Miss Julia Lays Down the Law (17 page)

Putting on my coat and finally locating a flashlight that worked, I led the way out the back door, then turned and locked it behind us. Mr. Owens had taken his time putting on his coat, then, following me, he moved slowly around the car to the passenger side then, as if reconsidering the wisdom of our expedition, seemed to hesitate before sliding in.

I was behind the wheel with the car cranked and running before he got his door closed. He was telling me without saying a word that what we were about to do might not be the best idea anybody’d ever had. I didn’t care. Anything was better than sitting around waiting for something to happen. And wondering if, when it did, it would involve me.

“It’ll warm up in a minute,” I said, adjusting the heat vents, then beginning to back out of the driveway.

“It ain’t too cold,” Mr. Owens said, although he commenced wrapping his head with the scarf again.

“Which way, Mr. Owens?” I asked as we reached the street.

“Go west on the highway till you start up the mountain. Then take a left on Pisgah Road. Stay on it for a few miles, then turn on New Hope Church Road. I’ll have to look for the next turn.”

I shot him a sharp look. “You do know the way, don’t you?”

“Yes’m, I do. But that fire lane ain’t used much and, ma’am, it is dark.”

Yes, it was, in spite of a low-hanging moon barely visible above the treetops. Strips of cloud streamed across it. Harbingers, I supposed, of the storm coming up from the south.

“Well, I’m in your hands, Mr. Owens, and I’m depending on you to get us there without getting lost.”

“No’m, I won’t do that.”

But he shrank back against the seat, huddling down in his outsized coat. As the car warmed up, I began to get some whiffs of a musty odor. Mr. Owens needed more than a washing of hands, but, as he had spent the previous night in jail, I couldn’t fault him. The sheriff’s hotel, as I’d heard it called, lacked a number of amenities.

I drove and drove, following Mr. Owens’s directions, until I began to wonder if we’d end up in Tennessee or South Carolina. Gradually, though, I realized that we were making a wide circle through the county, all the while closing in on the back of Grand View Estates.

“Okay,” Mr. Owens said, sitting up to look out the windshield. “Better slow down now. It’ll be up here a little ways.”

We’d been driving some thirty minutes or so, and I’d seen farmhouses, barns, and lonely clapboard churches that I’d never seen before. I’d had no call to be in the southwestern part of the county in a long while and, let me tell you, there wasn’t that much to see. The occasional car passed us, heading toward town, but none was behind us. It was a lonely place, which was all to the good for what I had in mind.

“Right there!” Mr. Owens yelled, startling me after his long silence. “New Hope Church Road. Turn left.”

Easy enough, because left was the only way to turn. New Hope Church Road either began or ended, depending on which way you were going, at Pisgah Road. It wasn’t much of a road, narrow with crumbling pavement and no shoulders, obviously little used by travelers and forgotten by the Department of Transportation. And no wonder. All I could see were a few cleared fields interspersed with timbered tracts along the roadsides. I could feel the car shift down as the road began to rise along the side of the rounded mountain.

Mr. Owens still sat forward, peering out the windshield, on the alert for the fire lane. “I don’t know as how you wanta take this fancy car on that fire lane. They may notta cleared it in a while.”

Now
you’re telling me? I thought it, but didn’t say it.

“Right yonder!” he suddenly yelled. “See that big rock? Turn left right there.”

I slowed, peered at the huge boulder on the left side of the road, then asked, “Before or after it?”

“Um-m, lemme think.”

“It makes a difference, Mr. Owens.”

“Yes’m. Right after. Yeah, that’s it. Turn left after you pass it. I used to come at it from t’other side. That’s why I got mixed up. And, uh . . .” He stopped, thought a minute, then said, “I don’t hardly know who you’re talkin’ to, so you can call me Lamar if you want to.”

“Why, thank you, Lamar,” I said, with a quick glance at him. “That’s kind of you and easier for me.” But I did not make the same offer to him, nor, I thought, did he expect it of me. Distinctions must be made for the comfort of all.

I carefully passed the boulder on the left side of an unpaved track consisting of two shallow ruts with weeds growing between them. I could hear them swish against the undercarriage of my car. I stopped and sat for a few minutes, gazing through the tunnel of my headlights into more weeds, bushes, and, on each side of the track, tall pines swaying slightly in the wind.

“You think the road’ll get any worse? I don’t want to get stuck.”

“Oh, no’m. It looks in pretty good shape—better’n I thought it’d be. They have to keep it passable—fire laws or something.”

“Let us hope,” I murmured and began to creep along the track as pine trees on each side converged overhead. But I’d begun to doubt that it was a fire lane—too narrow for the department’s huge trucks, for one thing. Of course it didn’t matter to me what it was or how it was used if it gave access to the Clayborn house.

At one point, I thought I saw the gleam of metal to the right of the lane in a clump of bushes. I kept driving. “Lamar, did you see that?”

“See what?”

“There might’ve been a car parked back there.”

“Could be,” he said with no noticeable concern. “Lotsa people park up in here. Hunters an’ the like. An’ people who don’t want nobody to know what they’re up to.”

“Oh,” I said, and kept maneuvering along the uneven road.

We bumped along at a slow pace, the car listing now and then as it went in and out of dips in the road, but on the whole, it could’ve been worse. It was likely that the road had started as an animal path, then used by the Indians who had once roamed the mountains, as many paved and heavily used arteries in our area had been.

Mr. Owens, I mean Lamar, fully alert now, sat forward in his seat, watching the road in front, but more often gazing off to the left.

“You might orta turn off your lights,” he said. “I’m thinkin’ we’re pretty close to some houses. They’ll be down on the side of the hill a little ways.”

“On my side?”

“Yes’m. They cut ledges in the hill to make a place to build on. So we’ll be lookin’ down on whichever house you wanta see.”

I turned off the headlights and came to a full stop. It was so dark that I wondered what I’d been thinking to believe I could pick out Connie’s house from the back, through the trees, and by its roof, which I’d never seen.

“It’s too dark,” I said. “I can’t see a thing.”

“Yes’m, but I got eyes like a cat. I’ll find what you’re lookin’ for.” Then with a wave of his hand, Lamar said, “Ease on up, but don’t make no noise. I see a light down there a ways. Somebody’s up and stirrin’.”

That made sense, because it wasn’t all that late. But I knew that the houses in the area were far apart, so I hoped that we could glide on by and no nosy neighbor would wonder at the sound of a heavy motor going past in the night.

“Lamar,” I said, whispering because it just seemed the thing to do in the dark that surrounded us. “If I hit a tree, what’re we going to do?”

“Aw, you won’t hit no tree. But, if you do, it won’t matter. We’ll just get out and walk.”

I rolled my eyes at the thought of walking all the miles we’d just driven and leaving my car as more evidence to be used against me. And as my eyes rolled, I realized that my vision was improving enough to make out the trees on either side and, glancing out of my window, to also see a cleared area where a large structure stretched out several yards below us. Lights were on in the house, as was one yard light over what appeared to be a garage.

“That it?” Lamar asked, whispering as I had done.

“No, I don’t think so. The Clayborn house had a neighboring house on either side, but they were quite far apart. The next house may be it.” And I eased the car along, trying to keep it quiet. I even turned off the heater fan to cut down on the noise.

Then I saw it. Or thought I did. We’d traveled what I deemed the width of two or three sizable lots from the first house when I saw the structure below us. No lights were on, but the lot was cleared enough for the moon to give us a clear view of the house I’d hoped never to go near again.

I stopped the car. “That’s it,” I said, really whispering this time. “See the walkway there running along the back of the house? And the swimming pool. They could walk right out of the house, take about two steps, and dive in.”

Lamar was leaning awfully close to me so he could see out my window. I held my breath, while he said, “Don’t see no swimming pool.”

“Oh, it’s under the tarp, the cover, whatever it is. See that long, dark rectangle right behind the house? That’s it. You see any lights anywhere?”

“No’m. Might see some way over yonder,” he said, pointing farther along the access road. “But it’s just a flicker.”

“That would be about right. When I was here in the daytime, I noticed that she had neighbors on both sides, but they weren’t close at all.”

I reached down and turned off the ignition, planning to sit there until I was sure I was looking at Connie’s house and until I was sure no one else was watching it.

“Can you see the driveway,” I asked, “and what about the street in front of the house?”

“Yeah, pretty well. What you want me to look for?”

“Patrol cars, Lamar.”

“Oh, yeah.”

“Actually, see if there’re any kind of vehicles anywhere around. It may be, if they’ve released the crime scene, that the husband’s there. I wouldn’t want to run into him.”

Lamar gave me a long, searching look, then mumbled, “Well, me neither.”

We sat there in the dark long enough for Lamar to get tired of leaning over to look out my window. He settled back in his seat, willing, it seemed, to stay there doing nothing for as long as I wanted.

I, however, was doing plenty. I was reliving that afternoon when I’d parked in Connie’s drive, walked up onto the stone pathway, around to the back of the house, and on to the kitchen door. I could almost see myself ring the doorbell, rap on the window in the door, then, with an exasperated sigh, turn to leave.
Oh, if I’d only kept going.

One thing was for sure, if I’d left without seeing that shoe, I wouldn’t be sitting now on a dark lane in the woods, wondering what to do next.

But, with a mental shake, I turned my mind to do what I’d come to do—determine if Connie’s house was accessible from the back. And, without a doubt, it was, one way or the other. Oh, the fire lane hadn’t been the easiest to drive, but we’d done it, and there were trees and laurel bushes on the slope between the lane and the house. But looking down on Connie’s concrete backyard, the growth didn’t seem that thick or the slope that steep, and it wasn’t that far—maybe fifty yards or so—from one to the other. Anyone with a mind to could make it with little trouble, and surely the investigators knew that.

The one worrisome factor was that it looked to be such an easy trek that even my age and physical condition might not take me out of consideration. Maybe I should start using a cane.

“Looka there!” Lamar sat up with a start, pointing down toward the house. “See that?”

“What? Where?”

“Somebody’s in there,”
he said in a raspy whisper. “Watch that last winder at the end of the house. Somebody’s got a light on.”

I peered through the windshield, straining to see what I assumed was a bedroom window, but even though I thought I could see a bluish glow, I couldn’t be certain I was seeing anything.

“Are you sure?” I asked. “It may be a reflection from something.”

“I’m sure,” he said. “My eyes is the onliest things that work good. I can see in the dark.”

“Like a cat,” I said.

“Yes’m, jus’ like a cat, an’ that’s some kinda light comin’ from that winder. And it wadn’t on a few minutes ago, meanin’ somebody in there jus’ turned it on.”

“Oh, my goodness, Lamar,” I said as a line of chills ran up my back. “It couldn’t be a deputy, could it? I mean, we’d see a patrol car, wouldn’t we?”

“Yes’m, there’d be a car, all right. They don’t never hide ’less they’re watchin’ for speeders.”

We watched in silence for several minutes in which the glow neither faded nor grew in brightness. No shadows passed in front of it, so it probably wasn’t a lamp, even a lamp with one of those corkscrew bulbs that give such a pitiful amount of light.

“You think it’s somebody with a flashlight?” I whispered.

“No’m, it’d be movin’ around if it was a flashlight.”

“What about a television set?”

“Don’t think so. I seen enough of ’em when I’m walkin’ by houses to know that light from them changes—kinda flickers, you know, goin’ from light to dark, dependin’ on what’s goin’ on.”

“You’re right, especially when there’re no other lights on. So what could it be, Lamar, and who could’ve turned it on?”

“Maybe it’s something on a timer.”

The mention of a timer relieved my anxiety, but not for long. “If it’s something on a timer, I’d think they’d have used a decent light. I mean, that’s what timers are for—to make it look as if somebody’s home. That little glow wouldn’t deter anybody.”

“Could be a clock.”

I stared at him. “A clock?”

“Yeah, you know, one of them that throws the time up on the ceiling so you don’t have to get out of bed.”

I recalled the clock that Sam had given Lloyd one Christmas and how much he’d enjoyed waking in the middle of the night to see what time it was on the ceiling.

“Yes, but somebody has to press a button before it’ll work, then I think it goes off by itself. And what we’re seeing is still on.” I let the minutes go by, then said, “But it wasn’t on when we first got here, was it?”

“No’m. I’da seen it if it’d been on, but that whole house was dark as the grave when we got here.”

“Oh, don’t say that! I’m about to jump out of my skin as it is.”

We sat in silence for a long few minutes, our eyes fixed on the dim block of light emanating from the room at the end of the house.

Then I blinked, stared again, and blinked some more. “It went off, Lamar! Didn’t it? Can you see it?”

“No’m, it’s off all right. Wonder what it was.”

I leaned back, tired of staring into the dark. “Probably what you suggested—something on a timer. Maybe some electronic thing that automatically comes on and backs itself up.” I didn’t know what I was talking about, but I knew Lloyd had any number of in-boxes and out-boxes and Firefoxes and Zip drives and flash drives—none of which I understood nor wanted to understand.

Breaking the silence, I said, “Lamar?”

“Yes’m?”

“I need to go down that hill. Will you go with me in case I fall and break my neck?”

He waited so long to answer that I began to think he wasn’t going to. Then he said, “Why you need to go?”

“To see if somebody could’ve approached the house this way. And left this way, too. If I can do it, anybody could.” Even an out-of-shape pastor who had to stop and catch his breath after climbing three steps to the podium.

“Yes’m, but the cops’re already figuring you could. All you’d be doin’ now is provin’ it.”

“Well,” I said with some asperity, “I wouldn’t
tell
them I’d proved it.” I looked him straight in the eye. “Would you?”

“Oh, no, ma’am, me, neither. I wouldn’t tell.”

“Then let’s go.” I stuffed the car keys deep in my coat pocket, then crammed my pocketbook under the seat, feeling slightly off-kilter without it.

After unwrapping the scarf from around his head, Lamar carefully draped it across his shoulders. I started to open my door, then stopped.

“The car lights’ll come on, won’t they?”

“Yes’m, but I might can fix ’em.” He twisted around and stretched for the overhead lights. He popped off the covers and unscrewed a couple of bulbs. “That might not be all of ’em. These new cars got lights all over the place.”

“Then let’s be quick getting out, but don’t slam the door. A flash of light might be missed, but the sound of two car doors slamming will carry.”

We both got out, quietly pressing on our doors so they’d close enough to turn off a few interior lights that came on.

A thick row of laurel or some kind of bushes interspersed with pines ran along the edge of the road. We walked carefully beside them, looking for a break in the undergrowth. I was surprised at how well I could see—maybe the clouds had passed on. The lane was clearly visible, as was the roof of Connie’s house below us, but deep in the thicket beneath the trees, it was as dark as pitch.

“Here’s a place,” Lamar said, jumping the shallow ditch and diving between two laurels.

I hesitated, then followed him, expecting to be able to stand on the other side. Instead, limbs and leaves surrounded me and it was all I could do to push on through, hunched over and sliding on the pine needle-covered ground.

“Wait, Lamar,” I gasped, pushing a branch out of my face and getting scratched in the process. “Don’t go so fast.”

He squatted down and waited. “It’s pretty thick in here,” he said as I caught up with him. “Not as easy as it looks.”

“Should we go back?”

“Not ’less you just want to. I bet it’ll clear out closer to the house.”

He was right. The Clayborns had cleared some of the undergrowth immediately above the house, which would’ve made for an easier descent if they hadn’t left the pine needles. We slipped and slid, grabbing trees, branches, and each other to stay reasonably upright. Finally we reached the top of a retaining wall and squatted down behind a row of evenly planted shrubs—azaleas, maybe. We stopped to survey the house and the concrete yard that featured the dark cover over the pool. Then I looked down—it was at least a man’s height to the pool deck. I discarded the idea of jumping.

“You could break a leg gettin’ down from here,” Lamar whispered. “We better go back.”

“Not yet. Let’s slide down to the end of this wall. See if there’s a way to get into the yard without jumping.”

He didn’t say anything, just kept squatting as he thought for a while. “Okay.” And we began moving along the top of the retaining wall, staying low behind the shrubs, to the far corner, where, lo and behold, we found a set of steps that led down to the pool deck.

When we got to the bottom of the steps, we both stopped, crouched down low behind some deck chairs, and looked across the pool to the back of the house.

Holding my breath, I leaned close to Lamar’s ear and whispered, “Think we ought to see if we can tell where that light came from? Maybe see if anybody’s in there?”

“No’m. I think we oughta go back up.”

But we were so close, and by this time I had about convinced myself that no one was in the house. Surely if there was, we would’ve heard something or seen some movement by this time. Besides, there was another possibility to consider. If someone
was
rummaging around in the house and we could make an identification, Detective Ellis would have a much better suspect than he now had. Which was me.