Eye of the Storm

By J.R. Johnson and Michael Seidman

Jim Montgomery was the last championship quarterback of Martinville, Texas, and hes just returned home to mourn the passing of his mother. It is a bittersweet visit to his old stomping grounds, but things take a positive turn when hes offered a chance to coach the high schools new quarterback, which is a perfect way to relax before Jim takes the bar.

The outer fringes of a tropical storm hit Martinville, and in the process reveal a buried human skull. Suddenly, what looked to be a relaxing short stay in Jims old home town turns into a drama of mystery and scandal. Its revealed that the skull belongs to a man that went missing ten years agofollowing a mysterious boat bombing that left four Vietnamese fishermen dead.

At the time, the missing mans wife was the prime suspect. Now, nothing is certain. Slowly, like the buried skull, the secrets of Martinville residents are exposed. No one is what they seem in this once quiet town, and the more scandals revealed, the more Jim realizes he and his family are closely connected to what could land someone in prisonor in the ground.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Archway Publishing
• Release date: Nov 21, 2014
• ISBN: 9781480812871

J.R. Johnson

J.R. Johnson graduated from Lamar University in Beaumont, Texas. He owns a manufacturing business that specializes in making rubber products for the oilfield industry. He is married with two daughters and lives in Houston, Texas.

Book preview

Chapter One

IT TOOK HIS MOTHER’S DEATH TO BRING JIM MONTGOMERY home. He stood at the rear of the chapel, legs unwilling to propel him to the front. They’d put the casket in the largest room, the regular viewing rooms too small to hold the visitors. Finally, he took a deep breath and moved slowly past familiar faces of mostly women sitting in pews, chatting quietly, as if their conversations might wake the dead. He saw the furtive glances as he moved toward the casket, silence falling over the room from back to front. The busybodies knew he hadn’t been there at the end, and they displayed their verdicts with upturned noses and pursed lips.

Betty Henry got up and moved to the end of the pew, the reading glasses on a chain around her neck bouncing on her chest as she hurried after him. She was wearing a string of pearls and her best dress clothes, a beige suit with a belt that accented her waist that was trim for a person in her sixties. I’m so sorry, Jim, she said when she reached him halfway down the aisle. You know your mother and I were great friends.

Yeah, I know. He scanned the room. Where is he?

Your father went to get coffee.

Jim had been there before; he knew where to find the refreshment room. I’ll be back.

Jim took a step toward the back entrance, but he stopped when Betty grabbed his arm. Wait.

He turned around slowly.

Don’t you want to see your mother?

My mother’s dead, Betty. It had taken ten years for the cancer to kill her. Jim was still in high school when she found the small lump. Then came the biopsy, the bad news, the double mastectomy at M.D. Anderson in Houston. After the surgery, the doctors were optimistic, said they thought they got it all, but ordered a regimen of chemo to be safe. She had regular checkups and regular prayers from church members. But the doctors from the top cancer hospital and prayers from scores of people couldn’t stop the cancer from returning.

You know what I mean. The chapel was quiet; the folks were watching them. They expect you to see her.

They were at a funeral home in Beaumont, forty-five miles from home. When you live in a town so small it doesn’t have a funeral home, everyone knows your business and has an opinion about how you should conduct it. All right, Jim said after a moment’s hesitation. Let’s give them what they want.

They went to the front and stood together at the casket. Betty looked younger than her age. Her hair was still naturally black, her face smooth, and her voice strong. For people who didn’t know them, she could pass for Jim’s mother. Jim brushed a hand across the fine wood; his father had spared no expense. Is the hardware gold plated?

Betty nodded. Yes, and the wood is solid mahogany.

It’s beautiful. A tear rolled down his cheek. The last time I saw her, she said to just put her in a simple pine box.

That sounds like her. But you know your father—always wanting to impress.

Yeah. He looked down into the open casket. Her eyes and cheeks had sunken, arms no bigger than Jim’s wrist. She didn’t look strong enough to pick up a pencil. She’d been steadily losing weight for the past several months; in the two weeks since he’d last seen her, she’d lost several more pounds.

Betty spoke with a voice choked with emotion. Ellen and I were great friends.

Jim put an arm around her. I know, Betty. He sighed. You know, everybody’s in a state because I wasn’t at the hospital when she passed, but I visited her at home two weeks ago. We had long talks … reminisced. That’s how I wanted to remember her.

They’ll forgive you in no time, you’re still a big a hero around here.

Really? Jim was surprised. He’d spent very little time back home since he’d gone away to college and law school. When he went to see Amy, they often returned to Houston for the weekend. It’s been eight years since the championship season.

Doesn’t matter. It’s the last big thing that happened, and you were the star.

Jim glanced back toward the door. "Well, I know who won’t forgive me."

The issues between you and your father run a lot deeper than you not showing up at the hospital.

As Jim reached his teenage years and sought more independence from parental control, Ted was concerned that Jim would embarrass him, so he laid down strict rules that Jim constantly rebelled against. "He freaked out every time I went on a date because he was worried I’d embarrass him. Then, when I started dating Amy, and told him she was Catholic, I thought he was going to slug me. He would have, he glanced down at his mother’s body, his eyes misting, if not for her. She said as long as she was alive my life was mine to live."

Betty squeezed his hand. No wonder y’all were so close.

Jim nodded. "They fought for days, and it cost her." The anger only grew between them, causing pain that never faded.

Did Amy know about this?

Oh yeah, we fought with her standing in the room. I got her out of there as soon as I had my say.

Betty glanced back at the crowd. I think we’ve stood here long enough; maybe we should talk somewhere else.

Jim’s face was hot with the memory. They probably think I’m crazy standing here looking so angry … I’ll try to calm down.

You must’ve made peace with your father. You’ve been dating Amy a long time.

I never brought her back to the house, and I never mentioned her to my father. He looked down at his mother’s face again. Amy knew the score. We didn’t go to my house because I was trying to protect my mother. While we were still in high school, we’d usually go to Beaumont on dates. After we started college, we spent a lot of weekends in Houston.

"Ted must know y’all have been dating."

Oh yeah, he knows. We’ve had our discussions over it, just not at the house.

Betty fingered her glasses. I thought she’d be here tonight.

She had to work. Amy was a registered nurse at a hospital in Port Arthur, halfway between Martinville and Beaumont.

Oh.

Jim stepped back from the casket. I think it’s time for me to go see him.

Maybe I should go with you.

Don’t worry, Betty. We won’t fight … not tonight … not with her in here.

She squeezed his shoulder. Promise?

Promise. He crossed the fingers of his free hand, just in case, then turned around and started walking slowly toward the back of the chapel. Everybody was smiling and relaxed as he passed. He’d done the right thing.

The break room was large enough to accommodate families and friends of multiple deceased. Jim found his father sitting at a table drinking coffee with Betty’s husband, Bert, Superintendent of the Martinville Independent School District. Bert got up, a gigantic effort for the three-hundred pound man, and hugged Jim. Sorry about your mother, son.

He’d always be son to many of the older adults in Martinville. It was that kind of town. Thanks, Bert.

Did you see Betty?

Yeah, she went with me to the casket.

"She was at the hospital."

Jim looked down at his father, feeling such sudden venom his hands shook. Don’t make it sound like I didn’t care, Dad. You know I spent the entire weekend with her two weeks ago when she was still at home.

Bert pulled Jim away. Not so loud, there’s other families here.

Jim glared at his father. "He started it."

C’mon, y’all are grown men. He put a hand on Jim’s shoulder. Get a cup of coffee or a soda and sit down with us. We’ve been talking football.

There was a small kitchen in a corner with coffee pots, a restaurant-style soda dispenser, and plates of finger food. Jim got a Dr. Pepper then returned to the table. So, you’ve been talking football? It was a safe subject.

A kid transferred from Mississippi that could be our best quarterback since you, Bert said. Jerry MacAfee, the current head coach of Martinville High School, was in his first year when Jim was a senior and they won the state championship. Bert had been the head coach before that, but after a string of losing seasons he was promoted to superintendent to get him out of the way for a new coach.

"You think this one kid’s gonna make a championship team?"

They won six games last year with poor quarterback play, Ted said. As usual, he was wearing an Armani suit, with a silk pocket handkerchief that probably cost as much as the average man’s suit. Most of the kids were sophomores and juniors, so they’re back this year. I’ve seen this new kid throw. He could put them over the top.

Jim shook his head. Discussing the high school team like an ESPN analyst. He turned to Bert. "Coach Mac isn’t a quarterback coach. I learned my skills from you."

Mac don’t know a goddamn thing about coachin’ quarterbacks. Bert glanced at Ted. Sorry preacher.

Bert was the chairman of the deacons at Ted’s church, but his language often mimicked the sailors on the docks. Ted flicked his hand, waving off the need for apology. You’re right about Jerry. He’s not offensive-minded. I considered hiring a private coach for Jim.

Jim sat back and stared for a moment. You never told me that.

Ted shrugged. Turned out you did fine without one.

Well, it did come together. Jim turned to Bert. "Okay, so what do you think?"

They have a chance to be good, Jim. They’re getting some out-of-town attention.

Uh-huh.

Some newly-arrived church members came in. Ted stood and shook hands with the men and hugged the women. We’re so sorry, pastor, a young woman Jim didn’t recognize said. The congregation had grown a lot since he’d attended regularly. "Ellen meant so much to all of us."

Ted nodded. She was a special lady.

Bert cleared his throat, his eyes focused on the young woman. In the early days after Ted first came to Martinville, Ellen was as much responsible for the growth of the church as anybody. She and Betty personally visited every woman in Martinville.

Really?

She missed being with you guys, Jim said. In their last visit, she’d told Jim how much she’d missed the fellowship of church members. She’d been so weak, she hadn’t been involved in the leadership for several years, and had attended services only occasionally the past year. She took the opportunity to let Jim know he should find a church he was comfortable with—he’d only attended on special occasions since leaving for college.

A moment later, Betty came in, followed by a few women who’d been sitting in the chapel. Soon, several tables were full of folks eating, drinking soft drinks or coffee, and telling stories about Ellen. For a while, warmth and laughter filled the room, and it seemed like everyone had forgotten why they were there.

A tall woman, at least five-seven, proportionally built, with a face that most people found very attractive, came in and immediately dominated the room. She looked out of place dressed in tight-fitting jeans and a low-cut blouse. Ted stopped talking and motioned her over. He took her hand, and she hugged him tight—a little too tight—and kissed him on the lips.

"How are you, Annette?" Betty asked icily.

Oh, I’m fine. Came to pay my condolences. She looked down at Ted. I’m closing the store tomorrow during the service so my employees can attend.

Annette had taken over a failing hardware store when her husband disappeared ten years earlier and turned it into a fortune. She noticed Jim was staring at her and winked at him. She looked as good as ever, but he remembered her shoulder length light brown hair being a little longer. Hi there, she said. Haven’t seen you in a long time.

Yeah, it’s been a while. He worked in her yard one summer when he was in college, and one afternoon she taught him what sex could be.

Annette expressed her condolences again, then joined one of the tables. Not long after, people started looking at watches. They got up, stopping on their way out to tell Ted they’d see him at the service. Finally, all the tables had emptied except the one with the Henrys and Montgomerys.

Will Amy be at the service? asked Bert.

Ted stiffened. Betty glanced at Jim, smiling. Maybe it was better to get this out now, not tomorrow at the church.

Yes, Jim said, finally. He waited for the explosion, but Ted sat quietly for several moments staring at his empty coffee cup.

Ted’s face was expressionless. Don’t worry, I won’t cause a scene tomorrow … Ellen would probably want her there. I guess you’re old enough to date whomever you want. But, don’t bring her around the house, and as long as you’re dating her—don’t you come around, either.

Ted got up and left without saying another word.

Jim sat back in his chair, and Betty sat fiddling with her glasses. Bert got up and poured another cup of coffee. When he returned, his face was animated and his voice sounded excited. Jim, I’ve got a proposition for you. How ’bout comin’ back to Martinville and coachin’ the new quarterback?

Betty nearly jumped out of her chair. That’s a great idea.

I don’t know, Bert. Coming back to Martinville …

Ted said you’re working at a dead-end job while waiting to take the bar exam.

Yeah, that’s true. He was working at an industrial supply company making little more than minimum wage. He wouldn’t take the exam until February.

You’d get a kick out of getting back on the football field. You can go back to Houston when football season’s over.

I’d enjoy feeling part of a team, for sure. It was leaving the city and going back to small town U.S.A. that bothered him. That, and breathing the same air as his father.

Hey, Betty said. The renters just moved out of our place out on the beach. You could live there.

There was still two months of warm weather. Jogging on the beach with his dog, breathing fresh ocean air, appealed to him. Okay, I’ll think about it.

Think about spending some time with Amy. You ain’t getting any younger. And your mom would like that.

Jim nodded and smiled as he got up and walked to the door.

*   *   *

He spent the night at a motel in Port Arthur, got up early and ate breakfast at a Denny’s. Dark gray clouds dominated the Monday morning sky, threatened rain, and kept the temperature cool for Labor Day in southeast Texas. The service was at the Ocean View Baptist Church, and folks filled the worship center to its capacity of three thousand, a crowd larger than the population of Martinville.

The casket sat on the ground floor just below the pulpit. Ted, in another Armani suit, his jewelry and diamond-studded Rolex shining in the lights, stood in front of the casket greeting mourners. Family members, most of whom Jim hadn’t seen in years, sat in a reserved section in the front. His father’s brother, Marty, wearing a tan seersucker sports jacket, stood a few feet away. If he knew Uncle Marty, Jim bet he had a flask filled with bourbon tucked away in an inside pocket.

Amy arrived about ten minutes before the service began wearing a simple navy suit, and slipped in the seat next to Jim. He smiled and patted her leg. You look very nice.

You, too.

Jim had bought a new suit from Men’s Warehouse in Port Arthur the previous afternoon. Thanks.

Your father stared at me while I was walking down to you. Did he know I was coming?

Oh yeah, he knew.

I’m glad you called, Jim. I was hoping you would.

A well-known pastor from Houston preached the funeral, others read scripture or made brief comments. There were more than half a dozen songs. The service lasted nearly ninety minutes. When it was over, Jim walked toward the doors with Amy. I’m not going to be able to go to the graveside service, she said as they stepped out of the church.

You told me you’d go.

I had no idea the service would last half the afternoon.

"It wasn’t that long."

Long enough that I have to leave to get ready for work.

The hearse backed into position, and the crowd parted for the pallbearers. They came out, straining under the weight of the casket. Soon, it was in place and the funeral director closed the back doors of the vehicle.

Bert offered me a job as the quarterback coach on this year’s football team.

"You’d come back to Martinville for that? I thought you were studying for the bar exam."

I am, but I think it might be interesting to get on the field again … at least for a while. He looked hard at her. And, I’m hoping staying in town for a few weeks would give us a chance to see if we can patch up our relationship.

Jim, you haven’t even called for a couple of months.

The last time I called, you said you were dating someone. The way you sounded, I thought it was serious.

It was. She swallowed hard. But when did you ever give up so easy?

A white stretch limo parked nearby. A door opened, and Ted leaned out and motioned Jim to the car. Jim held up a finger, asking for a minute, and Ted disappeared back into the car.

What happened?

I’m not ready to talk about it now.

The limo door opened again. Jim!

One second, Jim said, then turned back to Amy. I gotta go. What’s your work schedule this week?

Working days all week.

Can we get together one day after work?

She didn’t hesitate. Maybe for drinks.

Great, I’ll call you, Jim said, then got in the limo.

*   *   *

He walked silently with other mourners through grass wet from a recent shower. The pallbearers had already reached the tent that covered the grave site and set the casket on a metal frame above the newly-dug grave. Chairs for family and close friends were in two rows near the casket. Jim knew he was expected to sit beside his father, but he slipped behind the chairs and allowed Bert and Betty—not family, but closer than any family member—to sit next to Ted.

Jim stared straight ahead, almost in a trance during introductory remarks. During the prayer, he glanced around. It made him feel good that all those folks were standing out in light rain to honor his mother. Then he saw Annette standing outside the tent near where his father was sitting. For a moment, his thoughts returned to the break room at the funeral home. What was going on between them?

As the preacher began reading from Ecclesiastes 3, a gust shook the tent and it partially buckled. As men rushed to upright the canvas, a nearby lightning strike and thunderclap brought screams. Most folks outside the tent ran for cover, but Annette remained standing in her spot, soaking wet and unflinching.

The wind-blown rain came in waves, and in such volume that puddles quickly accumulated. Even the people under the tent were soaked. Ted signaled the preacher, and he quickly wrapped it up. Family members remained seated until the preacher shook their hands, then they got up, most looking back at the casket one more time before they walked away. Ted glared at Jim with a disapproving expression, then abruptly smiled when he saw Annette.

Jim went out in the rain to her. I don’t think we’ve talked since that summer, she said.

I’m not in town much.

The rain stung their skin like pin pricks. I’ve had all this shit I can take. She squeezed his hand and then prepared to run. Bye now.

Jim grabbed her arm. Hey, hold on. One question.

She shook her arm loose. Yeah?

Are you fucking my father?

Chapter Two

JIM WENT BACK TO HIS APARTMENT IN HOUSTON SHORTLY after the burial. That night, he packed enough clothes and other things for a couple of weeks, then got an early start Tuesday morning, heading back to Martinville in his new red Mustang with his black Labrador retriever in a crate on the back seat. A light mist fell during most of the drive, leaving just enough moisture on the windshield to be a nuisance, but not enough for the wipers to do the job properly. Two hours with the wipers making a scraping sound on dry glass nearly drove him crazy.

He reached town around ten o’clock. Located on the upper Texas coast, south of the petrochemical plants and refineries of Orange and Port Arthur, Martinville didn’t look like a prosperous place. Most of the houses were old wooden structures weathered from years of exposure to salt air and batterings from Gulf storms; many were built on stilts. The businesses were mom and pops, most second and third generation. A lot of folks seemed to have stayed home from work to clean up damage from yesterday’s storm: clearing debris from yards, repairing fences, and replacing shingles.

Highway 87 ran south through the heart of town, then met the coastline about a mile outside and ran parallel with it towards Galveston. The old Henry place, an ancient A-frame on twenty acres, was ten miles out of town. A knot settled in Jim’s stomach as he recalled visiting the Henrys for cookouts, with his mother young and healthy, and Bert younger and football-fit.

He turned off the highway, the tires making a crunching sound as the car moved slowly down the crushed-oyster driveway. He parked near the front; the wooden screen door flung open and Betty was across the porch and down the concrete steps by the time Jim had gotten out of the car. She was wearing knee length shorts and an old gray T-shirt streaked with fresh white paint.

She grabbed him by the hand. Come inside and see the new paint job.

Hold on, Betty. Let me bring some stuff when I go in.

She looked disappointed at his less than enthusiastic response.

"Can’t wait to see what you’ve done, but you didn’t have to paint the place for me—I’ll be gone after football season."

I’ve been working for a couple of weeks now, long before we offered it to you. The previous renters destroyed the place, they even broke some of the furniture.

Are they gonna pay for the repairs?

They’re long gone. I don’t even have a forwarding address.

That sucks. He opened the backseat door. Soon as I let Smoky out to do his business, I’ll go inside to see what you’ve done. When he opened the crate, Smoky sprang out the door and started running. Shit!

He’s headed for the swamp, Betty said. I hope he doesn’t run into a gator.

A grove of hardwood trees bounded one side of the Henry’s property; the side they were looking at now was bounded by marsh that extended for miles. He doesn’t get to run free like this in the city … I’d better go check on him.

I’ll go with you.

They turned the corner, sidestepping broken glass from the windows along the side of the house and shingles scattered in the grass. Is all this from yesterday? I saw people outside repairing damage when I came through town.

Yeah, nearly everybody has some damage. More than half the homes lost power for several hours. And the forecast is for more rain until the low pressure moves onshore.

The rain Jim had driven through had stopped and the sky cleared. But if the forecast for more rain was correct, it would be a big problem teaching the new quarterback. "I didn’t realize the