Burning Eden: An Eden County Mystery

By Sarah Bewley

It's 1998. Wildfires are sweeping through North Florida, burning even the peat in the drought-stricken swamps. Sheriff Jim Sheppard has his deputies covering the county, watching for fires, and trying to limit the threats to residents. When a Pentecostal preacher disappears during the night from his ho

• Language: English
• Publisher: Level Best Books
• Release date: Apr 18, 2023
• ISBN: 9781685123451

Sarah Bewley

Sarah Bewley has been a freelance writer, a playwright, a licensed private investigator, a homeschool tutor, and held administrative positions in medical offices and nonprofits. She lives in Gainesville, Florida with Patrick Payne, a visual artist. Burning Eden is her first book in the Eden County Mysteries series.

Book preview

Chapter One

‘EDEN IS BURNING! Is this the fire next time?’ Just what Jim needed. Sheila Ward, talking about the apocalypse in the newspaper. The goddamn swamp was on fire, yes. Wildfires burned out of control all over the state, yes. But it was Florida, and the rest of the world seemed to be doing fine. The problem was, Eden County was 804 square miles of scrub and swamp. The drought had dried up even the muck. The fires drove the gators and the snakes out to look for water. The smoke from the burning peat kept the county under a grey haze, blocking the sun and filling everyone’s lungs.

Jim hacked and spit out the stink of burning dirt. The Seminoles had called this area Cahoketa, which meant gobbling up. Then some delusional white man had come along and renamed it Eden. Jim had to admit that there were some damn dumb white men among the ancestors of people in Eden.

Jim walked his usual running route, carefully keeping to the shoulder. Instead of morning fog, the smoke hid him from oncoming cars. It hugged the ground and hung in the tree canopy like Spanish moss gone out of control.

His lungs burned not from exertion but from the pollution in the air. He finally gave up, turned around, and headed back to his house. Michael would be getting up soon anyway, and if he was lucky, he might get breakfast with his son before he disappeared for the day.

When Jim opened the back door, he could hear the shower running. Michael was up. Jim went to the kitchen sink and turned on the cold water for a moment. He could hear the shout all the way into the kitchen, but at least it would get the kid out of the shower before all the hot water was used up.

He heard the shower cut off, the bathroom door slam open, and a moment later, a dripping Michael stood at the door to the hall.

I wasn’t in there that long, Dad!

Want some breakfast?

He watched the sixteen-year-old wrestle with his desire to remain angry and the offer of someone making him a full meal. Michael’s stomach won. Yeah.

Great. I’ll grab a quick shower, and by then, you should be dressed and have that hair of yours done. Bacon and eggs?

Scrambled. None of that brown crusty stuff.

Michael turned on his heel and headed back down the hall. Jim could see the wet footprints that tracked from the bathroom to the kitchen door and then back to Michael’s bedroom. He heard the blow dryer turn on.

He had time to take a leisurely shower. Michael took forever with his hair, which was a mystery to Jim as great as any in the universe. He could not figure out how it took someone so long to create a bad case of bedhead, much less why anyone would do it on purpose.

Jim had showered, shaved, dressed, and was in the kitchen scrambling eggs by the time the blow dryer turned off for the last time. Michael walked into the kitchen and dropped heavily into a chair at the table.

What’s on your agenda for the day? Jim asked.

Michael shrugged. Biology quiz, baseball practice after school.

Jim nodded. He’d played football and baseball at the same high school, and it had led to a free ride to college on a football scholarship. Michael had a shot at the same thing in baseball if he kept his grades up.

He spooned scrambled eggs, with no crusty brown stuff, onto Michael’s plate, and the phone rang. He grabbed the receiver off the wall and held it between his shoulder and ear as he finished dishing out breakfast to himself.

Sheriff Sheppard, he said.

Sheriff, this is Junior. We got a call on a missing preacher, and Dee and Waylon are out on an accident on 27, and Bobby’s picking bales off the beach again, so I got no one to send to talk to the wife.

Junior’s voice was always an oddly high whine, but he was in full squeak mode this morning. Who is it? asked Jim.

Donald Hatcher. He’s the preacher over at the Holy Fire of God Pentecostal church on Lee Road.

Lee Road was in the opposite direction of the Sheriff’s station and his office, but if he took the call himself, it would save time and manpower. All right. Give me the address. I’ll take it. How long’s he been missing?

Disappeared sometime during the night. Naked.

Fine. I’ll head out there as soon as I can. Michael reached out to take more of the bacon, and Jim snapped his fingers. Michael grinned and picked up a piece of toast instead.

Yes, sir.

Jim made a quick note of the names and the address. It wouldn’t be hard to find. Warren was a town of 5,000 and the largest incorporated part of Eden County. There were a handful of churches inside the city limits, and the Holy Fire of God was one that he was vaguely familiar with. The preacher before Hatcher had gotten it into his head to become a snake handler and ended up nearly killing himself with a water moccasin during a service.

The new minister had been there a couple of years and seemed to be generally a pretty decent guy. He’d had his group focusing on hosting some AA meetings and holding food drives. Jim had appreciated the change.

So, what’s on your agenda for today? asked Michael around a mouthful of toast.

Jim smiled. Michael always treated his career formally. He remembered doing the same with his father. A missing preacher.

Anyone I know?

Hatcher from Holy Fire.

Don’t know him. Michael jumped up, put his plate in the sink, and drank his orange juice as he stood there. He put the glass in the sink and turned to Jim. How’s the smoke?

Bad. Coach making you run drills in this?

Michael shook his head. He’s had us in the gym. We’re playing over in Bradford County Friday, but Coach says they may cancel if the fires are bad over that way.

I’d rather you did cancel. I hate to think of the bus traveling at night with this kind of visibility.

You could always give us a police escort?

Jim snorted. Yeah, right. That’s going to happen.

Michael laughed and headed back to the bathroom.

Jim finished his breakfast quickly, then poured his coffee into a travel mug. Michael headed out the front door at the same time he did.

I’ll see you tonight, Michael said. He got into his ancient Datsun and drove toward the high school.

Jim opened the door to his department-issued sedan. It creaked, and the suspension groaned when he got in. The car was nearly ten years old, and with the rough roads he covered in the county, he was surprised it hadn’t collapsed in on itself. There simply wasn’t money in the budget for many new vehicles, and he was not the one out chasing speeders and drunks, so he made do with the car he’d been issued when he’d first been elected. At least he had a car. His Great-Grandfather had to use a horse when he was Sheriff in Eden County.

Chapter Two

Ryan Edwards stood in the doorway to his motel room. He’d thought he would go out for a short run before he headed in to his first day at Doc’s office. The thickness of the smoke was giving him second thoughts. He liked keeping his lungs intact. Since the attack two years ago, he’d taken a new approach to being healthy. He wanted to be strong. Hacking up a lung would not help.

He’d have to find out if there was a gym in the area. He needed weights, and maybe there would be a treadmill.

The morning light was dim through the grey haze, and the smell permeated everything. Though he’d showered last night and put on clean clothes this morning, he’d smelled smoke in his t-shirt as he’d pulled it over his head.

Ryan turned back to his room. When he stepped in Bonehead didn’t even raise his head. The dog’s disinterest in life and Ryan radiated outward like a wave of leaden pain. Danielle would have known what to do. But if Danielle were still alive, he and Bonehead wouldn’t be here.

I’m going to McDonalds. Want me to bring you something?

The dog rolled his eyes toward Ryan and snorted.

How about I take you for a walk after breakfast?

Bonehead closed his eyes and remained silent and unmoving.

Ryan picked up his wallet and left the room. If Danielle said the word walk the dog would go crazy leaping and bounding around.

With Ryan, he allowed himself to be leashed and taken out.

They were uneasy companions, left behind with no choice but to co-exist and with little or no understanding of each other. Ryan’s work had kept him away from the dog a lot when Danielle was alive. Once she was gone, they had both seemed adrift. But now that Ryan was well enough to work again, even though it was in a different world than the high-intensity of the George Washington ER, he’d committed himself to trying to make a home for them both.

So far, Bonehead had not shown any enthusiasm for the project.

Suck it up, dog, Ryan said as he headed outside. We’re in this together.

Mcdonald’s looked like a beacon of normalcy to Ryan. Everything else about the town, the surrounding countryside, and even the state left him feeling like he walked in a weird dream. The one familiar thing had been lots of black faces, but they spoke a different language than he did. The white faces weren’t much better.

The young woman at the counter offered a cheery, Morning! What’ll you have?

As an intern, Ryan had practically lived on McDonald’s. Not because he had to, but because other interns did, and someone always made a McDonald’s run.

Good morning. I’ll have two egg McMuffins, one sausage McMuffin, two hash browns, and the biggest coffee you can make me.

Darryl! Get off your butt and make this man his breakfast! the woman yelled over her shoulder. Anything else?

That will do it.

She rang us his total, and he handed over his cash. You’re new in town. I seen you coming from over at the Bambi.

I just moved here.

Why the hell you do something like that? Where you from?

Connecticut.

She gave him a thoughtful look. Darryl! Where the hell’s Connecticut?

Northeast somewheres, yelled a male voice from behind the machines.

East of New York, Ryan answered.

Oh! That’s way up there. The McMuffins slid down to a spot under the heat lamps. The young woman quickly bagged his breakfast and filled his large coffee. So, what are you doing here?

I’m Doctor Markham’s new partner. I’m Ryan Edwards.

Her eyes widened. Darryl! He’s the new doc! Get your butt out here!

She looked at Ryan, Don’t go nowhere. A moment later, a tall, thin white man came through the door from the back. He had a towel wrapped around one hand. Darryl managed to burn himself bad this morning, the dumbshit. Can you look at it?

Ryan nodded. Sure.

Darryl came to the counter, and Ryan carefully unwrapped the towel. Underneath he could see the nasty blisters on the back of the man’s hand. The angry red skin was already beginning to peel. Did you run this under cold water?

Darryl nodded. Did that first thing. Hurt so bad the cold water felt good.

Do you have a … kit?

The woman ran into the back and came back with a standard first aid box. We got this.

Ryan opened it and found antibiotic cream. I need gloves to do this, he said. He was quickly handed plastic food-handling gloves. They would do. He spread the antibiotic cream across the skin then wrapped it loosely in gauze. You keep this covered while you’re working. I can look at it again this evening if you want. Having worked in DC and seen more than his share of working poor, he had a feeling that Darryl didn’t have insurance.

Darryl nodded, I get off before Doc’s closes. I could come in, if it’s not going to be too much money.

Don’t worry about money. You can’t let this go. I’ll take care of it, and we’ll work it out.

The woman elbowed Darryl. He’s going to be as big a pushover as Doc.

Doc’s a pushover?

Oh yeah, half the town owes him.

Once Darryl’s hand was wrapped, Ryan picked up his breakfast. Nice to meet you both, Darryl, and …

The young woman laughed, Dorrie Mae.

Dorrie Mae.

Ryan made his way back to the room, where he found Bonehead still lying on the bed. I brought you something, Ryan said. He pulled out the sausage biscuit and unwrapped it. The dog raised his head and sniffed. Yeah, I know. She wouldn’t approve. But it’s just you and me now, and I think an occasional treat is okay. Don’t you?

The big dog’s head came up, and he looked at Ryan directly. He sniffed the biscuit again, and then he leaned forward and delicately took it from Ryan’s hand. It was gone in two bites.

I don’t suppose that earns me any brownie points with you, does it?

The dog eyed his McMuffins.

Ryan shook his head and unwrapped one, and split it in half. God, I’m such a sucker.

The dog was not quite as delicate this time. After he’d swallowed, he burped.

You have no manners, Bonehead. He ate the other half of the McMuffin, then he let out a loud belch. The dog flinched. Ryan laughed. Danielle would have been horrified by both of them. But Danielle wasn’t here anymore, and it was just the guys. Belching was allowed.

Ryan reached over and ran his hand over the dog’s big head, tugging on each ear for a moment. He’d seen Danielle do it hundreds of times. He knew Bonehead liked it.

The dog sighed.

Chapter Three

The drive to the preacher’s home felt wrong. It was too quiet for this time of morning. Jim knew a lot of people were keeping off the roads as much as they could. Fortunately, in Eden, they really hadn’t had many homes threatened—yet. The big problem here was the smoke. It was flat killing livestock.

In Central Florida they’d lost entire neighborhoods to the fires, and in Alachua County, they’d had to evacuate one of the small towns. But so far, the worst of it was all to the east of Eden County.

Jim prayed they would get some rain before the end of the month when the summer heat really set in. If the smoke stayed heavy like this, they were going to start losing the elderly and children, and he didn’t know what the hell he could do about it.

Jim hadn’t gotten out of his car before Mrs. Hatcher was out of the front door and headed for him.

Did you find him? she asked.

She was a small woman, thin and plain, and her eyes were red and swollen from crying.

I’m sorry, Mrs. Hatcher, we haven’t found your husband. I’m here to get more information.

She seemed to sway for a moment. Jim caught her by her arm and held her steady. Why don’t we go inside?

She nodded, and they went silently into the house together. She automatically headed straight for the kitchen, and Jim followed. She was clearly distressed enough that he didn’t want to interrupt whatever behavior made her feel normal. She sat at the table, and her hands circled around a cup of coffee.

Jim soundlessly pulled a chair out from the small table and sat down across from her. Mrs. Hatcher?

She looked at him and appeared surprised that he sat across from her. Yes?

When did you discover your husband missing?

When I got up. He wasn’t in the bed. I thought he’d be in here, but he wasn’t. He wasn’t anywhere.

Do you know when he might have disappeared? Approximately?

We went to bed at eleven. We always go to bed at eleven. I got up at six, like always, and he was gone.

So sometime between eleven last night and six this morning?

No, later. I was awake for a while. I have trouble getting to sleep sometimes. I remember looking at the clock around 12:15, but not after that.

Did he take anything with him?

Like what?

Did he pack something?

Didn’t that deputy tell you? He was naked. He didn’t take anything. Not even his Bible. He never goes anywhere without taking his Bible. But it’s on the bedside table. Just where he put it last night.

Are you sure he didn’t take anything? Maybe he got up and dressed….

I know he wasn’t dressed! His clothes are all here!

She got up from the table quickly and went into the hallway. Jim followed her. In the bedroom, she threw open the closet door, and there hung five white shirts, one pair of black pants over a hanger, and one pair of shoes on the floor of the closet. She opened a hamper that stood next to the bed, pulling out a white shirt and a pair of khaki pants. This is everything. He has six white shirts, two pairs of pants, one pair of shoes. It’s all here!

Her voice broke, and she began to cry. Jim took the hamper top out of her hands and led her back to the kitchen. I believe you.

She snuffled and went to the kitchen counter, where she grabbed a napkin and blew her nose.

Did you hear anything? Or has someone contacted Reverend Hatcher recently, who was new to the church?

She shook her head.

Is there someone who can come stay with you? I don’t want you to be alone right now.

She shrugged, and Jim tried to think who might know Hatcher’s congregation. He got her to sit, and her hands went back to grasping her coffee cup as though it was the one thing that would save her. I’ll be back in just a minute, Mrs. Hatcher.

Jim stepped out the back door and looked into the woods that bordered the home to the north. He radioed Junior. Can you try to raise Elsie Sanborne for me, Junior? I need to find someone to come stay with the preacher’s wife.

Sure can, Sheriff. Need anything else?

Yeah, call over to the Florida Department of Law Enforcement and see when they can send us a tech. This is looking like it might be something serious.

Sure thing, Sheriff.

Jim looked around the yard and stood near the woods, looking at the house. There was a light fixture next to the back door, but no bulb in it. He walked back to the house and saw that there was glass on the ground and the base of a bulb screwed into the socket.

He looked closely at the back door, but couldn’t see any sign it’d been forced. Of course, people in Warren didn’t lock their doors half the time. Hell, he didn’t lock his door.

He walked back to the woods and saw that there were boot prints in the loose dirt. He carefully followed them, and they came out on the other side of the narrow- wooded area onto a lime-rock road. There was an oil slick on the lime rock that was still wet.

He stopped and turned around. He could just make out the house through the trees. It wouldn’t be hard at all to walk up to the back of the house. If the light had been broken, no one would be able to see whoever might take it into their head to check out the preacher’s home.

Huh.

Sheriff?

Jim clicked on his radio, Yeah, Junior.

Miss Elsie’s going to come right over to the Hatcher’s place. And there’s a tech should be at the house within the next hour. You going to stay there?

Yeah, Junior. Anyone needs me, just give a yell.

Yes, sir, Sheriff.

* * *

Bud Peterson got out of his van carrying his eternal travel mug of sweet iced tea. The ice rattled against the plastic as he walked. He stopped and took a long drink from his mug, sighed, and continued until he was in front of Jim.

Hey, Jimbo. How you holding up? Bud rasped. He always sounded like his throat was raw, but today he sounded even worse.

I’m fine. You sound like hell.

Fucking smoke, Bud said. He took another drink from his tea. I’m up to almost two gallons a day of tea. I piss every fifteen minutes. It’s starting to really tick me off.

Jim grinned.

So, what we got here?

I’m not sure. I’ve got a missing preacher, and I don’t think he went on his own.

Bud nodded. Point of entry?

Back door. There’s boot prints go from there out to a lime rock road that runs behind the houses. Broken porch light which the wife says it was fine last night when they went to bed. Front light is good.

She going to have a conniption if I start dusting?

Jim shook his head. She wants him found.

Bud turned around to the tech carrying their gear up from the back of the van. Dust all the doors, and keep your eyes open for any kind of foot prints. Got some glass out back needs to be picked up, and look around for what mighta smashed it.

The kid nodded his head and hurried inside.

I’ll give her a good going over. Let you know what I find.

Thanks, Bud.

Jim watched the man saunter inside. He turned to look up the road. What he needed was for Elsie Sanborne to show up. Mrs. Hatcher was holding it together, but he’d feel better leaving once he knew someone was with her. Elsie made it her personal mission to take care of anyone who didn’t have anyone. Probably because she didn’t have anyone herself.

When Jim’s dad had been Sheriff, Elsie’s husband had been a deputy. They’d been newlyweds, and two months in, Danny Sanborne had pulled over a drunk driver on 27 and they’d both been killed by an 86-year-old tourist from Ohio who’d fallen asleep at the wheel. The tourist’s wife had been killed as well, but the old man had been uninjured.

Elsie had, from that point on, become the unofficial official caregiver to all victims when the Sheriff’s department needed her.

A few minutes later Jim spotted her car coming down the road. She was hard to miss. She drove a 1971 Plymouth Duster. It had been Danny’s pride and joy, and Elsie had spent a fortune keeping it in pristine condition over the years. She’d even kept the original orange paint in perfect condition.

She pulled up along the street so as to not block either Jim or the FDLE van from getting out. She got out of the car and stormed up the drive.

What we got, Jim? she asked anxiously. She was a tall woman, and lean, and her graying hair stayed pulled back in a ponytail at all times.

Preacher Hatcher’s missing. His wife’s pretty scared.

She got no people?

No. Least not around here.

Elsie nodded. I’ll take care of her. Elsie headed for the house at a fast clip.

Elsie?

She stopped and turned around.

I’m heading into the office. Bud Peterson’s in there.

Elsie nodded again. I’ll keep her out of his way. She hustled inside and Jim headed for his car. The smell of burning was heavy in the air and he felt a headache coming on.

The drive to his office was short. There was little traffic on the road. He had barely gotten into the building before Junior was telling him he had a call. The big man’s dark face creased with concern as he told Jim that Doc Markham was on the line for him about Michael.

Hell’s bells, Jim said. I’ll take it in my office, Junior.

He closed the door and grabbed up the handset and heard the gruff wheeze of Doc Markham.

Afore you go and get yourself in a swivet, Michael’s fine, Doc said, but he’s got a hell of a goose egg on his noggin and he’s going to be hot about what I had to do to his hair.

What?

Some damn thing fell on his head at the high school. So he’s here in my office. Took about six stitches to close it up, and he’s got a concussion. Other than that, he’s good.

Jim felt his heartbeat race. Michael’s hurt?

Hell, Jim, catch up. Yeah. Got a knot on his head and a pretty good gash, but he’s just got a mild concussion. Headache more than anything else. You want to come see him afore I send him home?

I’ll be right there.

Jim did manage to remember to tell Junior where he was going as he left, but beyond that, he didn’t even remember the walk to the doctor’s office. He stopped at the desk and before he could say anything, Claire said, "Doc is with him in exam room three. Do