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City. Daddy’s cousin, Stephen, had shared the tragic story of the accidental shooting and of Hubbard’s hike through the woods with Momma’s body. John thought the story lacked plausibility and suspected that the investigation into Addie’s death was insufficient, if there was an investigation at all during the twenty-four hours between the gunshot and the burial. Uncle John was certain that no Andrews in the great state of Alabama, especially Hubbard’s trusted cousin, Stephen, would look for the skeletons in any other Andrews’s closet. John was sure there were plenty of skeletons to be found.
    Uncle John shared his concerns with Papa Lowman. Why were Hubbard and Addie alone in the woods with no porter to tend to the boat? How would Addie know there were squirrels hiding in the vines if it was still dark out? How was Hubbard able to carry Addie, two rifles, and their pack for two miles through the heavily wooded area? How did Hubbard go unnoticed through the woods on the last day of the hunting season? Why did he choose to seek the assistance of his cousin in Jackson, thirty miles away, rather than the authorities in Barlow Bend or Willow Springs? Both towns were much closer. For that matter, why did he choose to drive thirty miles west to Jackson rather than thirty miles east to Frisco City after Addie was shot? Uncle John was also all too familiar with the choice gossip running rampant since Momma’s death. The rumors told of sordid affairs between Daddy and several women in Clarke County near the hotel Daddy owned; Hubbard’s real business in Grove Hill according to Uncle John. All of these questions and rumors in Uncle John’s mind added up to only one scenario: Momma’s death was no accident, and Hubbard Andrews should pay for his obvious crime.
    I overheard Uncle John and Papa Lowman arguing after supper one Sunday in March of 1934. Papa Lowman told Uncle John to clean up his act and stop drinking so much. He told John that he expected a lot more out of a son-in-law. Uncle John admitted he had faults, but insisted he was at least better than my daddy was to Momma.
    “I didn’t shoot my own wife, did I ?” Uncle John yelled at Papa Lowman. “I’m not runnin’ around on Audrey am I?”
    John kept at Papa Lowman, insisting that Papa should listen to his suspicions about that day in January and Daddy’s actions. He insisted that Papa Lowman at least consider that Daddy may have shot Momma in cold blood.
    Uncle John may have failed many times in his life, but he succeeded in planting suspicion. I didn’t know it then, but a seed of suspicion began to grow in Papa Lowman’s ear that evening, then Aunt Audrey’s mind, and finally, the Clarke County Sheriff’s Office. On the night of Daddy’s questioning by the Clarke County Sheriff Department, two and a half months after my mother’s death, John Howard raised a toast of his best home brew to his own personal form of justice. Everything evens out in the wash , he probably thought to himself, unaware of how the cards would play out in the end for him, for Daddy, or for me.

 
     
    Chapter 6
    April 2, 1934
    Daddy had been so quiet in the weeks after Momma died, and didn’t tell us anything other than “Your momma had an accident.”
    Even though I wanted to, I had n’t asked Daddy about that morning in the woods. I didn’t want to make him angry or more heartbroken than he already appeared to be, but the appearance of Cousin Stephen and the strange man in the dark jacket proved that I couldn’t ignore my curiosity any more. I decided that, as soon as I could get a moment alone with him, I’d ask Daddy what happened out in the woods. In my opinion, at the age of thirteen, I was old enough to know exactly what happened to Momma. I was no longer some little child who needed to be sheltered from terrible things. For God’s sake, the most terrible thing I could ever imagine had already happened. What else could I possibly need shelter from? Let Meg,