Debris Cloud: A Novel

By James N. Ezell

The deadly 2011 tornado forever changed Tuscaloosa and its inhabitants. In this novel, the debris cloud not only shattered lives but scattered evidence of a brutal murder and those involved. Years later, clues begin to turn up in unexpected places. Join Genevieve and Dalton Randolph as they are inexorably drawn toward danger while struggling with personal torments from the past.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Nov 6, 2019
• ISBN: 9781728334417

James N. Ezell

James N. (Jim) Ezell is a retired civil and environmental engineer. He is a native and lifelong resident of Alabama. A significant part of his youth was spent roaming the woods and fields of the Alabama Black Belt of Sumter County and the Piney Woods of Choctaw County in search of game, Indian artifacts, fossils, rocks, and adventure. As an undergraduate at the University of Alabama, he developed an appreciation and love of art, anthropology, history, music, and photography all of which remain as his avocations. In graduate school he pursued an engineering degree and worked as a consultant for a number of years. He also researched and wrote the text for the historical markers in Tuscaloosa’s Government Plaza and Riverwalk. He currently writes a monthly column for Druid City Living and occasionally teaches in the University of Alabama’s OLLI Program.

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© 2019 James N. Ezell. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Published by AuthorHouse 11/05/2019

ISBN: 978-1-7283-3442-4 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-7283-3441-7 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2019917803

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

CONTENTS

Prologue

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2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

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14

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Epilogue

The Gondolier’s Gold: James N. Ezell

1

To Mae and Sylvie, may you grow to be strong and independent women.

With special thanks to Carol, Jon, Laura, Ruth, Pat,

and all my dear friends and relatives.

PROLOGUE

WEDNESDAY, APRIL 27, 2011

TUSCALOOSA, ALABAMA

BLUSTERING WINDS SWEPT around two people as they walked through Patteson Court, a dimly lit neighborhood lying beneath a foreboding sky. One of them gestured toward a house on their right as a car sped past.

A few quick steps and they disappeared in a shadowy side yard. A few more steps and they peered around the corner into the back yard at a patio and sliding glass door. No one’s in that room. The door slid open. Uh! What a smell! A hallway led left—the filthy carpet deadened their footsteps.

A startled woman turned—her eyes wide with fear.

Give us your money!

I don’t have any! Get out or I’ll call the police!

One of them grabbed and opened a wooden box from a dresser top. Jewelry!

It’s just old pictures and letters—no money—get out! she pleaded.

They hurried toward the patio door, but the woman grabbed an arm. Her long nails dug in deeply. Twisting to one side they struggled through the door—the elderly lady still clinging.

Give it back! she screamed.

Let go! yelled the one holding the box high. The woman stumbled onto the patio and fell off the edge onto the grass.

Give it back! she begged reaching upward with an extended arm. Her cries ceased as the corner of the box smashed into her head.

Within minutes the skies darkened even more and sirens began wailing. A green garbage cart fell from the sky, crashed into an adjacent back yard, and bounced.

Oh shit! yelled a college student standing in his doorway with an upheld Smartphone. In the basement! NOW!

The student and his two roommates stumbled down the steps and huddled against a wall clutching each other. In seconds a swirling cloud and shrieking winds engulfed the house.

Mom, Dad … I love you! someone yelled as their ears popped painfully. The floor joists over their heads groaned and cracked and the wind roared without mercy as the building disintegrated. They clung desperately to a wall-mounted pipe, but the pull was too strong, one of them was ripped away, his limbs flailing as he disappeared into the blackness.

1

THURSDAY, APRIL 28, 2011

TUSCALOOSA, ALABAMA

EIGHTY-FOUR-YEAR-OLD EMMELINE BARTRAM squinted as she looked across her back yard. I’ve got to have cataract surgery, but things seem okay back here except for those little limbs and leaves. Indeed, the previous day’s tornado missed her home in The Highlands by a couple of hundred yards. Houses in the southern part of the neighborhood weren’t so lucky. She had spent an uneasy night in semi-darkness, her home lit only by candles and a feeble flashlight. Where do I begin?

Across the fence Hugh, her neighbors’ teenage son, waved. Hey Miss Emmeline, hope you did okay last night.

She waved back. "I did. It was so kind of you and your father to come check on me and the house after the storm. How about your aunt and uncle over on Queen City Avenue?

They’re fine. Dad drove over and checked on ‘em last night. Their power and phones are out too.

I just wish I could volunteer to help out somewhere, but this arthritis and bad eyesight keep me from doin’ much. I’m afraid everything in my freezer will spoil if the power doesn’t come back on soon.

Dad said he heard over the radio it might be several days before it does. I’m firing up the big grill. We’re going to smoke and cook everything we can and take most of it to the church. If you have some things you want cooked we can throw ‘em on, there’s plenty of room.

The smoker was a large capacity wood-fired unit that could be towed. Hugh’s father had it custom built and used it frequently for charity events such as Boston Butt sales and barbeque competitions.

That would be so sweet, she said. I’ve got a couple of roasts and a turkey.

Hugh’s father, Latham, joined his son at the grill. After they’re cooked we can slice ‘em up, put ‘em in packages, and keep ‘em on ice. That way they’ll stay good a long time. Join us for lunch in a while and tonight we can all have supper together.

Emmeline smiled broadly. They’re such nice neighbors. I’ll go get those things out of the freezer.

I’ll come over and help in a little while, said Hugh.

Later as the fragrant wood smoke wafted over the fence, Emmeline began retrieving small branches from her yard with a grabber tool and placing them in a little wheelbarrow.

Hugh yelled across the fence, Miss Emmeline, I can get all that up with the riding mower. I’m about to do our yard too, so it won’t take but a few minutes.

Latham, your son’s a fine young man! You should be very proud!

He is and I am.

Emmeline shuffled across her yard to a small tomato patch. Surprisingly the young plants seemed fine, no worse for wear. I’ve got to get these staked and mulched. She moved a couple of small branches aside and picked up something interesting. Looks like a ring, the kind we used to buy back when there were five-and-dime stores.

Hugh closed the gate behind him and Emmeline walked back to her kitchen. Come on in and we’ll get those things from the freezer. She placed the ring on the window sill over her sink. Over there Hugh, the turkey and roasts are in the wire basket.

The sun was beginning to set as she returned home from supper with her neighbors. Looks like I’m going to bed early. She lit three candles on the candelabra in the dining room and one beside the kitchen sink. The ring on the window sill gleamed in the soft golden light. I need to put that away, she reminded herself. I hate clutter.

Guided by her flashlight, she went to her bedroom and put the ring in a costume jewelry box on top of her dresser.

2

PRESENT DAY

TUSCALOOSA, ALABAMA

AMEN, SAID THE minister ending the benediction for the graveside funeral service for Emmeline Bartram. Most of the crowd began drifting away, but a few relatives stayed.

She was so fortunate to remain independent in her home until she died, said her nephew Horace McKinley Bartram. She had a long life and a good one. I’d settle for ninety-two years. I’m just sorry her son and daughter-in-law passed away before her. At least she has a nice spot next to her husband. This part of Evergreen Cemetery is really beautiful. This star magnolia blooms in the spring and folks on Bryant Drive can see it.

Her attorney sure did a good job setting up her assets to avoid probate, said Emmeline’s granddaughter Florence.

Horace nodded, He sure did, but we still have all the things in her house.

When’s a good time for a sale? she asked.

Maybe in a coupla weeks, then we can get the house on the market. None of the six heirs wanna buy the others out. But let’s don’t worry about that now. We’re all tired and need a good meal and rest.

Sounds good Uncle Horace, just call me in a few days and I’ll come over and help start arranging things.

A phone rang twice. Hello, said Horace Bartram.

A forceful voice said, I gotta be outta town tomorrow so you need to let me see the stuff y’all are selling!

Sorry, but no early sales. It wouldn’t be fair to the others who’re coming in the morning.

Hey Buddy! It’s cash money, you gonna miss out!

Sorry, the sale starts at eight.

Look I can be there at six in the morning, after that I’ve got to go to Birmingham!

Like I said, no sales or viewing before eight.

But I’m a big buyer!

There’ll be plenty of other ‘big buyers.’

Screw you, snarled the caller as he hung up.

Horace’s teenage daughter Annie Beth entered the room. Daddy … who was that?

Just a scavenger, those types always crawl out of the woodwork for sales like this. I wonder how he got our number.

Annie Beth’s face reddened. Oh, Daddy … I’m so sorry. I listed our phone number in the want ad so people could call if they had questions.

It’s okay, no harm done. This and the sale tomorrow will be a good learning experience.

Annie Beth’s mouth gaped as their car turned onto her great aunt’s street. It’s only seven, but there’re dozens of cars!

Horace laughed. Yeah, and they’ll be knocking on the door wanting in early. As their car pulled in the driveway, several of the early arrivals got out. Sorry folks, we don’t start until eight.

Well, why not? complained a middle-aged woman, a cigarette dangling from her lips.

Because it won’t be fair to those who come at the time we said the sale would start.

The woman strode to the front door. Well, I’m comin’ in anyway. I have other sales to go to and I ain’t got time to wait.

Then I suggest you leave now and go to those other sales because you’re not coming in, now or later.

The woman snatched the cigarette from her mouth. The hell you say!

Oh yes I do. You’re on private property and if you return, I’ll have you arrested for trespassing.

Scarlet-faced, the woman returned to her car, flung her cigarette down, slammed the door, and left. The others standing in the yard returned to their cars muttering and laughing among themselves. The old bitch deserved it, said one with a smile. She’s always trying to elbow her way to the front of the line.

Annie Beth giggled as she locked the door behind them. I love it when Daddy gets assertive; he’s usually so easygoing—just don’t make him angry!

Promptly at eight o’clock, the garage door opened and dozens of people streamed into the former home of Emmeline Bartram. Some stopped at tables in the garage to look at old tools and license plates, while others hurried into the kitchen and dining room with eyes wide-open for bargains and potential treasures.

What’s this? A man about thirty years of age asked himself. Looks like a box of costume jewelry. Indeed, there were scores of pins, necklaces, earrings, bracelets, and rings. Some of these look Deco or Art Moderne. I might make a few bucks.

How much for this box of old costume jewelry? Some of these pieces look broken.

Horace smiled. Oh, two hundred dollars, my aunt accumulated most of that stuff in the forties and fifties. Some of it’s probably even older.

I’ll give you sixty-five.

Naw, can’t do it. I’ll come down to one-fifty.

How about seventy-five?

Still not enough, meet you in the middle, let’s say one-twenty. That’s as low as I can go.

The man mulled the offer momentarily, Okay, deal.

He pulled twenties from his wallet as Annie Beth frowned and wrote a receipt. I wish Daddy had let me keep that jewelry. Wearing some of it’d be fun. I should have asked.

The man got in his truck and put the box on the passenger side. Wish I had more cash, but I think I can resell some of this stuff.

He returned to his tiny apartment and spread his purchase on a towel draped over the kitchen table. Ummm, let’s see five dollars, eight dollars, junk, two dollars, ten dollars, this looks promising. There was a green hummingbird pin with red rhinestones on its neck, tiny frog earrings, a cultured pearl necklace, and a ring with a large green stone. Hey! Wait a minute! This thing’s heavy. Cheap jewelry usually isn’t heavy!

So you got this in a box of costume jewelry at an estate sale? asked Milo Hotchkiss.

Yeah, Saturday over in The Highlands. An old lady named Bartram died and they were selling her stuff. The ad was in the paper and I’ve got a receipt.

I remember seeing that want ad, wish I’d gone.

They had lots of nice stuff, but the box was all I could afford.

How much do you want?

A thousand.

Naw, I can’t loan that much. The band looks real, eighteen-karat gold with platinum prongs. Weight seems right, but I don’t know about this stone.

Isn’t it an emerald? Plus it’s early Art Deco. See the inscription—1920. Plus it’s a Tiffany.

Well, there were fakes back then too, but this may not be the original stone. It might have been a diamond and this stone could be a replacement.

What about the setting? Doesn’t it have a good value?

The melt value is about four hundred dollars. There isn’t much platinum, just those little prongs. To verify the stone, I’d have to send it to an appraiser and it would cost hundreds and take weeks.

Damn it! I need that money now before I leave town. How about eight hundred?

I can loan you five hundred and I’d be taking a risk,

Bastard’s got me over a barrel. Okay, five hundred.

Here’s the deal, Milo said as they finished signing the paper work, I hold it for thirty days. If you don’t redeem it by then, it’s mine, understand? He began counting out the money.

Okay. But I’ll be long gone by then.

3

HEY MILO, HOW have you been? asked Dalton Randolph extending his hand across the counter. Thanks for calling. Let’s see what you’ve got.

Milo Hotchkiss retrieved a small box from a safe and handed it to Dalton along with a jeweler’s loupe. Take a close look at this.

Wow, it’s beautiful! said Dalton as he looked at the ring in sunlight streaming through a window and across the pawnshop counter. What is it?

Band’s eighteen-carat gold and platinum—got a brilliant cut three-carat emerald solitaire. Early art deco—very simple setting, very clean look. Typical Tiffany—the very highest quality. The stone’s got fantastic color and the ring’s size six. It’s only seventy-five hundred. At auction in New York or Hong Kong it might go for more than double that. Take a look though the loupe.

Dalton held the ring between his fingers. The green stone glowed with an almost supernatural light. Turning the ring sideways, he looked at the inside surface of the setting. The hallmarks read Tiffany & Co. 18k Plat. Further around was the engraved inscription, Mattie Mandell Tuscaloosa 1920.

Luke Randolph, Dalton’s grandfather, died a few months earlier and part of his bequest included five thousand dollars for a surprise ring for Genevieve. The old man dearly loved Genn and since she and Dalton had little money when they married, they could only afford an inexpensive engagement ring and wedding bands.

It’s a bit over my budget, said Dalton with a frown as he handed it back. "Genn would have loved it. You know my granddad wanted her to have some remembrance of him and this would have been perfect. She loves vintage jewelry, but she only has a few things and nothing in this league."

He leaned forward. Where did you get it?

Some guy about thirty or thirty-five brought it in, said he found it in a box of costume jewelry at a garage sale.

Wow! That was his lucky day.

He wanted to borrow a thousand, but I didn’t know if the stone was real and would have to send it off for authentication and appraisal. The hallmarks looked good. The ring being gold and the prongs platinum indicate it’s a quality piece worthy of Tiffany. He signed all the paperwork and had what looked like a valid ID plus a receipt from the estate sale. So I took a chance.

Why was it a chance?

Buying colored stones is really risky since some are treated to enhance their color and there are lots of synthetic ones out there too, but the melt value of the setting would have covered most of the loan. He wanted quick cash and accepted my offer. He never came back to redeem it, so I held it the required three weeks after the default date then sent it off for authentication and appraisal. I was really surprised when the appraisal came back saying it’s a natural, untreated Columbian emerald with exceptional color and clarity. The appraiser set the retail value at about thirty thousand, but numbers like that are always over the top.

Genn would really love this ring.

The pawnbroker smiled. Tell you what, if I send it to an auction house, or list it on eBay, the fees would take a chunk and who knows what my net might be. I’ll let you have it for six thousand.

Dalton thought a moment. The bank’s across the street, give me ten minutes and I’ll put fifty-five hundred cash on the counter!

That’s a done deal, said the pawnbroker with a broad smile as he extended his hand across the counter. I wish you could have seen your wife’s face yesterday when she put this on. Her beautiful eyes are the same color! Then she looked so sad handing it back.

She is remarkable, said Dalton with a soft smile as he recalled their years together.

"Thanks for asking me to call if she ever saw anything she really liked but couldn’t buy. I’ll make a copy of the