Mama Cracks a Mask of Innocence (11 page)

Mama was right, Brenda’s murder was no longer an isolated event. She’d have to learn what tied the
girl and the high school teacher together, and in solving one murder, she’d have solved both.

“Where to now?” I asked, ready to pull away from in front of the sheriff’s office.

“Let’s go home,” she said, her voice low, almost like she was tired of thinking. “I’m concerned about Agatha. I don’t think I handled the problem with Sunshine the way she wanted. I should have known she’d want her dog inside the house with her—I’ve seen him lying in her living room next to her heater so many times.”

“Agatha knows you don’t believe in letting dogs inside your house,” I reminded her.

“Yeah, but Agatha doesn’t understand how I feel. Midnight is James’s dog, not mine. And it’s hard cleaning up behind animals. When your brothers moved away, I hated to see them go but I was glad that I could begin to live in a pet-free house.”

I laughed. “They did like their hamsters, didn’t they?”

“And lizards, birds, fish—”

I tried to reassure her. “Agatha understands your feelings.”

When we got back to the house, the silence was heavy and I immediately knew that Mama’s intuition was right. She headed straight back to Agatha’s room. I followed. Sure enough, it was empty. The bed was neatly made, everything was in place except Agatha.

On the refrigerator we found her note. Agatha
had called Gertrude, who had come and taken her and Sunshine home.

Mama took a deep breath. “Let’s go out there and see how she is doing,” she said.

“Before we eat?”

“Yes,” she said, heading for the front door.

Cypress Creek is fifteen miles outside of Otis. Agatha’s house sits on the edge of a one-and-a-half-acre wooded parcel. Off to the right is a three-hundred-acre pine forest. To the left is her small vegetable garden; beyond it stands an old barn. The front porch of her little five-room house looks out at a field of soybeans, the back porch faces another thick pine forest.

I rolled down my window a little to let the sweet air in. I like South Carolina. The long empty roads, the dense pine trees, the warm sweep of air when clouds briefly hide the sun, are all memorable.

Mama sat quietly, as if unmoved by the charm of the area she’d known since a child. After moving around with my military father, I often wondered how much I would have enjoyed growing up tucked snugly away in the tiny town of Otis.

At Agatha’s house, Mama knocked, called Agatha’s name, but to no avail. We heard Sunshine bark.

“Agatha is here,” Mama said, walking off the
front porch and toward the side of the house. I followed.

“Sunshine!” I called out.

The dog barked, but didn’t come.

We followed the sound, calling the dog’s name. The barking led us to the barn, in the back of the house. When we pushed through the door we spotted Agatha’s dog. Sunshine had old man Elliott cornered. The poor old man stood shivering, his hands full of turnip greens.

A few minutes later we were on the back porch in time to see Agatha come from the woods in back of the house. “What are you doing here?” she asked. “I left you a note.”

“We got your note,” Mama said, pointing to the shivering old man.

“Elliott, what are you doing here?”

“I c-come to give you a m-mess of greens,” Elliott stuttered. “I f-figured once you cook and eat a m-mess, you’d never put a hoe in the ground again.”

“I told you I didn’t want your vegetables!” Agatha said.

“I—I ain’t going to stop until you taste my greens. Tell her, Candi. She ain’t p-planted anything as tender as my greens.”

“Get out of here,” Agatha said, dismissing the old man. Elliott walked away.

Sunshine’s tail wagged. “You’re a good boy,” Agatha told him fondly. “Sunshine and me want to
be home, Candi. You might as well get used to that ’cause I’m not going back with you.”

Mama looked at Agatha with a special fondness. When she spoke, her voice was low, soothing. “I owe you and Sunshine an apology.”

“No need talking about it. You got your rules for your house, I’ve got mine. Sunshine’s used to my rules, that’s all.”

“Will you forgive me?” Mama asked.

“There’s nothing to forgive. Fact is, I don’t want any more said about it. Would you like a glass of iced tea? I just made it.”

“Thanks,” Mama said. “I could use a little something.”

She served us glasses filled with sweetened iced tea. Then she patted her face with a handkerchief she’d pulled from her pocket and sat down heavily on the sofa. “Are you okay, Candi? I hope that worried look in your eyes ain’t about me and Sunshine.”

“I was worried that I hurt your feelings, yes.”

“I told you don’t give it a second thought.”

“I know.” Mama smiled.

“Something else going on inside that head of yours, now, isn’t it?”

“I’m worried about Brenda Long’s and Kitty Sharp’s murders.”

“Talk is Abe and a man from Columbia are looking into both of them.”

Mama nodded. “I’ve been asked to see if I can find who killed poor Brenda.”

“Who asked you to do a thing like that?”

“I’m not at liberty to say. But now that Kitty Sharp’s been murdered, I feel obliged to try to get to the bottom of that too.”

Agatha cleared her throat. “I just got off the phone not half an hour ago speaking with Vera. All she could talk about was Brenda and Kitty Sharp.”

“Who is Vera?” I asked.

Mama looked over at me. “You remember I told you Vera lives about three miles down the road from here.”

“Oh, yeah.” I remember that it was the reason Mama was concerned about Agatha living alone. She felt that an intruder could easily get into Agatha’s house and out again without anybody seeing him.

“I’m sorry for the interruption,” Mama told Agatha. “Go on with what you were saying about Vera’s phone call.”

“Candi, you know that Vera doesn’t live as far from the house that teacher, Kitty Sharp, rented as she lives from me. Fact is, I don’t think their houses are more than a half mile apart.”

“Yes, I know,” Mama told her.

“Vera told me she thought she saw Clyde leave Kitty Sharp’s house sometime around four o’clock yesterday afternoon. Something else Vera told me that might interest you. Her daughter, Wendy, works for the wife of the radio station manager. Well, according to Vera, Pepper Garvey—you know
Pepper, don’t you? She’s Zack’s wife, the radio station manager. Anyway, as I was saying, Pepper uses Wendy to help tidy up her place. Vera doesn’t mind because it’s a job Wendy can do after school and it gives her spending money. Vera told me she ain’t too ready for Wendy to go off on the weekends with the other girls who make beds in hotels off the interstate. Vera claims that the Garveys are a good-hearted white couple, two people who feel it’s right to give young people work around town so they won’t have to go off to make money.”

“I like that notion,” I said, taking the last sip of my iced tea.

“That girl who got herself killed didn’t like it.”

“Brenda?” I asked.

“Vera told me Wendy confided to her that Brenda wanted her to spy on Pepper. Brenda told Wendy that she suspected that Pepper and that boy that works at the station was doing things unchristian but she needed proof.”

“Are you talking about Ira Manson?”

“Is that his name?”

“Let me understand this,” I interrupted. “Brenda Long wanted Wendy to spy on the white woman Pepper Garvey and the black boy Ira Manson because she thought they were having an affair?”

“I’m only repeating what Vera told me.” Agatha set down her glass and levered herself up from the sofa. Air sucked back into the sofa cushion, like the furniture was taking a breath. “You want me to call
Vera and ask her to drive up here so you can talk to her yourself?”

Mama waved her hands. “No, no.”

“It’s sad the way that boy slapped Brenda around.”

“Who slapped who?” Mama asked, confused.

“That boy that worked at the station, Ira Manson. When Wendy told him what Brenda was trying to do, he jumped on the Long girl and gave her the whipping of her life.”

“Ira Manson beat up Brenda Long?”

“I reckoned that’s what happened. At least, that’s what Wendy’s mama told me. You sure you don’t want to talk to Vera yourself?”

Mama stood up. “Right now, I don’t want to talk to Vera but I’d sure like to talk to Brenda’s mother. There’s no way Tootsie didn’t know the messes her daughter was stirring in.”

It was late afternoon, an hour or so before supper. We pulled away from Agatha’s house and headed back to town. At the corner of Lee and First Street, I turned right onto Second Street, where Tootsie lived. A white Ford Taurus was parked in front of her house. I spotted a parking space across the street and pulled in at the curb. Before I’d switched the ignition key off, Tootsie and a man walked off her porch. He carried a hefty-looking duffel bag in his right hand. He stowed the bag in
the trunk and opened the car door, helping Tootsie as she got into the seat on the passenger side. He scanned the street on both sides, apparently deciding there was nothing to worry about. Then he walked around, unlocked the door on the driver’s side, slid behind the wheel, and slammed the car door shut.

The man appeared to be in his forties. He was tall, well over six feet. He had broad shoulders, like a football player. His face was square, his eyes small for the size of his nose and mouth. We watched him check his reflection in the rearview mirror and start his ignition and pull away from the curb.

M
ama, who was beginning to look worn at the edges, ate supper, took a bath and went to bed.

I opted for watching television.

My father spent an evening with Midnight and several bottles of beer.

The next morning we headed to the community center. Not once did my mother mention Brenda Long. Kitty Sharp, or anybody involved with the two dead women.

With determined resolution to get at least this job done, Gertrude, Agatha, my mother, and I sorted what seemed like tons of clothes, all sizes, all styles. Just before noon Sarah, Annie Mae, and Carrie arrived.

Sarah started in as soon as she shuffled in the door. “I was beginning to think the poor people of Otis would never get these clothes. I know you’ve
got a lot to do, Candi, but I’m half sick and I make the sacrifice to help out. I really don’t see why it’s taken you so long to get this job done!”

I was inclined to say something about Sarah’s ill health that never kept her from doing anything
she
wanted to do, but Mama’s eyes told me not to open my mouth.

Annie Mae, who had shuffled in behind Sarah and found the nearest chair to sit in, added, “I was about to tell the members of my church who contributed their clothes that their Christian duty was in vain. ’Bout to tell them to come on back and pick up their things!”

Carrie seemed to have decided not to say anything, but stood in the middle of the floor, put her hands on her hips, and shook her head.

“I’ve made up three lists, using three different areas of the county as the dividing line,” Mama told the women in her usual pleasant manner. She reached into her purse and handed the lists to Carrie. “Select which one you ladies would like to be responsible for.”

At that moment the dashing Ray Raisin eased inside the center. Sarah, Annie Mae, and Carrie snapped to attention like he was their commander-in-chief. “Why, Ray,” Sarah crooned. “I declare, you’re so sweet to help us and you’re on time as always.”

I could have gagged.

“Yes, ladies,” he said smoothly as he made eye contact slowly and seductively with each of the women. “I’m ready and willing to work with you, or rather should I say, work for you.”

“We’re so glad you come to help,” Annie Mae cooed.

“We’ll take
this
list,” Carrie said, taking one list and handing two pieces of paper back to Mama. I was willing to bet it was the list that would take them to the farthest end of the county.

Just then, old man Elliott Woods came in. “Got some of the b-best-looking red peppers you’ve ever s-seen for you,” he stuttered. “I declare,” he continued in a tone of complaint, “a l-lot of young people spend t-time at Tootsie Long’s house.”