Benjamin GroffMedia© | benandsteve.com | 2025 Truth Endures©
“The Andersons”
It was supposed to be a quick assignment.
Officer Tim Roff was headed to a remote corner of the county to interview a key witness. This witness was a young girl named Cissy, the only eyewitness to a serious crime.
Nothing about it sounded very difficult. It was a straightforward drive, with a few questions, and Tim wanted to return for lunch.
He fueled his cruiser and pulled out of Delk View, heading west on the highway. The farther he drove, the thinner the traffic got. Eventually, it was just him and the radio. A long ribbon of blacktop stretched toward the horizon.
Forty miles later, he turned off at a row of faded, leaning mailboxes. They looked like they’d been abandoned decades ago.
A dirt road led up a shallow ridge, ending at a rusted metal gate with a handmade sign nailed to it:
“IF U R HEar TO C the Anderson Folks, U-will walk up here.”
Tim squinted at it.
“Charming.”
He parked the cruiser on the shoulder and climbed the gate, boots crunching dry gravel as he started the walk. It was unusually quiet—no dogs barking, livestock, or even a bird in the trees. That struck him as odd for a farm.
The shack was sagging. It stood at the end of the trail, leaning slightly. It looked like it had given up on fighting gravity. Tim knocked. After a few moments, the door creaked open, revealing a woman standing in shadow.
“Ma’am,” Tim said, flashing his badge. “Officer Roff, Delk View PD. I’m here to speak with Cissy.”
The woman gave him a long, assessing look before replying,
“I’m her mother. But Cissy ain’t here. She’s up at my great-grandparents’ place.”
Of course, she was.
The woman stepped outside and pointed behind the shack.
“You’ll wanna follow the trail goin’ north. Not northeast, not northwest—north. Climb the hill. When you hit the first house, keep going. That ain’t it. Go around back and find the east trail. That’ll get you to Great-Grand Pap’s.”
Tim nodded, trying to chart the path mentally.
“Appreciate it,”
He said.
“Wish I’d worn jeans.”
The trail was steep and rocky, winding uphill through thickets and trees. After nearly an hour of hiking, sweat soaking through Tim’s dress shirt, he reached a cabin. An elderly couple sat out front on mismatched chairs, sipping something cold.
“You lost?”
The old man called out.
Tim waved.
“Looking for Great-Grand Pap’s place. Cissy’s supposed to be there.”
The woman laughed.
“You’re close. Just head east from here. And watch out for bees—they’ve been feisty.”
Tim scratched his neck, thinking out loud ––
“Bees? Terrific.”
Tim trudged on and eventually reached a much nicer house between two ridgelines. Two cars were parked out back.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,”
He muttered.
“They have a driveway.”
A white-haired man and woman sat on the stoop, smiling like they’d been expecting him.
“Howdy!”
They chimed in unison.
“Howdy,”
Tim replied, a little breathless.
“I’m Officer Roff. I need to speak with Cissy.”
The couple exchanged a look.
“She’s over at Grand-Uncle Maxwell’s place.”
The old man said.
Tim sighed.
“Grand-Uncle?”
“Yup. Her grandfather’s brother. She’s watchin’ him today while his wife’s out shoppin’.”
Tim, peeking through his sunglasses, looks up –
“Watching him?”
The great-grandfather nodded.
“Ain’t much to it. Maxwell’s tied to a tree out front. Forty-foot chain. Keeps him from wanderin’ off.”
Tim blinked.
“I—what?“
“Yeah,”
The old man said.
“See, Maxwell was showin’ his boy how to clean a rifle last year—told him you never clean a loaded gun. The boy asked why. So Maxwell loaded it up, held the barrel to his head like he was cleanin’ it. And said, ‘Because if you pull the trigger, this could hap—’ And bam. Shot himself right through the nose and out the top of his skull.”
The woman nodded solemnly.
“He ain’t been the same since. I can’t trust him to stay put. We lost three family members to gun cleanin’ accidents.”
“And y’all still own guns?”
Tim asked.
“Well, of course,”
The old man said.
“But we’re real careful now.”
Tim rubbed the back of his neck.
“So… why is he her Grand-Uncle and not a Great-Uncle?”
The old man sat up a little straighter.
“Well, see, Cissy’s mama’s brothers are her uncles. Her mama’s parents are her grandparents. You followin’? But Maxwell’s her grandfather’s brother—so he’s a grand-uncle—different branch. You followin’? My brothers are Great uncles, just like I am a Great Grandpa.You followin’?“
“I think so,”
Tim said.
“But I’m pretty sure Ancestry.com would call him a great-uncle.”
“City folks,”
The old man muttered, shaking his head.
Eventually, they led Tim to Cissy. She was a wide-eyed girl with a thick accent. Her vocabulary included terms Tim had never heard. She explained what she saw, pointing to where it happened, who was there, and what she heard. Tim took meticulous notes. He jotted down not just the events but also the phrases she used. Some of these need translating in court.
He chuckled softly in the cruiser as he rewound his way to civilization. He thought about the chains and the bees. The hand-drawn family tree in his mind intrigued him. He pondered the odd logic of backwoods kinship.
And he couldn’t help but remember what the old man had told him as he left:
“Cousins are once or twice removed, then after that, well… you can marry ’em.”
Tim hoped the DA had a good sense of humor—and a good translator.
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