Murder in Mossland Mississippi

Mossland was a quiet town in Mississippi; so small you could travel the length of it in under five minutes. As the locals would say, “If you blink you miss it.” Despite its size, everyone around knew of Mossland. It was the only town in the whole county with a stop light. The buildings were old and gray; like monuments peering over Main Street, reminding generations that once long ago there were people that lived there. Now there were just a few businesses left amongst the sparse empty buildings.             Once, the government gave the town a grant to improve the historical buildings. Most of the local hands just stood around trying to figure out what historical meant. As time went by, eventually, they abandoned the project. Most of the buildings still hold a mark of incomplete improvements, with random over hangings shaped like upside down moons. The kind of architecture that can only come from a good-ole-boy who spent his life in a chicken house and then one day they handed him a hammer and called him an architect.             One brisk fall morning, Fin Culpepper was loading his old Chevy up for his latest hunting trip. Fin’s quaint house was nestled across from the county court house. The large older home used to be the town funeral parlor. White pillars surrounded the old porch and pink azalea bushes bloom once a year. That is the only time people in town forget what the houses previous purpose was.  He sweet little wife Lola sat quietly on the porch swing, watching her husband load up useless items that he thought would get him the prize buck he was dreaming of. Even though the pair were hastily approaching fifty, there was still a youthfulness about them both. Lola took care to make sure her chin length blonde hair was always in place and her soft completion never met the harsh summer sun. “Be careful now, Fin.” She called as he jumped into the front seat. He waved good bye from the rear view mirror as the old Chevy sputtered down Main Street.             Two blocks down, Chad Weathersby and Jacob Bridges were exiting the town’s only drive through for a morning cup of coffee and a biscuit. Chad was a skinny boy in his early twenties but his face made him seem much older than that. He had a difficult life and tried just about every bad thing he could think of to make himself feel better. It was Fin who had turned his life around. Now he was on a better path and his friend Jacob was a testimony to that. Jacob was raised by a farming family and had never seen any trouble in his 22 years. That was the kind of friend Chad needed to turn his life around and he was grateful for him.             Four miles from the edge of town was Fin’s hunting lease. Chad and Jacob had finally assembled the three hundred dollars they need to join the hunting club. It was the first time Chad had done anything fun since his mother disappeared six months ago. Rumors flew out of the mouths of everyone in town. Some people blamed Chad because he used to be such a trouble maker. Some blamed his mother’s boyfriend because he was so cold. Chad did not care about any of that. He was grateful that his friends stood by him, but all he really wanted was his mother to come back. He knew that whatever her reason was he would forgive her, just like she had forgiven him of his past mistakes.             The three men parked their trucks at the entrance to the club. Chad hopped out and opened the cattle gate while Fin and Jacob gathered the rifles and gear. “You’re gonna love it here Jacob!” called Chad, “Fin’s brought me here a bunch. Saw an eight point last time, just barely missed it.” Jacob nodded and pretended like the cold air wasn’t stinging his soft baby face. Fin gathered the rest of the gear and trotted towards his to companions.             The cold air wiped in the faces of the hunters as they traveled the familiar trail. The three men dodged the cold biting wind that only comes after a hot sticky Mississippi summer. With air so damp that is seems to freeze and sting you like a bee in the winter months. Their camo rustled along the trail as they winded through the dangling branches. A sharp rancid smell began to linger over the three friends as they neared their destination. “Chad, you smell that?” called the lead hunter wincing at the stench. Fin was a tall lankly man; handsome in his own way, with sharp features that matched his long thin limbs.  In his forties, he always seemed to educate the younger generations on the do’s and don’ts of hunting. Always finding an excuse to pretend like his wife Lola had given him the boy he always wanted. “You tell me, Fin. I smell it but I don’t recon I know what it is,” yelled Chad Weathersby. The men continued to slowly inch further along the trail, when Jacob wandered ahead. Suddenly, the baby faced newcomer began to cough and spit.             Fin hastily pushed Chad aside and forced his long limbs in Jacob’s direction. When he reached Chad, his plump cheeks had turned shades of yellow and green. He was bent over with his hand on his throat gasping for air. Fin forged past him hoping to discover the source of the crippling stench. In a pile of leaves lay the crumpled remains of a body; still dressed in a light blue night gown, soiled by the animal that ravaged the carcass. Fin gasped at the sight, taking the rancid smell deep into his lungs. He began to cough and choke. Chad grabbed him by the arm and hauled him back onto the rustling path. “What is it Fin?” he yelled shaking his companion. “Tell me!” In a weak wheezy voice Fin coked out the words that Chad had prayed he would never hear. “It’s Lori.”