries our conscious lives never could… or perhaps… never would admit to. Take Charley… a cup of coffee here and there. A smile, a look, and a nod to a pretty woman… and suddenly your life become the centerpiece of the 11 o’clock news. It is not my job to determine if in fact he strayed or not. It is however my duty to determine the reasons why they pushed to make that venue so believable and to defend whatever margin of innocence before both public and private court.

Charley’s fascination with a pair of brown eyes places his guilt neither here nor there- for it has nothing to do with this murder beyond convenience of segue. Charley was murdered because of the information brought by the MOT; by what he found when he began to investigate the disappearances of Jessica and Roxanne… when he got too close … when names and numbers began to make sense. When bloody shovels and compasses began to speak of the unspeakable. When blonde hair floated in the water and could no longer hide the bruises. When maids found bodies left for dead in downtown hotels. When those in charge began to feel the grip of justice begin to close around their throats- they reached out and went for his. When Charley presented physical evidence that sent chills down their spines- not for what they had done- but for what others would come to know about them if it got any further up the agency food chain…

Charley was baited, lured to Clyattville–Nankin Road that night and murdered because too many carrying badges could not conceive of their lives and immorality being gutted and splayed before the public domain. These men and one woman lived their lives comfortable and warm, tucked beneath a blanket of lies and their shallow guilt as they watched the grieving widow struggle to keep her children safe.

Do not forget the coffee grounds strewn about the kitchen floor in a message of obscenity, by the energy with the red fingernails. Do not forget that this same woman slept with the older energy and toyed with the younger. Do not forget the words of our victim who called her the black widow… and clutched his chest saying she had led him to his own slaughter. Do not forget how one man washed his hands of the blood that night, but his soul remains tainted forever. Do not forget the Grim Reaper who leads them all to their death and then smiles from behind his religious fervor as though pure as the driven slush.

In this season of forgiveness and peace, remember to cherish those beside you. Through it all, Charley has made his children the focus of his redemption- seeking their forgiveness for having left too soon. Through out this all, I too have done what I can to enable this redemption.

I’m listening Charley.
I’m still listening.
Whisper it in my ear.
Tell me more.
Tell me more.

12/4/10
I do apologize for the breach in continuity. I have been under deadlines of budgetary matters of late and also doing several book signings on the first novel, The Danburg Diary and happy to do so- but it has kept me from my lap top far longer than supposed.

With the holidays, there are stalls and delays that are built into schedules and so I am pacing myself. It is alright though- this slowing of some issues, while others gain momentum. It requires one to slow and for what has transpired in the month of November… the slower pace will allow me to absorb and process much information that requires greater scrutiny before I commit it to ink.

I can tell you that I am in pursuit of information that may broaden the scope of this research into areas I was not prepared to go into until the next book… but as you well know by now, I am often more vehicle than navigator in this adventure. And so… my duty is to but follow the information and not become rigid with personal agendas.

I will comment that I had an odd reply to a recent blog of mine. The address definitely makes partial reference to Valdosta, though the individual did not seem intent on identifying themselves. I take those then with baited measure and move forward. It is difficult, this type of chronology. I bear no ill will to the Valdosta of present. Nor even to the bulk of Valdosta in the past. Those who participated- even if only peripherally in Charley’s death, bear the brunt of my angst. Those still alive who were involved, will bear the brunt of something else in due course and so even in that I am more tempered now in my projections.

The rail car business has become a new focus of intrigue for me, even though Charley assures that the motive for his murder was solely due to information on Jessica and Roxanne. The MOT must then be a rekindled spotlight for my attentions. I have found the papers concerning his death. Curious note in the cause of death section. One would assume that a heart attack would be registered as a cardiac arrest. Instead in its place was substituted a phrase inclusive of the word, “Quarantinable”.

Now if I died of a heart attack and severe beating… would my death certificate read such? Hmmmmmm… Me thinks somebody did not want either family or unvested public officials to view the body before it could be doctored up a tad first! Thus then we can make plausible segue to- Coroner corruption and colusion?? How very odd and yet…how very predictable with this case.

Here’s a riddle for you!
What lives in Tifton…dies in Valdosta hotel room and gets buried in Augusta?

Answer?

“The trail will lead to … MOT”

12/2/10

Following a hunch I had about some information I’d received quite some time ago regarding the moonshine industry in Valdosta back then- the train, the lockbox and further contacts, I did a little more research and was surprised I had not seen the potential segue before now.

Names and dates that I was told months earlier to be aware of- which made no sense at the time, now ring differently as I delve deeper into another facet of another case that may also be a connection to Charley’s death.

“…. __________’s body was found in this river when it floated to the top and was found by a fisherman on December 17, 19___. An autopsy was performed that afternoon in _____________, Georgia…”

Yesterday, one of the key players in Valdosta’s moonshine history passed. Perhaps he will give up more information from the other side than he did from this one.