Love Lies Bleeding (24 page)

Chapter Thirty-Two

A
s he made his way back to the flivver, he noticed the drag marks on the ground. He rubbed a tree limb through the dirt all the way back to the log, obscuring them. Then he discarded it. Climbing behind the wheel, he pondered his next move.

Maybe he could head to Buffalo. Or even better, New York City. Farther away, and bigger, and he could get lost there among the masses of immigrants. First, he needed to get rid of the car. It was full of blood. The drive back through town was unnerving. As he reached the southern city limits, the rain began. Huge, fat droplets hit the windshield, inhibiting his view of the road. Tom kept the flivver at a nice respectable speed, and he drove with more caution than he ever had in his life. No need to give any town cop reason to pull him over. The blood in the car could send him to Auburn and fry him.

He followed the road as it led north out of town, skirting the eastern edge of the lake. Eventually, it met up with the turnpike heading east, but he didn’t plan on driving that far. Near Myers Point, he downshifted and pulled the car off the road. Searching for the perfect spot, he idled for a moment as he thought, then found an outcropping with darker waves in front of it, signaling deeper water. It was difficult to see it in the dark. But he seemed to recall bathing here several years ago and suddenly having the ground drop beneath him. This lake was famous for its depth. That could work in his favor now.

And to think, he had hoped the car would help him win Libbie. Why hadn’t she just accepted him and let his love be enough for her? If he’d been a son of privilege, they’d be on their way to Cortland right now. Glancing down, he caught a glimpse of the sad, drooping flower from Mrs. Protts’ garden that he had impulsively inserted in his buttonhole before he left the rooming house. Ripping it from the fabric in a fury, he tossed it on the lakeshore and crushed it to nothing with his heel, grinding it harder and harder into the rocky soil, crying as he did so, his tears mixing with the rain pelting his face. The harder he sobbed, the harder his shoe pulverized the bloom, now part of the mud underfoot.

He thought for a moment. The throttle would control the flivver’s speed. The clutch would control the forward motion, and it would stay in high gear, even without his foot on the pedal. In high gear, the car would continue into the lake until the water reached the carburetor. The rear wheels would seize up, but by then, the car would be en route to its underwater grave. He wondered how long it might take to sink.

No matter. He needed to make quick time. Telltale bloodstains coated his sleeves and the front of his shirt. His trousers had to be bloody as well. He put on his jacket and buttoned it, hiding the worst of the gore. He’d worked up a sweat digging the grave, but now he was freezing. The ragged wind, combined with the cold rain, chilled him to the bone. He needed to change clothes; there was no getting around it. He would have to return to the rooming house. He dreaded the thought, wondering whom he might run into and if he could get in and out unseen. There was nothing else but to try.

Putting the car in gear, he jammed the shovel against the pedal for good measure. Then he stepped out of the way as he let the clutch go and the flivver sped toward the lake. After hitting the waves with a tremendous splash, it continued gamely forward until the carburetor stalled out and the car sank like a stone beneath the surface. Huge bubbles signaled the massive displacement of water as it began its journey to the bottom.

The task complete, Tom turned and started his long walk back to town, past the Cayuga Marina and the Tioga Tavern, head down, lost in thought, and soaked to the skin. How had he come to this? Several hours ago, he had been at a wonderful picnic, planning a joyous future with the woman of his dreams. Now, he was sopping wet, he’d become a murderer, and soon, he’d be a wanted fugitive. What the hell had happened?

He arrived back at Mrs. Protts’s place just before eleven, slinked in the back door, and slid his key stealthily into the lock for his room.

He only had time to throw a few things into a satchel—several shirts and pairs of pants, a pair of suspenders, his only other pair of shoes, a razor, his family photograph, and a few other personal possessions. He removed the bloodstained shirt and pants, then grabbed the small rag from his bowl and ewer and sponged off a bit. He changed into the one remaining clean outfit he had, jammed a bowler on his head, and softly closed the door.

In the common hallway, he stopped at the cast-iron woodstove that provided a modicum of heat on cool evenings. Someone had stoked the fire recently, and it was good and hot. After tossing his bloody clothes inside, he took the poker that leaned against the wall and nudged them farther into the flames to ensure that they were consumed.

Then he planned his strategy for when he arrived at the train station. He wished he’d been able to contact Della and Hi before he left, but he couldn’t. And furthermore, he wouldn’t be able to tell them where he’d gone. He was sure the police would be speaking to them very soon. Right now, the trick was to disappear. He had a pretty good idea how he could do that, and Libbie’s love of literature had provided his inspiration. Humming to himself to assuage his nerves, he caught the streetcar and hopped off near the train station, umbrella in hand.

Ithaca train station
September 1916

“What?” Tom cried. “What do you mean there are no departures for easterly routes?”

“Why, just what I said, sir,” the station clerk told him with authority. “There are currently no trains for eastern destinations. There’s been a derailment near Binghamton, and everything is jammed up because of it. They’re hoping to have everything put to rights in a few days.” He was a small balding man with a white beard and a weak chin, his little round spectacles magnifying myopic blue eyes under his green eyeshade. The man put his head down, and the glass between them muffled his voice to a barely discernible mumble. Tom felt like socking that chin.

Trying to keep his head about him, Tom protested with hat in hand. “But I need to be in New York City within a few days. Important business, you see.”

“I’m sorry, sir. I’m afraid all our travelers are in the same situation. There are no trains from there coming west, and no trains from here going east for several days. It might possibly be a week or more. Might I suggest checking in with us on Tuesday? Things should be back to normal by then.”

“Yes, perhaps I’ll do that,” Tom said, turning on his heel and trying not to panic. He would have to go back to the rooming house and pretend like nothing had happened. He had a short time before Libbie’s friends and relatives became suspicious. It did look a little strange that he no longer had the car, but he would think of an explanation for that.

His brain hummed as he tried to switch from his original plan to a substitute. He could try to catch a train somewhere else, ending up in another big city, but right now, he was too frightened and too out of sorts to think clearly. He would go back to his room to plan his escape. Everything would be fine.

Head down, fighting overwhelming fear, he caught the streetcar back to Mrs. Protts’s house in the rain and crept back to his room, trying not to wake any of his neighbors. Filling his bowl from the ewer, he rubbed cold water on his face to help him think. The night seemed never-ending.

As he sat on his bed, not daring to move or breathe, he knew he had to pull himself together. It was then that an unexpected knock came on the door. He opened it to find Jimmy Devenport, shirt and trousers soaking, hair plastered against his head, smiling a crooked smile.

“Jimmy, what are you doing here? You should be home in bed.”

“I could have said that about you as well, Tommy boy,” Jimmy said, walking in uninvited.

“What are you talking about? Look, it’s late and I’m tired. Not that I don’t want to be hospitable or anything.”

“Oh, I think you’ll want to hear what I have to say.”

“Why is that?” Tom asked.

“Because it involves a certain local girl, Tom.” Jimmy closed the door behind himself and finished in a whisper, “In a certain local grave…”

Tom spun on his heel, his eyes narrowing, not daring to believe what he’d just heard.

“Oh, you heard me,” Jimmy said, his smile a broad accusation. He leaned in close to Tom and continued, “I saw the whole thing, pally. Imagine. I was just out minding my own business, shooting some rabbits for supper near the falls, when I heard this awful commotion, and there I saw Hi’s old car. And in it was my pal Tom and his oh-so-ladylike amour. You know, the honorable one who would never even consider something crass like spreading her legs for the likes of you? And wouldn’t you know I was right! She was the most delicious little cherry in Ithaca, wasn’t she, Tommy? You know how I know? Because I’d been up there before, hunting squirrels, and I saw you together. I saw her riding you like she was on the grand-prize winner at Saratoga.” Jimmy moved his hips suggestively, moaning in a falsetto the way Libbie had done.

“Sweet round little tits she had, and you were loving every minute of it, Mr. Honorable. Oh, and then came the best part. I heard from a little bird in the woods tonight that you’d knocked her up. And don’t think I didn’t laugh out loud over that.
Her
, marry
you
? It was never going to happen, my friend. How naïve could you be?”

Tom swallowed, terrified, as cold sweat collected under his armpits.

“Jimmy, it’s not what you think.”

“I think she freaked out and wanted to get rid of the thing, and you lost your mind a little. So I just want to be a civic-minded individual and let her loved ones know what happened to the poor dear. Unless you convince me otherwise.” He leaned back against the wall, thumbing a suspender as he winked at Tom.

“What do you want?” Tom croaked.

“The car for starters. It’ll come in very handy for all the farm chores I need to do. Oh, and squiring pretty ladies around town. It’s been working very well for you. Up until tonight, I mean. But I’ll be a bit more careful and visit an apothecary beforehand.” He chortled.

“I don’t have it,” Tom said.

“What? You don’t have it? Well, isn’t
that
unfortunate! Where is it?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“I think it does matter, since there’s blood inside, friend. That, you see, is what we gambling types call a trump card.” His green eyes glinted with a frightening glow that Tom had never seen before.

“It’s in the lake, Jimmy.”

“Well, shit on a stick. You little rascal, you dumped the evidence. That complicates things a bit, since I had planned on only hitting you up for a little of this. But now, I suppose I’ll have to get you to pay the whole thing.”

“What whole thing?”

“Oh, you know, Tom. Debts I owe at the sporting house, mortgage, farm bills, the mercantile, tack. That sort of thing. Now, since there’s no car anymore, I’ll just have to stick you with more of the total, you see.”

“Jimmy, how can you do this? We’re friends.”

“Friends? That’s what you call it? You and Hi got everything I ever wanted and I got a big fat goose egg. I got a little tired of you milking your looks to do it, too. Everyone loves sweet little Tommy Boy. Oh, his poor parents died. Let’s give Tommy a place to live. Here, we’re leaving town; let’s give Tommy Boy our car. Pretty girls fall madly in love with Tommy Boy and let him do whatever he wants with them. For FREE. Penniless, red-headed, farmboy sons-of-drunks like me never get anything because of pretty boys like you. Do you know what we got when my father died? Nothing! Not a damned thing! And I’ve been paying for it ever since!” Jimmy’s eyes were blazing now.

“Jimmy, stop this, please. We can talk about this. I don’t have any money. You know I don’t.”

“I know you make a heck of a lot more up here than I do on that shithole of a farm of ours down in Pony Hollow. So share the wealth, young man. So much for your big news this week, huh? You actually thought that rich bitch would marry you. That’s the saddest part.”

Tom’s brain began running through every possible scenario to rid himself of this suddenly malevolent presence of Jimmy Devenport. He had no funds to give Jimmy, and there was always the danger that Jimmy would tell someone what had happened to Libbie. What the hell could he do? He looked around in desperation, wondering what he could use against this evil, when his eyes lighted on his bowl and ewer set. It had been his mother’s, but he hadn’t planned on taking it with him anyway. The pitcher had a bit of heft to it, and he knew it would hurt.

As Jimmy rambled on, Tom silently picked the pitcher up from its spot on the side table and held it behind his back for a minute, waiting for the right moment to strike. When Jimmy got too cocky and turned his back on him, Tom brought it down on the other boy’s skull with all his might. He heard the sickening noise of bone crunching, and then as Jimmy crumpled to the floor with blood seeping through his hair, Tom grabbed Jimmy’s head and immersed his face as deep as it would go in the bowl of water until he stopped struggling.