When Devils Sing(77)
As the Johnson family often did, Isaiah’s grandparents mobilized their little community and set out to help the neighboring towns. In the months that followed, they provided families with crates of fresh produce, pantry staples, care packages, and labor to rebuild their homes. That summer, going into his sophomore year of high school, Isaiah spent most of it in the passenger seat of Papa Charles’s pickup. He and his grandparents drove all over, going from town to town, aiding people in whatever way they could.
But one sizzling July day, in a neighboring tiny town, Isaiah overheard a conversation. The Johnsons were gathered at an old Baptist church turned relief center, parceling through boxes of donations for a clothing drive later that week. As was often the case with Southern folk, idle conversations turned to gossip, and Isaiah listened to every word.
At fifteen, Isaiah’s ears were already trained in the art of eavesdropping. He’d always been curious, but his inquisitive nature only grew as the years passed. It was his gift of observation that prevented him from being blindsided when his parents announced their “marital difficulties” to him at the start of that summer. He’d seen it coming from a mile away—with his father taking on more cases than ever before, and his mother seeing a marriage therapist twice a week, and disguising it as going to Pilates.
In that dusty church, waist-deep in donated clothing, Isaiah stumbled upon the story that would become his first investigation: a little girl missing in the aftermath of the storm, and the unfounded rumors that spread as a result. It was easier for the tiny community to believe that an old alligator living in the local swamp was responsible for the girl’s disappearance rather than the possibility of any alternatives.
But he instinctively knew there was more to the story.
By the end of that summer, Isaiah had ingratiated himself in the hearts of the townsfolk, and he learned the truth. The little girl wasn’t eaten alive by a gator. Instead, she was taken across state lines by her estranged father, who’d taken advantage of the chaos caused by the flood. She was recovered in perfect health and reunited with her mother not long after.
The story made its way around local news stations, and Isaiah saw an opportunity. Grandma Bee had taught him his love for storytelling, and Isaiah nurtured that passion into something entirely his own. He made the alligator story his first season of Secrets of the South, leaning into the Southern absurdity and folklore of it all.
And each summer that followed, he spent his time in and around rural Georgia, in search of the podcast’s next story.
* * *
AT THE JOHNSON farm, there was a shed at the edge of the yard. In that shed was Isaiah’s own makeshift darkroom, courtesy of Papa Charles. Except it wasn’t being used as a darkroom at all. At least, not that day—the next morning after Isaiah and Reid had made their pact by the firepit outside the Tavern.
The boys gathered in the shed, the space barely big enough to park a tractor, but it would suffice. They weren’t in need of space but seclusion. Privacy to speak freely and openly. Outside, the storm of the summer threatened to descend upon Langley County, with waves of thunder rolling overhead, shaking the walls around them.
Their gathering began with one word scrawled on a whiteboard: Dawson?
From Dawson’s name sprawled various lines, arrows, and question marks. They spent the better part of the day creating a complicated web of connections and speculation.
Rain began to fall steadily on the tin roof by the time the boys were ready to call it in the early afternoon.
“Leblanc, huh?” Reid asked, eyeing his name on the board. “Can I hear the voicemail again?”
Isaiah played the recording of the voicemail from Leblanc’s office once more. Andrea’s pleading still raised the hair on his arms, even in the stuffy air of the shed. “When I interviewed her a couple days ago, she believed Leblanc and Dawson were having an affair in secret. Do you know anything about that?”
“With Casey?” Reid blew air from his mouth, gaze going toward the ceiling. “I mean, Leblanc favored Dawson as a caddy whenever he golfed. He’d request him every time and always tip big.” He absently tapped a marker on his knee. “I think I remember Dawson saying he’d even gotten a new job through Leblanc, but he never told me specifics.”
Isaiah scribbled mysterious job onto the board. “Do you think it was anything more than that?”
“The only thing I know with any certainty is that Dawson kept a lot of things close to his chest,” Reid said. “Even with me. I know he was seeing someone in secret. So yeah, I wouldn’t doubt what Andrea said.”
Silence fell between them, filled only by the patter of rain.
Isaiah asked, after a moment, “Does the name ‘Blind Bucks’ mean anything to you?”
Reid shook his head. “Not at all. Why?”
“When Dawson stayed at the Colonial, he left a key chain behind that came from there. It’s a shuttered bar that never even opened to begin with,” Isaiah said.
“Weird,” Reid said. “Do you know who owns it?”
Isaiah nodded. “Neera’s family owned it originally … but lost it. Now a trust called Second Sons owns it.”
Reid blinked. “Wait, Second Sons? Seriously?”
Isaiah looked away from the board, squarely at Reid. “Have you heard of it?”
“My uncle—that’s what he’s always called himself,” Reid said slowly. “A second son to my father.”