arkansastraveler (22 page)

His face grew troubled. “All the more reason for you to stay out of it. If there is an organized hate group involved, then it’s something bigger than you or I can deal with.”

“What if Toby Hunter was supposed to be a martyr? I’ve heard of that. Someone being sacrificed for the good of the cause. Kill a guy like Toby, who’s a loose cannon anyway, and make it appear blacks did it. Just the thing to get people riled up. I swear, I’ve heard of that happening.”

“I think you read it in a John Grisham novel,” he said, his mouth a straight line.

“Well, that doesn’t mean it couldn’t happen.”

“Yes, but it’s going to happen without us being involved. We leave on Monday, Benni. There’s nothing we can do to change any of this in the time we’re here.”

I inhaled deeply and laid a hand on his thigh. “You’re right. I’m just going off on a tangent. What I need to do is get back to figuring out what to do about Elvia and Emory.”

“That’s also pretty much a lost cause, I think,” he said, reaching up and massaging the back of my neck. “Though that’s never stopped you before.”

My neck muscles relaxed under the kneading of his strong fingers. “They’re not a lost cause. They’re my best friends. They might have given up, but I haven’t.”

“Lord help them,” he said.

“Lord help us all,” I replied grimly.

“I’
M GOING TO
drop by and see Emory,” Gabe said, standing up. “Then maybe we can go on that fishing trip today.”

“I’ll meet you at the house. I need to see what Elvia has planned.”

He held out his hand and pulled me up off the bench. “Be easy on her, Benni.”

I looked up at him and frowned.

He held up his hands in apology. “Okay, I’m sorry. That was a bit condescending of me. You two have been friends for most of your life, so who am I to tell you how to act?”

“Sergeant Friday, you just successfully avoided a belt in the stomach.”

Back at the house I found Elvia clearing the kitchen table. “Hey, sorry to run out on you, but wait’ll you hear what happened.”

Her face tightened as I told her about the symbols painted on the church’s doors. “No offense,
amiga
, but I’m counting the days until our flight leaves on Monday.”

Her comment gave me hope for her and Emory. At least she wasn’t demanding to be taken to the airport this morning.

She cradled the glass dish of cold scrambled eggs in her hands. “Wipe that scheming look off your face. I don’t plan on making up with Emory, and the only reason I’m not leaving today is because the amount of money they want to change my ticket is outrageous.”

I picked up a plate of biscuits and brushed past her on the way to the kitchen, trying to hide my relief. For once I was thankful for her frugal nature. In the kitchen I started running hot water in the sink. As I washed and she dried, I tried to keep the conversation away from anything controversial or race related.

“You should come tomorrow to the grave-cleaning day,” I said. “I think you’d find it interesting. It’s a sort of Day of the Dead Southern-style.”

Her face looked wary.

“The men hardly ever go,” I added, to assure her it wasn’t a trick to get her back together with my cousin. “It’s mostly a female thing.”

“Maybe I will, then,” she said, taking a glass from me and wiping it efficiently. She put it away in the cupboard above her, then turned around suddenly, her face twisted in pain. “Benni, I hope . . . this thing with me and Emory . . . the fact that we can’t . . . I hope that you and I . . .”

I wiped my wet hands on my jeans and held them out to her. “Elvia, you are my very best friend in the whole world and have been since we were in second grade. Don’t even think about it one more minute. I love you, and even if you and Emory never speak to each other again, that will not have one iota of bearing on our friendship.”

She took my hands, her face softening in relief.

“Besides,” I added. “Emory will most likely move back to Arkansas now, and the only time I’ll see him is when I come back here. He won’t even be a factor in our everyday lives.”

I wanted to crow out loud when my words caused her mouth to turn down slightly. A tiny flickering in her eyes
confirmed it. She still loved him, I thought. There’s still hope in Sugartree.

“I think I’ll go upstairs and read,” she said after we finished. She carefully folded the embroidered tea towel and hung it over the back of a kitchen chair.

“Me and Gabe are going fishing out at the lake. You’re more than welcome to join us.”

She shook her head no. “I’d rather stay here.”

“Okay, guess we’ll see you for dinner.”

“H
OW
’
S EMORY
?” I asked Gabe when he returned. We were out in the garage digging through my uncle’s extensive collection of tackle.

“Barely conscious,” Gabe said, picking up a rod and testing its feel. “I sure wouldn’t want to be in his shoes when he is fully conscious.” He had a small smile on his face.

“Well, that’s what he deserves,” I said. “He’s being a stupid idiot.”

Gabe just shook his head and didn’t answer.

After he and I chose our tackle, we stopped by the Piggly Wiggly to pick up drinks and food. We ran into Duck in the soft drink aisle. He was wearing a blue dress shirt, dark slacks, and a gray diamond-patterned tie.

“It’s Thursday, Dr. Duck,” I said. “Why aren’t you doing heart transplants or vein reamings or whatever it is you cardiologists do?”

“How’s it goin’, kids?” he said, making a face at me and shaking Gabe’s hand. “Monday is heart transplant day. Today we’re havin’ a going-away potluck for my receptionist at the office, and I said I’d bring drinks.”

“We’re going fishing,” I said.

“Wish I could join you.” He put a twelve-pack of diet RC Cola, a six-pack of root beer, and a six-pack of 7UP in his basket.

“Did you hear what happened over at the church this morning?” I asked.

He shook his head no, so I told him the whole story. His face turned a dull angry red. “Dang it all, that’s just what we need. Who would do something like that? What in the world is wrong with people?”

I bent over our cart and began rearranging the potato chips, Moon Pies, and bags of fruit, afraid my expression would give something away.

“That would take longer to discuss than any of us has,” Gabe said.

Duck nodded, gripping the handle of his cart until his knuckles were white. “Does Amen know?”

“I have no idea,” I said. “I didn’t see her in the crowd.” I turned to Gabe. “Did you?”

“She wasn’t there.”

I turned back to Duck. “I guess you saw the newspaper this morning. She’s probably with Quinton.”

“I talked with her about two hours ago,” he said. “Quinton’s staying with her and Lawrence for the time being, though he’s not thrilled about it. They haven’t charged him with anything yet, but the damage is already done. She got three threatening phone calls this morning. And now with this church incident . . .” If he gripped the cart any harder, he was going to sprain a finger.

I patted one of his hands. “Amen told me about you guys. I think it’s great.”

He let out a heavy sigh. “I’ll just be happy when we don’t have to sneak around anymore. I’m gettin’ too old for this.”

“What do you plan on doing?” I asked.

He shrugged and grabbed two liters of club soda. “Depends on what happens with the election. Truthfully, I’d like her to drop out now, before she or Quinton or Lawrence gets hurt. But you know Amen, stubborn as they
come and brave as an eagle . . . no matter how impossible the cause.”

“And that’s one of the reasons you love her,” I said.

He gave a weary smile. “You’re right, Curly Top. I guess if we make it through this, we can make it through anything.”

“Tell her to call me when you see her.”

“You got it.”

“Let’s drop by the Dairy Queen on the way to the lake,” I said, trying to sound casual. To satisfy my own curiosity, I wanted a good look at Tara’s boyfriend, Ricky Don, though I wasn’t sure what that would accomplish.

“Why?” Gabe asked.

“I want a Coke,” I said, regretting my quick response the minute it was out of my mouth.

“We have Cokes in the back,” he said, his voice suspicious.

“I want a Coke with ice.”

He looked over at me, his mouth turned downward. “Okay, Ms. Harper, it’s a little late in the game to be trying to pull something over on me. Why do you want to stop by the Dairy Queen?”

“Turn right here,” I said, pleased when he obeyed. “I just want to take a quick peek at Ricky Don. You have to agree he’s an excellent suspect.”

“I agree . . .”

“See! I think . . .”

He reached over with one hand and laid it across my mouth. “I agree and I’m sure it’s something the police have thought of and will look into.”

I pushed his hand away. “Not according to Detective Brackman.
He
says they’ve practically decided that Quinton’s the one. It sounds like to me they aren’t even looking for other suspects.”

“Benni, do you realize what . . . who you’re dealing with here?” His expression turned from irritated to troubled.
“We have only four days left. You can’t solve the problems of generations in four days.”

“No,” I said, motioning for him to pull into the Dairy Queen parking lot. “But I have to do what I can to deflect suspicion from Quinton.”

He pulled up in front of the Dairy Queen, in the exact same spot we’d parked in the night he was handcuffed. When he turned to me, his blue eyes were hard. “Did it ever occur to you that Quinton might have done it?”

I gaped at him. “I can’t believe you said that.”

“I’m just trying to get some perspective here. Frankly I wouldn’t have blamed him one bit and probably would vote for temporary insanity if I was a juror and given the chance, but the fact is, there’s a lot about this case we don’t know. Snooping around trying to second-guess the police is only going to get someone hurt.” He took my hand and brought it up to his lips, running them across my palm. “And I don’t want it to be you . . . or anyone else in your family.”

I touched his cheek with my free hand. “Amen’s my friend, Gabe. I have to do something. All I want to do is take a look at this guy. That’s all.”

“Fine, then I’ll go with you,” he said, opening his door.

I preferred that he didn’t because I knew I’d be bolder in my questions if he wasn’t standing next to me, but I wasn’t about to argue with him here, where the memories of his humiliation the other night were still fresh.

Luckily Ricky Don was working the counter this morning. I glanced down at his nametag after I ordered two Cokes, heavy on the ice, and said, “I talked to a friend of yours the other day.”

Gabe took my hand and squeezed it hard. I tried to pull away, but he kept a firm grip.

“Really, who?” Ricky Don asked. He was a plain-looking young man, clean and neat with blond hair and brown eyes. Nothing uniquely distinguishing about him . . . except for the large purple bruise on the side of his jaw.
His blond-lashed eyes widened slightly when he looked up at Gabe, obviously recognizing him from the other night.

“Crystal down at Beulah’s Beauty Barn. She said you’d known each other since you were kids.”

“Crystal’s a nice girl,” he said, scooping ice into two plastic cups. “Likes to move her mouth a little too much, but a nice girl.”

“I guess she and your girlfriend, Tara, are friends. I met Tara, too. Her dad and I are old friends.”

With his back to me, as he filled the two cups, he said, “Tara’s not my girlfriend and if Crystal said she was, she was lyin’.
That’s
what I mean ’bout her movin’ her mouth too much.”

Gabe squeezed my hand hard enough to elicit a small yelp.

Ricky Don turned back to face me. “You okay?”

I jerked my hand from Gabe’s. “Fine. Sorry if I touched a sore spot,” I said, flexing my own slightly throbbing hand.

He shrugged and slid the drinks across the gray Formica counter. “No problem. That’ll be two dollars even.”

As we walked away, he called out to Gabe. “Uh, sir . . . Mister . . . Uh, Chief Ortiz?”

Gabe turned around, his expression neutral. “Yes?”

“About the other night.” His young tenor voice cracked and seemed to skip, like a scratched record. “I . . . the other night . . . I’m sure sorry. I was the one who called the police. If I’d known . . .”

“It’s okay, son,” Gabe said, smiling at the stuttering young man. “What happened wasn’t your fault. You did the proper thing in calling the police.”

“Okay, thanks,” he said, his red face visibly relieved. “Really, thanks.”

“No problem,” Gabe said and gave him a small wave.

“That was nice of him,” I said, climbing into the Explorer. “And of you.”

“He really did do the right thing. Sugartree’s police
department certainly needs some overhauling, but when things get so bad that people are afraid to call the police, then a town really has problems.”

“Absolutely,” I agreed, giving him a big smile.

“Your winning smile is not going to get you out of my lecture about minding your own business,” he said.

“Did you notice the bruise on his jaw? Don’t you think that looks suspicious?”

“Benni . . .,” he started.

I stuck my tongue out at him. “Ah, consider it said. I’ve heard it all before.” I held out his drink. “Sweeten up. Have a Coke.”