Body in the Big Box Norma Jean's Mysteries Book Four

By Jo Ann Snapp

Norma Jean goes on an innocent search to find a bass fiddle for joining a musical group that plays on the court square. In the big box, along with the bass fiddle, she finds a body.

It seems pretty straight forward. The skeleton has a wallet, identification and the only thing missing is how he got into the box. Or is it that straight forward?

Norma Jean’s curiosity is piqued with the new body she’s found. While researching, Norma encounters a loud, obnoxious, widow woman named Lorraine Gosset and is drawn back to events that happened in nineteen-seventy five involving a steel guitar player, Lester Shanks and a missing Shorty Gosset.

This mystery takes a slightly different direction than Norma expected, with threats and guns and greed. Her same friends, Margaret, Aunt Ida, Pauly, Truman, Sheriff and the other locals are there to help out as needed.

Derrick Lake also enters Norma Jean’s life again in a way she had not intended.

Body in the Big Box is the fourth in the Norma Jean’s Mysteries series.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jo Ann Snapp
• Release date: Sep 11, 2012
• ISBN: 9781301048328

Jo Ann Snapp

Jo Ann Snapp was an Arkansas author of fiction. She had been writing books since she was around nine years old. After a long career in retail and logistics she took up the mantle to get some of her work out to readers.Whether historical, contemporary, mysteries or romances all her writing is from a Christian perspective so you can be assured a clean read even if the subject matter is controversial. Some of her work is inspirational; some of her work is just plain good storytelling. No matter the genre, to Jo a story was a story that had to be told.Jo Ann Snapp passed away on November 29, 2013Jo Ann lived in Mountain View, Arkansas and the area inspired her Norma Jean Mystery series.Find more of Jo Ann's books at:http://joannsnappauthor.com Jo Ann’s Blog Words with a MessageTitles by this author:May and Jed Beginning the JourneyA Reconciled HeartEmilyThe Pathway HomeMarisa’s DestinyA Twist in the Old Lasso (Short Story)Norma Jean’s Mysteries Series:Herpel Holler Homecoming Book OneBody in the Bluff Book TwoBody in the Barn Book ThreeBody in the Big Box Book FourBody in the Barrel Book Five

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Norma Jean’s Mysteries Book Four

Body in the Big Box

By

Jo Ann Snapp

Body in the Big Box Copyright 2012 Jo Ann Snapp

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Body in the Big Box

Chapter One

Do you still play the bass fiddle, Norma Jean? Mr. Dixon, a church member whose family played gospel music on the square on Saturdays, asked me after Sunday morning service at church.

I haven’t played since high school. I laughed at the innocent sounding question.

We could sure use a bass player for our quartet. Dixon continued. Will you give it a try?

I had enjoyed my years of music making before taking on the corporate world back east so I did get somewhat excited about getting back into it. I’ll see what I can come up with and we’ll see.

I wasn’t trying to be fourteen again. I’m a fifty-eight year old widow who came back to peaceful, Herpel Holler, Arkansas to take over the family farm after my daddy’s death, but with my curious mind, peacefulness is not something that stays around long even in the beautiful, serene countryside.

Herpel Holler had once been a thriving, Ozark community of over four hundred people spread across the hills but down through the generations, disease, natural death and families moving on had left very few residences. If you wanted to buy anything you had to go about nine miles out to the highway into Mountain View. Still a small town with a few stores, Mountain View survived on Ozarks tourist trade for its economy

I bet if anyone has an old, cheap bass fiddle Melton’s General Store would. Truman Blank, my farming neighbor and good friend piped up, so I was committed to at least try.

Monday morning Mr. Melton had me traipsing through grass and weeds in a field out behind the store to a line of sheds next to his property fence. It helped that I was in good shape and had dressed in jeans, boots and a shirt instead of something more dress-up.

I think there’s a bass in one of these sheds. Least wise that’s what was on one of the inventory sheets when I bought the place in ninety-three. Mr. Melton pulled out a ring of keys and flipped through them. Believe it or not, I ain’t got through all these old buildings yet and it’s been—wow, nineteen years now. Mr. Melton was skinny, wore overalls and a long beard and made himself appear older than he was to help lend authenticity to his historic store. Trying to look seventy or eighty, I’d been told he was barely past fifty-five.

The hinges on the double doors of the third shed squeaked, swung open with a screech, and I peered inside. Dust and cobwebs covered everything.

Mr. Melton laughed. Makes a good spook house, don’t it?

He started pushing things aside, following a narrow pathway toward the back. There it is, leaning on that big box.

I couldn’t tell the color of the fiddle for the dirt. Do you think it has a case? I tripped over some old tools but righted myself. I dusted at the webs in my hair and scanned the area.

Melton scratched his head and also glanced around. Don’t know really. He shrugged then put his attention on the big box next to the bass fiddle. Maybe in there. Looks big enough.

We set the fiddle aside and worked on lifting the top off the large box. The case was in the box and tucked in beside the case, a skeleton was curled up, still fully dressed.

Mr. Melton and I stared at each other. I slammed the lid back on the big box. No, no. Not again. You call the sheriff. I’d found the body in the bluff and the body in the barn so I didn’t want to be the finder of the body in the big box.

Melton wasn’t moving. I gave him a not so gentle nudge. Mr. Melton, go call the sheriff and tell him what you’ve found.

Melton stepped back, breaking out of his trance. Norma Jean Clark! What do you mean? If you hadn’t wanted the bass fiddle I’d of never been in here. You go tell him.

Please go call. I don’t plan these findings, they just happen to me. This time I wanted someone else to do the finding and calling. I better leave the fiddle since it seems it was taken out to put—uh, to put the body in the big box.

*****

Several hours later, almost at noontime, the coroner, Doc Dibrel finished his thing. I didn’t want to talk to the sheriff after the last two bodies I found, but I knew I’d have too.

Norma Jean, we lucked out on this one. Sheriff put a hand on his holster. We know who this one is. He had his wallet and identification with him.

But how— I started and the sheriff held up his hand.

How he happened to be there, we’ll take care of. Sheriff waved as the coroner put the remains in the wagon. This one you don’t have to worry about. Sheriff was a younger man, maybe thirty and had a good law enforcement background. He sometimes had the attitude that he needed to prove his capabilities and with my last cases, it had cost him time and energy.

Good. No mystery of trying to find out who he is. I picked up the bass fiddle, which they had released to me. I wasn’t sure I would’ve done that since it seemed so connected to the find, but they said they could see no connection except the person took the fiddle out to hide the body. They had dusted it for prints but found none.

The big, Gaylord cardboard box, very heavy, and well padded, still had the Bulgaria shipping label on the end. From experience I knew that country made great fiddles, and I expected to pay a pretty penny for the bass, but Melton asked a couple of hundred. He said he was glad to get rid of it. I put my instrument and case in the Monster (my big red pickup) and headed home.

I had done it again. Came upon a body, a skeleton, without any intentions of doing so. I know the sheriff had proclaimed he knew who it was, no secrets with this one, but my brain couldn’t leave it at that. I heard no name but did hear the sheriff mention to Doc Dibrel a date when searching through the wallet. Nineteen-seventy five. How did someone get left, apparently for years without discovery, in the big box?

I hadn’t been out of the truck at home but a few minutes when I saw my neighbor, Truman, in his truck coming up the crossroads. It was so hot I had a streak of sweat already running down the middle of my back as I lugged the bass fiddle out of the truck to the porch. I figured Truman had been filled in by the other first responders who had been at the site with the sheriff, and he left his haying to see what I knew.

Sean, Truman’s teenage grandson, was with him. Sean hopped upon the porch, while Truman’s gait was a little more like climbing.

Miss Norma. Should we call Julie? Sean, tipped his hat to me, and smoothed his sandy colored hair back in place. A smile crossed his strong jaw line as he seated himself in one of the rockers. Will we need her help on this case too?

Received an email from her yesterday. She’s already at the state university. Why aren’t you there? I patted Sean’s shoulder remembering the budding romance between him and Julie last spring while I helped her with the body in the barn mystery. Let me get us something to drink. Ice tea okay?

Sure. Truman, with a few groans, fitted his hulk into the chair next to Sean.

I left the screen door open while I prepared the glasses of tea. So? When do you go?

End of week. Sean called to me. I’m staying with some kin, so I didn’t have to plan for the dorms and stuff.

I brought out the tea, passed the glasses around and then found my own chair. I reached up and flipped on the ceiling fan Jason and I had installed