Archive for November, 2011

Maybe it means…

November 28, 2011




Home today with rain and a case of the sniffles gives me the chance to take stock of where I’ve been and to look forward to where it is I am going. It amazes me to think that soon it will be 2012 and that Charley has been a part of my life for going on three years now. Even more amazing that I once thought finding the shooter was the most important thing I could do for Charley.


Oh what fools we mortals be…


When Charley said that would be just the tip of the iceberg, he wasn’t kidding. Now here we are, three years later and if the last session was on target… five bodies later…that all point towards the energies and directives of one main man and his partners in crime. (This time not only no pun intended… no pun period.)


Grim, perhaps the big hubbub about the year 2012 as being the beginning of the end isn’t all about the Mayan calendar. Maybe it means that it is about the beginning of your end. The end of your era…the end of your freedom and your walking the face of the earth as a supposed pillar of the community.


By the way- you don’t really think people ever bought that ‘holy roller-I’m so honest’ crap about you, did you? Look around Grim. How many true friends do you really have? Can you count them? There are only two left of the four in flannel and you my dear are one of them, soooooooo…the friendship field is pretty thin, isn’t it?


Maybe the two of you should just give up the ghost- Charley’s to be succinct!

Give it up. Go to the authorities and just tell the truth. You might find they will look at you and Albert Einstein and the farmer in the dell with kinder eyes for your compassion to step forward and finally tell everyone your part in these murders. Maybe they will appreciate your candor and your…latent honesty? (Excuse me; I just threw up in my mouth a little bit there!)


Naw…I’m kidding. I just threw up a lot! They are gonna throw the book at you and if not theirs… most certainly mine! So when will you get the message that Charley, Roxanne, Jessica, the MOT and the black night club owner are no longer happy with the way you treated them in life? That even dead- they have unresolved issues that only your turning the hot seat can abate? Sure they forgive you, but you don’t learn anything that way, do you? Karma must be public.


You have much to explain to your maker, Grim. But not as much to the authorities, see…I’ve done a pretty good job for ya already.



Let’s count down the days till they knock on your door and say, “Mr. __________? We’re with the ____­_ and we’d like to talk to you about the murder of Charles Gordon Covington and several others. Come with us, sir.”


And then what happens next?

Ah shucks! I don’t have to tell you- you were in law enforcement so you already know!

Have a pleasant day, Grim.

I’m gonna go work on finishing the book. Can’t wait to see how it ends!!!???!!!!



Just as he promised…

November 25, 2011


I know I have been missing in action of late and I do apologize, but working full time and going to school has taken all my energies  and so I have given due diligence to those things that have an air of immediacy.

Finals finished…let’s move forward.

In the last message from Charley there was a reference about a ship in the bottle and then something about setting sail. R told me that it was specific to me- that I would understand. She said he presented with his ship in the bottle and that suddenly the waves inside began to swell and overtake the tiny vessel. That piece by piece the mast and bridge of the ship began to break apart and in one fell swoop, the ship was dashed upon the sides- the glass broke open and he was drowning.

Then the connection was made and the ship began to repair itself.

Slowly but surely the mast was returned to its original stature and station. The bridge and rigging regained their place of honor and the glass sealed about its craft and the water rose within the confines of its transparent margins, but no longer threatened.

R told he wanted me to understand the impression- setting sail- sailing away… and I knew what he meant, but was very frightened that this was his way of saying goodbye.  R assured me it was meant for me- as in, “set your sails- now you can sail off into another adventure…” that it meant something wonderful. Tearful at the other end of the phone, I acknowledged the metaphor and did my best to expel a quivering lip, not ready to let him go. She cautioned that I would understand, saying- ‘you know how this works.’ And to be certain I do, but as happy as it made me to think that Charley was now ready to set a new course for his sails…I was overcome with a wave of longing for the days when he used to appear in desperate measures and need my help.

Like Dorothy in the Wizard of OZ standing on the platform, with air balloon and passage home waiting… she tugs at the tufts of curls that brandish the chest and shoulders of the Cowardly Lion and says, “I’m gonna miss the way you used to whimper and wail for help” and then kisses the cheek of the noble beast now boasting courage of his own. And that’s the way it felt…like one more letting go in my life- another tear in my heart- another loss.

For a day I wandered mentally about the memories of our journey and tried to be happy for my dear friend. To know that he was finally on his way to where and when he should have been 45 years before and I was sincere in my desire to see his sails swing wide with wind and determination. Still, a part of me wanted to board that ship and go with him so as not to break the bond. (Not in the narcissistic ways of death- simply in the sense of spiritual pursuits.) As he and Hazel left R’s vision-hand in hand and all together… a piece of my heart went with them. I comforted myself that Charley wanted me to set my sails too- that he was freeing me for some great next adventure, but the perceived loss of his heart as my ballast left me without even keel and I tottered for a day or two until…

Two days hence his message, I left my house and began my long ride to work. Annoyed with the same agitating excuse for music as bests our air waves these days, I popped in a CD of old 70’s music- (my glory days) and began to ease into my day. As the sun broke the horizon and the light fell softly on crisp pastures and brittle fences I finally understood the message, as it was delivered in typical Charley style…

Song # 8 on my CD was an old favorite, redone in recent history by Brooks and Dun- a song called “My Maria,” written by Daniel Moore and B. W. Stevenson. As I was singing along, canting the words by route… it suddenly hit me.

I had been listening to this CD, along with various CD selections of Amy Grant, James Taylor and Earth, Wind and Fire the week before and had sung those songs and this song a hundred times in the rotation of my collection on the long rides home; but with my brain focused on finals and work projects I forgot to listen to the words I was singing. But there with brilliant sunrise, hot coffee, Mustang in the wind and a lighter heart I heard the words coming out of my mouth- laughed and then repeated the song another seven times just to hear his message and smile knowing…my Charley had not left me as I supposed. That his message was not meant as goodbye, but thank you.

We are forever…. just as he promised.

“My Maria…

Don’t you know I’ve come a long, long way

I’ve been longin’ to see her, she takes my blues away

Sweet Maria…

The sun light surely hurts my eyes

I’m a lonely dreamer on the highway in the skies

My Maria…

There were some blue and sorrow times

Just my thoughts about you bring back my piece of mind

Gypsy lady…

You’re a miracle work for me

You set my soul free like a ship sailing on the sea…”

It is not just his soul that has been set free- it has been mine as well.

With love…

I have not forgotten you…

November 23, 2011


Need I say more?

Or maybe…

November 17, 2011




Much is afoot in the cosmos and tomorrow is the 17th. I do not know what it is I am supposed to look for, listen for, receive or feel… but I pray that whatever it is brings honor to my efforts and justice to Charley.

I have not forgotten you dear readers, but finals are fast approaching and I cannot keep all the plates spinning if I do not keep my eye on the end game.


Are you anxious Grim?

Charley said this date was significant!

Maybe the farmer will finally give up the ghost- no pun intended- and tell the truth.

Or maybe Albert Einstein will go postal under the pressure of it all and confess.

Or maybe the felon will finally dig up the tire.


Who came through at 11:11 on 11/11/11?

November 12, 2011


R and I scheduled a reading for 11:11 PM on 11/11/11 and who do you think showed?

Charley… who sends me a ship in a bottle… a message.

Hazel…who brings me roses as thank you.

My parents… who tell me to hang my wreathe!

The shooter… who continues to vomit, spewing his guts in an effort to cleanse his soul.

Roxanne… who shows us the bakery and bids us speak to V.

The mistress…who says this is who she was. Cruel, cold hearted. She knew no other way, but has made her peace with Charley on the other side. She admits to using men as stairs, stepping one to the other- getting what she wanted for the moment and then moving on. She makes no apologies- no excuses for her behavior.

And what is this? Someone new?

Someone who knew the 4-way very well. Someone who wore a brown suit.

A black man who remains stuck in his untimely death.

Grim? I’ve caught you in a lie- but then this is just one of many. You said you and he were best friends. You helped count his money- refused to sell him a car?

Odd choice for a friend, Grim- a known felon, cozy with the law?

Hmmmmm… He saw you take the money from G, you know? Saw your greedy fingers grab and tear at the bills. Saw you double-cross him. He was furious, hiding in the woods as the money changed hands.

“You lied, you lied…” he said. “It was not suppose to go down like this! I know what you’ve done. I know and I will tell.”

But he never got the chance.  He was run over by a car shortly after. That too was called an accident. Just how many accidents have there been in Valdosta with your name imprinted all over them, Grim?

He has not moved on Grim. I would be careful if I were you. He knows. He saw.

G ratted you out. BM cannot forgive you.

So we ask G about LT.

Who is the man who had a thing for feathers too? A man who had a special feather? A lucky feather- brown and white. He put it in the band of his Fedora and kept it there even in death. Was in a wheelchair at the end? Buried with his hat…this is G’s LT.

She shows us the plow…he is a farmer too perhaps? It is an old plow.

I know of one LT that might fit this description. He lived not far from my other farmer who has the mustache and walks with a cane. They were near the railcars that carried illegal hooch between two stations. He knew about it all. The farmer in Florida- the cheese cutter and the silver lunchbox knows it all too. Near dead is not near enough. Confess before you leave this world dear man with the W in his name.

Death knocks at your door and opportunity knocks just once to tell the truth.

Tell your tale now…confess farmer…confess before you die and your soul remains in limbo forever, like the black man in the brown suit who walks the streets not knowing he is dead yet- only knowing that Grim betrayed him!

It’s in the blood…

November 11, 2011



“It’s in the
blood…” she says.

Just like
her mother, manipulative, callous…it is in their blood. It is their way.

She mentions her
childhood… her mother’s boyfriend.


Age 8, age
8… age 8…

Age 8 it began.

Age 8, it all
went South- so did his hands.

Sexual abuse…
good girl, gone bad.


She never
loved Charley. It was a rouse.


It’s her. Dark
brown hair, long legs, red fingernails, red lipstick.

Who is this?
Who is this?



Gray hair,
long- bushy mustache- very thick?

slender…older man now… walks with a cane.

Looks like a

Lots of hair for his age- thick, gray- his
mustache full.


Triad- G
involved with this man, the younger law enforcement and Charley… there is an association…
he is a farmer…he has the initial W in his name…he has  a son.


He knows


He is still
alive…. still alive.


I know who
this is and G knows I know.


Waiting for
more… 11/11/11

On the eve of 11/11/11…

November 10, 2011


On the eve of 11-11-11…

G finally speaks.

The effects of water on skeletal remains…

November 8, 2011


Can’t help thinking about Roxanne today. I know R says sometimes victims don’t want to be found…that they don’t want their families to know how they died or what involvements or associations brought them to their death and I can accept that as an individual, but as a mother, I’m having great difficulty with that.

Your favorite clock dropped off the dresser in my office on the floor in front of me yesterday, Roxanne and I know it was you because there was no other reason for it to fall. And Saturday, one of you was in my office with me while writing because my little white Westie went crazy following something across the room’s ceiling.

I have been thinking about you a lot lately. Today I am studying about the effects of water on skeletal remains and how to distinguish between antemortem, perimortem and postmortem trauma. And with each sentence I want to say, “I’m coming Roxanne. I’ll be there soon. I will find you and bring you home.”

I do not know if this is your wish. I know you fought with your parents. I know they may have even kicked you out of the house at a tender age…but there are people who love you. I love you sight unseen. My heart aches for the likes of you and Jessica as I have girls of my own and mistakes are something we all make and try to survive.

Your chance to alter your life and survive your mistake was eclipsed by 4 evil men…2 who still walk upright, though not righteous. I’m doing my homework to serve you all better. Charley, the Mot… Jessica and Roxanne.

If you want to be found Roxanne and Jessica… if you wish to be held and comforted and brought back home…help me. If not, just let R know so that I might simply place a small flower at each of your places of rest and let you all move forward in your evolutions.

But think before you choose. While you may wish for your deaths to remain anonymous, and your remains unclaimed–those who love you need closure for their earthly evolutions. And even more?

I need to do this- for my closure. It will be my way of erasing the 31 minutes I was late for my mother’s death…one minute at a time. With you 4, I can cut down my debt to 27 minutes. One minute for every murder I solve.

With love,


Private eyes are watching you…

November 4, 2011


Today I will be back for more. I could not tell you all that
transpired the other day, though what I did share was quite enough for now. The
clock continues to tick… the pendulum to swing and the reign of justice
begins its march to the sea…by way of Valdosta!

Grim, you should be very leery of Mr. Einstein right now. He is a
loose cannon and he will take you down with him, just as sure as he did the
others. Have you fixed the tear in your hat yet, or does the warped sweetness
of your sense of accomplishment still give you a rush? Pray that it does,
because it will be the last sweet thing you experience in this lifetime. You helped
take Charley out trying to find the MOT and I’m not talking about the man in
the hotel. Everyone knew where he was… including me, and today we both know
what that means don’t we?

Sooooo…shall we talk about the lunchbox of the farmer… what it
had in it? Is that why his kid won’t talk about it 45 years later? Or shall we
talk about the other farmer who watched you at midnight in the field?

Today’s riddle?

How many good ole boys does it take to roll a young debutante’s
body into the water? Hmmmm…. Answer?


That’s correct!

The four in flannel!


Let’s try another riddle.

Why was it so necessary for Charley’s boss to hammer Hazel for the
bag from the Morris Pawn shop? What $3.00 item in there was so significant that
everyone searched for it for months after Charley’s slaughter?

Mr. Einstein? Care to take a guess?

Hard to light your cigars
without it, wasn’t it? Couldn’t let that thing get out of the bag…ha ha ha! Afraid
Rox and Jessica could have identified it, huh?  Oh wait… that’s right. Jessica was dead
months before Charley got that bag. No matter. They did know who it
belonged to. So did Miss M, even though her husband, your friend, warned her
not to tell me.

Ok… let’s lighten things up a bit now. How about…today’s
favorite song? Here’s a hint…it’s by Hall and Oates?

Mr. Einstein… bet you know this one! Yes that’s right it’s, “Privates
Eyes” and you are today’s winner! For those of you in the know, that’s a
double-entendre. Be careful Mr. Einstein…yours may be watching me, but theirs are now watching you…closely!

Until later then…

Bending to wash blood from his hands…

November 3, 2011



Yesterday while riding into work I played the same game I always do with Charley. I hide his photo- my favorite photo of him driving a boat- inside the pages of my Angel Numbers book and then as I see numbers on license plates, I turn to that page and read the corresponding number- get my message and look to see if Charley picture is stuck inside that page. Its a little game of hide and seek we play-mostly for me to know he is with me. Some days, like today, he was spot on. The first plate I saw with 3 numbers led me to a message that was on the same page as Charley’s photo! As divined, I read the message of the number and then slipped his photo- without looking- into another section of the book. Next plate, next number… he found me again. All this to say that today I am still reeling from yesterday and want him by my side as I process the information received.

Yesterday while having a chat with Charley on my long ride in, he wouldn’t play. Confused, I looked at the photo and whispered that I missed him.

Just about that time I looked at the digital clock in the car. Having not gone in until late, the clock rolled over to 11:07 and so I thought about the date felt the desire to contact R. I grabbed my phone and then thought… Hmmmm… I’ll just wait till the bewitching hour; of 11:11 AM, and add that to the date of 11/1/11 and thought … WOW! That might make a powerful connection and Charley just might bring me something… and he did!

As I drove- waiting for the minutes to pass till I could hit the exact minute…I saw something huge and feathered squatting in the middle of the road 5oo feet or more in front of me. Annoyed, I slowed to a crawl. Assuming it was a buzzard, I laughed to myself- “Now that would really be a hoot! Instead of Charley placing a feather in my path… he had sent me a whole freaking bird!” And just as I began to chuckle out load… the head of the creature lifted and turned and I slammed on my brakes!  I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. It cocked its head and the white crest undulated in the simmering autumn light- the yellow of the beak glowed as if polished and the breadth of its wing span took up more than half of the broad side of my Mustang. I sat stunned and watched. Unimpressed by my intrusion, it eyed me for a second and then lowered its head to pick at the carcass beneath its talons. When I inched my way forward a few feet, it abruptly turned, hopped two steps towards my car and then unfolded its wings as if to threaten.

Startled, I jammed the brake pedal into the floor as it flew overhead to a high limb and watched me for several seconds. I shoved the gear into park- hit my hazard lights and waited to see what it would do next. A minute went by and when my car did not move, it dove at my ragtop –scratched at the fabric and then returned to its post on the ground. I watched it rip into rotted flesh with total disregard for the ensuing encroachment of another car. I lowered my window, reached outside, took a photo with my cell phone as the approaching car honked its horn. Dazed, it leapt into the air and as it passed me…its wings gulped in what air was left inside my lungs to raise it high aloft a neighboring pine.

Now… in the thirty two years I have lived in Georgia, I have never seen a bald eagle in the wild- let alone less than twenty feet in front of me. The time of this event? You guessed it…11:11. Convinced it was more than mere coincidence, I began to search for its meaning. Shortly after I re-engaged my car, I was ensconced in unforgiving roaming territory and never made the contact to R desired.

At exactly 1:11PM my phone rang… it was R.

Five pages later, I hit the end button on my phone, looked at the expansive crawl of ink on the pages before me and took a deep breath. I now had definitive answers to the questions that have plagued me for over 2 ½ years. I knew the identities of the “4 in flannel” without question and I had the final nod on the LT connection to Grim and G. Energies that have shied, finally came to the table and presented graphic scenes…

The shooter displayed himself for the first time.  Bending to wash blood from his hands in the lake where Roxanne resided, the taint spreading in circular ripples of crimson. Once completed, he would begin the process again and again as though they could not be cleaned.

The MOT, heavyset and panting was sweaty and panic stricken- revealing his golf association with the insurance agent connected somehow to Jessica.

Miss M tells me Theodore was two towns west of Valdosta, coughing up blood. She reminds me- what she told me when we first talked before she passed about one of the 4 in flannel that is still alive. She says. “I meant what I said. He’s a loose cannon- dangerous-unpredictable… dangerous… be aware…”

They tell me, “Chapter 13… your answers are in Chapter 13 of your book. Look there…”

R’s car fills with pipe smoke… it’s him- the pipe smoker…

Miss M shows the man who smoked cigars- R’s lungs fill with second hand smoke. He is the man with the silver engraved lighter tucked inside the bag from the Morris Pawn Charley had on him back in October 6th, 1966. I have the receipt in his wallet!

Roxanne rises from the water, unstained by the blood it now holds and ready to move on.

Jessica rises from the dirt, face intact and not a speck of soil on her she too is anxious to evolve to the next level.

The shooter walks with his two dogs- his hands wet and dripping.

Charley shows R the hour glass. He tips it over and the sand begins to run. The time is running out. Closure is coming. The shooter, the girls and the MOT begin to walk away. Charley follows, then turns and says, “You did it… you did it…” R whispers, “I wish you could see what this looks like… so beautiful, so beautiful…”

November 17th is significant.

R says, “You will know when you get to the end of the book…when to stop writing and let the world read the story. You must trust the process, trust the process… trust the process.”

On my way home at 5:55 PM while passing the area where the eagle had made contact I finally made the connection. The eagle represented Justice. At 6:05 I played the hide and seek game with Charley’s photo, but he refused to stay in between the pages. Every time I opened the book his photo fell in my lap. Convinced he had something more he wanted to share; I held the picture while I drove and thanked him for the many blessings and information of the day. As I rubbed the edge of the photo, thinking about the eagle and the confirmation on the identity of the 4th in flannel, I suddenly was drawn to think about two clues I had thought meant something else.

Charley’s clue, “The answer is in the car.” And Hazel’s clue, “I just threw it into the box. It’s been there the whole time and I never knew…”

As the autumn sun began to dip behind the Georgia Pines I noticed the two partial fingerprints that remained raised at the bottom right hand corner of the small photo… as if someone with something viscous on their hands had held the photo to inspect it. A photo that had been in Charley’s wallet back in 1966!

At 6:08 I had what I like to call an “Oh s_____!” moment and called R!

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