Dark Places (7 page)

Chapter Thirteen

After Ned and Cody left the garage, Deputy Washington leaned against a rough support post and crossed his arms. “What got into you, Dee-wight?”

“I'm tired of the white laws coming in here and accusing us of what we ain't done wrong.”

“Then you ain't got no reason to get mad, because you're innocent.”

“That's right. All of us are.”

“Now you cain't speak for everybody here.” He grinned at those sitting around. “Not meanin' any of y'all's done something wrong.”

They laughed, the tension broken.

Dee-wight didn't laugh, though. “I'm not gonna take any more of this.”

John cut him a look. “What you gonna do?”

“Why I'm…”

“You ain't gonna do nothing, because there's nothing to do. Mr. Ned's a good man, and he treats ever'body the same, no matter what color they are. Sheriff Cody's the same. He don't see no difference. You might try that yourself.”

“John, it ain't
right
how they're always snoopin' around here, trying to lay blame on us for everything that happens, from stole chickens to bank robberies.”

“Layin' blame and investigatin's different. What you talkin' 'bout? The sheriff ain't never been by here, far's I know, and Mr. Ned don't have much business in this part of town. But it don't matter none. They're the Law, and when they ask question, you need to answer and don't give them no lip. It's the same thing as when I come around.”

“You don't accuse us!”

“Did either of them say y'all was under suspicion?”

Dwight shrugged. Malcom and the rest watched, waiting. “No.”

“Then you're talkin' to hear your head rattle, like I said.” John nodded to end the conversation. “Now, y'all hear anything about that hit and run out by Center Springs, you let me know. Some of you have family out there that might know something.”

Malcom picked up a wrench and stared outside at the rain as if it might offer a clue as to whether he should get back to work. “I hear you got a connection yourself out there.”

John grinned, thinking about his girlfriend Rachel Lee. “We gettin' connected up all right.”

“She's somethin' else.” Linwood Carter chuckled. “My wife's second cousin was kin before her old man run off back to Jefferson.”

“She's divorced now.” It was the first time John had said the words, though he'd paid the court costs to finish the paperwork. It felt good to tell them she was free from any entanglements with her ex-husband. He headed toward the back door. “And you're right, she's a keeper.”

He stepped outside, and then stuck his head back in the door. “Oh, and Spec, I reckon you oughta get that sorry-assed brother of yours and run over to the sheriff's office and turn yourself in to get all them troubles of yours straightened out. It'll go better for you if you do. If I have to run y'all down tomorrow I won't try to help a'tall.”

Spec plucked at his shirt and then shrugged. “A'ite.”

John grinned and disappeared. They heard his voice through the open door, over the suddenly heavier rain. “That's what I like to hear.”

Chapter Fourteen

The day was about done when Ned and Cody dropped by the courthouse to see Judge O.C. Rains. He'd been at his desk all that day, trying to catch up on the mountain of paperwork that continually threatened to overwhelm his office.

The windows in his office were wide open, since the rain came from the west. There were no screens on the public building and flies buzzed in and out during the summertime without impediment. Fortunately, the rain beat them from the air, filling the room with the damp smell of paper, mildew, and old books.

Knowing his old friend hated for folks to come busting through the door, Ned walked in without knocking. He slapped his wet Stetson on the hat tree beside the door.

O.C. glowered upward from under bushy white eyebrows. “What's the matter with you?”

Aggravated that it showed, Ned grunted and picked up a pile of papers from a wooden chair. He put them on the worn oak floor and dropped heavily into the uncomfortable seat. “My bullet hole's hurtin' me today.”

Cody closed the door. “Doc Heinz said it could be the weather making his wound act up, or it could be that he has some kind of infection, but this cranky old fart wouldn't let him do a complete exam.”

“You ought to listen to him.” O.C. screwed the cap back on his fountain pen. The wind shifted and O.C. twisted around and pulled the window to within an inch of the sill. Water streamed down the wavy glass. “You can't do much outside today anyways. Go back over there and let him check you good.”

“Ain't got time.” Ned shot Cody a couple of daggers. “What about these missing businessmen?” He pointed at the newspaper on O.C.'s desk. The headline in
The Chisum News
was large enough to read from across the room:
Two Disappear, Foul Play Suspected.

O.C. tapped the paper with a thick fingernail. “Ask the sheriff there. All I know is what he told me, what's in this rag, and what I might have heard from other unnamed sources.” It felt good to goad Ned with as little information as possible.

“Well, he's already told me a little bit, but I know
you
.” Ned shifted his position, hoping to get easy. “This ain't a regular disappearance, so what'd you find out?”

“I talked to Willis Allen. We had lunch today at Frenchie's, and he told me they came up here to buy some land.” Willis Allen ran the Chevrolet dealership and sat on the city council. “Said they intend to buy up enough farms to start up a big ranch, and they had cash with 'em to get people interested. Then they disappeared.”

Ned rubbed his belly and hoped Cody hadn't noticed. “They ought not have been flashing money around.”

“Well, they did.” Cody said, absently.

Both of the elderly men were surprised. “What?”

“Gave Norm Hopkins five hundred cash of what they called ‘earnest money.' He said they told him he could keep it, whether they did a deal or not.”

“I never heard of such a thing.” O.C. studied the sheets of rain through the window. “Not giving cash, anyway. Checks makes more sense.”

“They're trying to close the deals fast, before other folks hear they're buying and up the prices on their land.” Cody bit his lip, thinking. “Probably would have worked, too, if they hadn't disappeared. Even if they turn up, the cat's out of the bag and prices'll go sky high.”

He stood. “I'll know more after I've had time to make some calls.”

“You been kinda busy learning this business, and hiring that new female deputy,” O.C. kidded. “I'm surprised you found out anything at all so fast.”

Ned shot Cody a glance over his shoulder. “Yeah, and you're gonna get in trouble at home by hirin' some gal outta Houston.”

“I hired a deputy named Anna Sloan, and not a gal.”

O.C. chuckled. “Who'da thought about hiring a girl deputy? You might have done better if you hired one who leans toward the fleshy side.”

Cody felt backed into a corner by the two old lawmen. “You two are barkin' up the wrong tree. She's a good deputy with five years of solid experience. Hell, I worked with women in 'Nam that made two of most men.”

“And a lot more curves than we're used to.” Ned gave O.C. a wink. “We don't need to borrow no trouble. We have enough of our own problems right here in town.”

Cody flicked the switch on the metal table fan sitting on top of the wooden file cabinet. It hummed to life. “You hear something I need to know, O.C.?”

Thankful for the slight breeze as the fan oscillated, the judge tugged the window completely shut and studied the gray town outside. “Nary a thing right now. Y'all find anything new on that dead feller in Center Springs?”

Ned rubbed his scar. “There ain't much to find. Somebody run over Leland and he's dead. I don't know much else to do.”

Cody opened the door. “I know, and it won't get done standing here talking to you two old farts.”

“You gone to check on that new deputy?”

The sheriff grinned at the judge and flicked his hat toward Ned, sprinkling him with water. “Yep, and to try and solve a disappearance.”

When he was gone, Ned rubbed his head. “That would have made me mad a few years ago. I used to have a temper.”

“You still do.”

“Not so's you'd notice anymore.”

O.C. laughed and waved toward the door. “Get out of here, and go get that belly checked out.”

Chapter Fifteen

Pepper and I were arguing about music again. The weather had us hemmed up inside and listening to music on Miss Becky's little plastic GE radio when “Jimmy Mack” came on. I always like the beat of that song, but Pepper started in. “That's nothing but bubble gum music. You should listen to songs that mean something to our generation.”

“Like what?”

“Like ‘For What It's Worth,' or anything by The Rolling Stones or Jefferson Airplane.”

“Uncle Cody calls it long hair music.”

“Hair doesn't have anything to do with it. It turns me off when they're always talking about hair.”

A car went by on the highway and slowed. I could tell Pepper was afraid it was John T. coming to get her, but it was only the mailman.

Before we could go any further, Miss Becky came in from the kitchen. “Turn it off is right. Y'all turn off that radio and come with me.”

I was glad for the excuse to do something. “Jimmy Mack” was over, so I clicked the knob and killed The Young Rascals singing “Groovin'.” “What do you want us to do?”

“I need y'all to carry these buckets up to the garden for me.”

“But it's raining!” Pepper stopped beside the chrome and Formica table. “We'll get soaked.”

“No, we won't.” Miss Becky tied a bonnet on her head, then handed one to Pepper. “Put this on. It's a mist right now, and we need to gather what we can that's ready.”

Pepper held the homemade head-cover by the long ties like it was a dead rat. “I'm not wearing this ugly thing unless Top wears one too.”

I grabbed one of Grandpa's stained old work hats from the rack beside the door and plopped it on my head. It was too big, but I knew it would keep the rain off. “I got this.”

Exasperated at arguing with Pepper all the time, Miss Becky took the bonnet back from her and hung it where she kept her aprons, on a little cast-iron rack beside a wall holder full of wooden kitchen matches. “Fine, get your hair wet.”

She handed us the empty galvanized buckets and led the way through the light drizzle. She unwired the gate into the pasture. Grandpa always used two or three strands of bailing wire to hold it shut.

A little bluebird fluttered out of the hay barn and landed on the top strand of bob-wire not ten feet away. Miss Becky stopped. “Why, ain't they the prettiest little things you ever saw?”

Pepper was still sulled up, so she didn't say anything. I liked the bird's bright color. “That'uns a different kind of blue.”

“It'd be prettier if we had the sun.”

We filed through the gate. I gave one wire a quick twist to keep it closed. The little bird watched with interest. I trotted past the chicken house to catch up, following a lane Grandpa cut through the grass from the gate to the garden, a little over a hundred yards away. I was glad for the lane, because our pants would have been soaked to the knees in the tall grass.

About the time we reached the old caved-in storm cellar that had been there since the 1920s, the bluebird fluttered past and sat on one of the wet boards sticking up out of the ground. We stopped again, because it was so close.

Pepper felt for the part on top of her head, making sure it was straight, then she adjusted her hair held in place by a braided cloth headband. “That bird's crazy.”

“It's not a bit afraid.” Miss Becky smiled and led off again. We stopped at the gate leading into the garden, waiting again while she untwisted two more strands of bailing wire. It was more than Pepper could take.

“Why don't Grandpa put a good latch on these and be done with it?”

“Wouldn't do no good.” Miss Becky worked at the next wire. “He'd wire it up again the next time he took a notion the cows might get out.”

“Some day I'm gonna make enough money to buy this place and I think I'll burn it down.” She'd been mean-mouthing Center Springs for the past year or so, wanting to live somewhere else.

“Why, Pepper, that's a horrible thing to say.”

Pepper frowned at the ground while Miss Becky twisted the wire. I knelt down to tie my sneaker, and was shocked when the little bird lit on my knee. I didn't move a muscle. “Miss Becky, looky here.”

She put a hand on her face. “My lands. I never saw such a thing.”

Pepper snorted. “A wild animal acting like that, it's probably sick with hydrophobia.”

“Birds don't get rabies.”

The bluebird fluttered to a bush growing up in the garden fence, and before I could stand back up, it came back to my knee. “It's not afraid.”

“That sure is something.” Miss Becky fiddled with the bonnet tie under her chin. “Wonder what's got into that little thing?”

I noticed something was tangled around his leg and wrapped around his toes. “It has something on its foot.”

“Catch it. See if you can get it off.”

I thought she was crazy, but the bird held still while I lowered Grandpa's hat over it and reached underneath to get a soft grip. With the bluebird in hand, I found a tangled mass of long animal hair around the leg that had been there so long it was cutting into the flesh.

“I think this is horse hair, or from a cow's tail.” I carried it to Miss Becky.

“Poor little thing.” She reached into her apron pocket for a tiny pair of pointed scissors. “Hold her still.”

“What makes you think that bird's a she?”

“I don't, Pepper, but I reckon I call most birds a she if I don't know what they are.” While I held the bluebird upside down, she carefully snipped at the hairs wrapped around its leg and toes. Even Pepper was interested, and drew close as the last bits fell away, revealing the raw skin underneath.

“All right. Turn her loose.”

I released the bird and we watched it fly to a nearby bush. Satisfied that life was back to normal, it disappeared into the hay barn.

“That was the dandgest thing I've ever seen.”

Miss Becky gave Pepper the eye, knowing that if she hadn't been there, my cousin's language would have been much stronger.

To save her, I stepped in. “I've never seen those little scissors before.”

She returned them to her apron pocket. “I dreamed I needed them to cut one of you kids free, so I knew the good Lord was telling me something. That's why I put them in my pocket this morning.”

“But you don't have our Poisoned Gift.” I kinda wished Pepper wasn't with us, because I'd had another one the night before. I wanted to talk to Miss Becky about it, and knew that in the mood Pepper was in, she'd make fun of me and I'd get mad.

She handed the buckets back to us as the drizzle became a light shower. “Dreams aren't always bad.”

That one was. Mama and Dad had died in a car wreck and I came to live with Miss Becky and Grandpa. I seldom dreamed about them, but in this one, I walked into Dad's bedroom to find him alive again and asleep on his side. Mom was yelling for me to be careful. I stepped close to the bed and Dad swung his fist so close I felt the wind in my dream. “Don't stop her, son, she has to go!”

I screamed and woke up.

Miss Becky went through the gate and stopped at the first row as the rain sprinkled our clothes and puddled between the rows of late-season peas.

“Damned bird,” Pepper whispered. “If we hadn't wasted time with that thing, we'd be halfway through.”

I felt good about helping the bluebird. “I love it here.”

“I don't.” Pepper put down her bucket and picked a handful of peas. She spoke softly. “It won't be long 'till I call this place Splitsville.