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The place was Hainesville, Louisiana, early November 1927.

It was Mrs. Essey Jowers speaking.

He's gone. He got terribly angry, and he left me.

She stood behind the counter of the general store owned by her husband, a minister who

had found his profession insufficient to provide a means of livelihood.

That's odd, said the customer, who was also the Hainesville ticket agent.

I didn't see him at the depot. Reverend Frank

Jowers, a mild-mannered man, had presided over his little flock for 25 years, and during

23 of them had been married to this woman. The agent knew that the minister did not own a car,

and he could not picture the old man plotting out of town

on foot through the heavy rains and mud of Louisiana November. The matter was mentioned at a lodge

meeting that night when Sheriff John Coleman was present. Strange that she hasn't said anything to me,

commented the sheriff. You'd imagine she'd phone

me at once if she was worried. She isn't worrying any, put in one of those present. She's got

someone to console her, Elisha Swift. He gave me a dollar and a half to bring some of his things

over to the minister's house four days ago.

Says he's boarding, but many of us know he's been carrying on with Essie Jowers for weeks.

Coleman asked, when was the last day any of you saw Reverend Jowers?

It seemed the latest he had been seen was on the afternoon of Halloween Day.

Halloween Day, repeated the sheriff. That was October 30th. Well, I'm going to find out what Elisha Smith was doing that night. A neighbor offered, I can tell you what he was doing part of it

because he lives right near me. He got his car out at midnight, which

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