Corey's Return

By Sandra Farris

When Corey is summoned to a campsite where her friend, an aged hobo nicknamed Lord Mayor, is very ill, she begins a journey filled with thieves, murderers and Lord Mayor's estranged son.
Just when she thinks she can handle things, a more personal trial looms ahead for her.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sandra Farris
• Release date: Oct 5, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311367402

Sandra Farris

About the AuthorBorn in Texas, Sandra Farris lived for a while in Los Angeles before finally settling in southeast Arizona. She attended a local community college where she continued her education and honed her writing skills. You can connect with her online at SandraFarris.com her Facebook page and on Linkedin. Currently working on her fifth and sixth books, she is also a member and serves on the board of the Arizona Mystery Writers.

Book preview

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A Promise Honored

Corey's Return

By

Sandra Farris

Copyright © 2015 by Sandra Farris

Cover Design by Dennis Farris

* * * * *

This is a work of fiction, a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance or similarity to actual events, or persons living or dead, is purely coincidental.

IRELAND

Oh Ireland you haunt me so with your memories so sweet

Your rolling hills like patchwork quilts of every green to see.

Your meadows wild with vivid flowers that grow so indiscreet

With stony walls that keep it all within its boundaries.

Those cottages so quaint and sweet with brightly painted doors

And roofs of thatch atop a few, though some were really worn.

Your window boxes full of flowers, with some outside your stores,

Were always bright and beautiful and made me feel reborn.

Oh Ireland you haunt me so with your memories so fair

The Burren with its rocky hills and limestone something rare.

The Cliffs of Moher are calling me to return and share

Those misty days and scenic views, inside of County Clare.

Oh Dingle Bay and Ring of Kerry with your awesome views

I cannot wait ‘til I return and see your waters blue.

The Blarney Stone, which I did kiss, always will amuse

With promises of eloquence how could I refuse?

Oh Ireland you haunt me so with memories so dear

With lively pubs all heralding that perfect Guinness beer

And Galway’s stores with its crowds and brightly painted cheer

To beckon weary travelers come buy your products here.

A part of me will always be in that pretty land

Where tenors sing Gaelic tunes and little lasses dance.

Oh to return if I could, and it would be so grand

To spend some time and walk the streets of sweet Ireland.

Copyright ©2015 by Darlene McKeen

Chapter One

October 1930

Francie, why won’t Philippe talk to me? Corey James switched the telephone to her left ear so she could better hear the departure announcements. Tell him it’s really important. Talk to him, Francie. He’s your brother, he’ll listen to you.

He’s not here right now, Corey, but I’ll tell him when he gets back. Francie was quiet for a moment. I’ve tried before, Corey, but he is hard-headed. You know that though. Are you at home?

I’m at the train station right now. I got an urgent message that Lord Mayor is ill and I need to go get him. Corey checked the station’s tower clock just as they announced her train was ready to board. I have to go, Francie. Will you try again, please? Tell him I’ll try to get in touch later?

I will. Be careful, my friend. Do you know when you’ll be back?

I shouldn’t be gone more than a week or two. I just want to get Lord Mayor back here to see my doctor. Last call was being announced. I gotta go, Francie. See you when I get back.

Their argument, heavy on Corey’s mind right now, started when Philippe wanted to delay their wedding until he could recover some of the financial losses his family suffered during the stock market crash the year before. They were not penniless, but as far as he was concerned, they were the ‘new poor’. Luckily his father still had a job, many did not, but Philippe had to drop out of the university, and he was unsuccessful finding employment. That had the biggest bearing on his decision about their wedding.

Corey responded that they could live on her inheritance until such time as the recovery, but he flat out refused. Even though his own sister came to Corey’s defense, he would not change his mind. For now, she just wanted to sit down and discuss his decision, or at least declare a truce.

Corey walked through the woods for a couple of hours after leaving the train. Thinking her search wouldn’t take much time she opted to begin right away rather than waste time waiting until the next morning.

In the message mailed to her from a local church, the parish priest said that Timothy O’Reilly, Lord Mayor as Corey knew him best, was in ill health. He sent her a map of Lord Mayor’s approximate location. In the message, he stated he’d sent the hobo some supplies, but Lord Mayor refused any other help. The priest wrote further that a drifter, who preferred to remain anonymous, gave him Corey’s name and Oregon address.

Whatever caused him to leave his home? His age alone makes it dangerous to revert back to his hobo days and if he’s ill—well, it’s imperative I find him and bring him back. Corey wanted to take him to her doctor and get him checked out; hopefully he was ambulatory. That wasn’t mentioned in the brief message; only that he was sick and camped in the woods outside the small community of Wellton, Mississippi.

Checking the map, she looked around for landmarks. Ahead was the crooked tree with a boulder on the opposite side of the trail. Beyond that the trail snaked around a bend. She was on the right track and should reach Lord Mayor’s camp soon.

Corey pushed through the bushes, allowing only a second or two to get her bearings. She knew the camp was in this section of the woods, but it was twilight and soon darkness would settle in, making finding him even more difficult.

Night creatures began to stir, and rustling noises added to her apprehension. The four-legged inhabitants were not the only things in the woods to cause concern. She thought about her fiancé, Philippe, and what he would say if he could see where she was now. He was always scolding her for taking chances. Maybe he wouldn’t care anymore.

Talks of depression, combined with that stock market crash, saw many people in a desperate situation. Riding the rails scattered a great deal of them across the country and not all were right-minded. Corey met their type on more than one occasion in woods similar to these, and the encounters were not pleasant.

With this in mind, and making as little noise as possible, Corey continued, but kept a keen ear, and remained vigilant of her surroundings as she pressed on. Abruptly, there came a sound of something moving through the brush ahead. She dropped down, crawling off the trail into a clump of bushes and behind a tree. The sound grew louder. Whatever the cause, it was coming toward her.

Chapter Two

Corey squatted, distributing her weight to make it easier to take flight if necessary. She took off the bedroll strapped to her back, thinking it might prevent freedom of movement should there be a scuffle. With her hand on the scabbard at her waist, she waited absolutely motionless.

It wasn’t long before two men appeared on the trail. They spoke in subdued voices and cast suspicious glances about them as they walked. When they got closer, Corey heard part of their conversation.

That old man didn’t put up much of a fight, one of the men said. He chuckled. Prob’bly because he didn’t have much for the taking.

Well, mebbe we’ll get lucky tonight.

Corey hoped the ‘old man’ they talked about wasn’t injured in the attempt. She watched as they moved down the trail and waited anxiously for the moment she could stand up. The position in which she was crouched left her legs trembling.

She shifted slightly. A twig cracked beneath her foot and, in the quiet woods, the sound seemed as loud as a gunshot. Corey held her breath as one man stopped and turned around. She hunched down even farther.

The man reached out to the other, signaling him to be still. They stood, listening for what seemed a very long time. Corey was afraid to move a muscle. She hoped they would think the sound originated from some forest creature lurking about. No such luck, though.

He turned and walked back toward where Corey sat. He was standing so close, the odor from his unwashed body made her stomach turn. When the man spat on the ground, barely missing her, Corey’s stomach tightened and she pressed a hand over her mouth.

What’cha s’pose that was, Al?

Be still! Al turned his head this way and that, listening and peering into the ever-growing darkness. He took a step closer until he was almost on top of Corey. It prob’ly was an animal.

Let’s get goin’. Ain’t getting’ no richer standing here with our thumbs up our noses.

Minutes passed before Corey could stand. Even then her legs shook uncontrollably. She leaned against a tree until she regained her strength and her legs stopped trembling; then she continued down the trail. Thankfully, Corey had changed clothes in the train station’s restroom, so with the cover of darkness, the dark garments she wore made her almost undetectable.

Corey picked up the bedroll and pushed her arms through the straps. Securing it to her back once more, she began walking again, keeping her ear tuned for any other unwelcome company.

It wasn’t long until she smelled campfire smoke. Corey needed to be very quiet until she could see who was in the camp. There would be no hullo in camp as in the past. She walked lightly, pulling the knife from its scabbard.

Someone lay on the ground next to the fire, but Corey couldn’t see his face. She surveyed the area. A coffee pot balanced on rocks in the fire, while a single cup lay on its side just outside the pit, along with a tin plate turned upside down. A few clothes were scattered about, and a bedroll thrown haphazardly on top of them.

As much as she wanted to rush into the camp, Corey hung back, keeping to the darkness, checking the scene carefully. She crept around the outer edge of the camp, making a mental picture of every detail.

This must be the old man those good-for-nothings were talking about, Corey mused. She watched for a few minutes. No one else appeared; the man still lay motionless. I hope he’s not dead.

Corey could stand it no longer. She hurried to him, caution no longer on her mind. She knelt down and put her hand on his back to see if he was breathing. No movement. She reached around to feel his face. It was still warm.

When she pulled her hand back, there was blood on her fingers. Examining the side of his face closer, Corey saw a splotch of blood on the edge of his forehead. She carefully checked his head to see how extensive the wound was. Doing so, she recognized the man.

She rocked back on her heels and, covering her face with her hands, sobbed loudly.

Oh my God! Lord Mayor what have they done to you?

Aye and who be calling me name? Lord Mayor asked, rolling over slowly, blinking his eyes to clear his vision.

Startled, Corey gasped. Her hand flew to her mouth. I—I thought you were dead. I couldn’t feel you breathing.

Who be ye? he asked and rose unsteadily to his feet. He raked his hand through his thinning white hair as he looked around at his scattered possessions.

Corey held out her hand to support him. It’s me. Corey.

Lord Mayor leaned close, examining her face. Corey me girl! A sight for these ol’ sore eyes, ye are. I thought mebbe those hooligans had come back so I played dead. He pulled her close, hugging her tightly. What in God’s sweet name ‘re you doin’ out here?

Looking for you.

Now where’re me manners? Lord Mayor shuffled around, picked up the cup and pushed the clothing aside. He straightened the bedroll, smoothing it out on the ground then lifted the coffee pot from the fire.

Take a seat and I’ll be after pouring ye a cup. Lord Mayor poured some liquid and swirled it around before tossing it out. Next he filled the mug full of the steaming black liquid, which he handed to Corey.

Corey took a cautious sip, and then smiled at him, a look of surprise on her face. It’s tea! I was expecting campfire coffee.

Aye,’tis a second run so it might be a bit weak. His tone was apologetic. I never got the taste for coffee. Don’t get me wrong, I did drink it when tea was scarce. Lord Mayor put his hand to his head. When he brought it down again, he stared at the blood now beginning to thicken and dry up. Pulling a handkerchief from his pocket, he dabbed at the wound. When Corey started to help, he waved her away. Drink before it gets cold.

But your head—

‘Tis a thick head I have. Besides, the blood’s pretty well stopped. He eased his body down onto the bedroll.

Corey held the tin cup between her hands, twirling it back and forth, enjoying its warmth. The night air held a hint of winter even though fall was in its early stages. The chill seeped into her bones. She stood and moved closer to the fire, toasting her front; then turned her backside to the flames while she studied her friend closely.

Why did you leave the house in Minnesota?

Lord Mayor looked up from where he was seated. These old bones couldn’t take another winter there. I’m heading for a warmer place. ‘Sides, since Injun left I didn’t have no one to be after keeping me company.

Where did Injun go?

He went to Florida to get himself a job. We ran outta money and the crops weren’t so good this year. We just had a wee bit of food left and he figured it would last longer if he left.

Why didn’t you get in touch with me? I left specific instructions for you to get in touch if you needed anything. Corey put her hands on her hips, leaning towards him.

Corey, me darlin, ‘tis enough you’ve done for us. Lord Mayor struggled to get up and Corey reached out a hand to help him again. When he was finally on his feet, his face took on an ashen color, his breathing labored.

How do you feel, my friend? Corey attempted to hide her concern for the old hobo by keeping her voice light.

Old and useless, but then again I am of course. He smiled at her, and for a second his blue eyes brightened. Too old to be gallyvantin’ around the country and getting hit over me head by hooligans.

Did you ever think about returning to Ireland, Lord Mayor? It was an idea she’d considered on the way to meet him. The chances for his return to Ireland were getting slim, given his health and age. She thought it proper he should be with his family. Corey bent over the fire, briskly rubbing her hands together, waiting for his answer.

Lord Mayor looked deep into the fire as though something there beckoned him. He was silent so long Corey thought he hadn’t heard her. The only sound was the popping noises created by the burning wood. Sparks rose from the fire and smoke drifted in her direction, making it difficult to breathe, so she moved.

Lord Mayor, are you all right?

Aye, I heard you. Your question struck a cord I long since thought was gone. ‘Tis a vision of emerald grass dancing and bowing in the wind that blows off the sea, and a whitewashed cottage nearby that held me tongue. Lord Mayor lifted pain-filled eyes to