Penumbra (13 page)

If the town suspected a relationship between the two of them, Jade would be the object of scorn, and likely worse. Jade would suffer, not Frank. All along, Ruth had been right. Jade should have gone away. She should have moved to Detroit or New Orleans, some city where the color barrier could be stepped over by a woman with pale skin and green eyes.

He watched Jade work around the shop. She’d put on a pale lavender smock over her dress, and he knew why. Jade was thirty-five, a woman truly grown. He’d never given much thought to her physical needs. He’d assumed that she had male friends, companionship, sex. Because she was his little girl, he’d never wanted to know the details. It wasn’t that he objected to Jade loving a man. Frank was simply the wrong man. Bowing his head, he realized there wasn’t a right man for Jade in Drexel.

Jonah started to leave. He needed to get home to check on Ruth. Before Suzanna was taken, Lucille had made a long list of things that needed to be done before fall set in. The corncrib needed repairing, the dead pine pasture had to be turned over. Work stretched out in front of him as long and hot as the day. There was comfort in work, a sense of rightness. Ruth understood this, and it was because they shared this in common that they’d been able to live together.

Ruth would have sat up and waited for him for a while, and then she would have gone to bed, madder by another degree. When the sun crested the horizon, she would have gotten up, made coffee, and had her bath. Likely she’d gone on to work for Miss Lucille. He saw Ruth walking down the road in her too-big shoes, back ramrod straight, hate boiling in her heart. Jonah moved from the shade of the oak to the bench beside the three big azaleas. He had no energy to go home; the truth had smote him like a hammer. Ruth was a force of hatred. He’d tried to be a force of love. Jade was caught in the middle, pulled in both directions. Neither he nor Ruth had prepared her for the destruction love could bring into a life. He’d failed her as surely as Ruth had.

He heard the sound of a large, smooth engine. The hearse from Rideout Funeral Home was coming slowly down the street toward him. He recognized the large man at the wheel. Junior Clements. Jonah felt a sense of dread. Here was the news that had been foretold. Death had struck, and Junior was the harbinger.

The hearse drew level with Jonah and stopped. Junior didn’t say anything, he just looked at Jonah for a full minute. Junior was the kind of man who didn’t like rules, except when they governed the behavior of someone else. Jonah did not speak. It was Junior’s place to do so first.

“Tell that girl of yours Mr. Lavallette’s gone be needing her today.”

Jonah kept his gaze focused on the black paint of the hearse door. “Yes, sir, I will.” Jonah feigned disinterest.

“Don’t you want to know who died?” Junior asked, exasperated.

“Ain’t none of my business,” Jonah said. He stood up, prepared to move along.

“That’s the truth. It ain’t none of your business. It shouldn’t matter to you that Mrs. Amelia Covington passed this morning. She died as peaceful as a baby.”

“Sorry to hear of her passing,” Jonah said. “I’m sure Jade will be happy to help Mr. Lavallette out today.”

“You tell her to get up to the funeral home after lunch.”

“Sure will,” Jonah said. “I’ll do just like you say, Mr. Clements.” When he was a younger man, he’d suffered when he uttered obsequious words. At fifty-five, he was a wiser man. Words were a small price to pay to keep danger averted from those he loved. Junior Clements was a man capable of violence, as long as he thought there would be no consequence.

The hearse eased down the street. Jonah considered going over to talk to Jade, but he didn’t trust himself not to lecture her. He put his straw gardening hat on his head, an attempt to fight the August heat, and he started to walk. He went away from town, away from his house, away from Miss Lucille’s. He walked toward the Chickasawhay River and the place where Miss Marlena had been attacked and Suzanna taken.

F
rank turned left off Highway 98 onto Letohatchie Road. The sun blazed down on the new asphalt, making it look like liquid and leaving the smell of something burning. Frank thought about the boy at the timber camp. If Dantzler Archey had taken Suzanna, he hoped she was dead. He’d learned death sometimes came as a rescuer. He had no doubt that would be the case for Suzanna if Archey was her captor.

He checked his watch. The morning had slipped away from him in a series of unproductive leads. He’d stopped at two stores in McLain only to discover the clerks worked only on Saturday and didn’t know John Hubbard, the Big Sun route man. Berger’s Grocery in Beaumont had been closed, a sign in the front window saying there’d been a death in the family. Frank had continued northwest until he came to New Augusta, the county seat of Perry County. He was still thirty-odd miles from Hattiesburg, and it was almost lunch.

The road to the town square was newly paved, but the heavy log trucks had already wallowed out potholes. He drove slowly, dodging the holes. Huey had let him bring the patrol car, since he was on official business. Frank was worried about Huey. Even sitting behind the desk in his office, his face was too red, a trickle of sweat at his hairline. Frank knew the cause was Suzanna’s abduction, and he also knew that part of it was Huey’s real concern for the child.

Frank circled the square and continued out Highway 12 to Goode’s Grocery. This was one of the stores Hubbard serviced, and Frank felt his hopes rise when he saw the store was open. The door was unlocked, the windows up to allow for a breeze, in the unlikely event of one dropping down out of the Gulf Stream. Frank pulled in beside the gas pump and waited until an elderly man came out of the store, pulling his suspenders up as he walked.

“Fill her up?” the old man asked.

“Sure,” Frank said, getting out and stretching. He was wearing khakis and a starched white shirt, the long sleeves rolled up on his forearms. He’d decided against his uniform. Sometimes official trappings were a hindrance, and the car was more than enough to legitimize his questions.

“What’s the law from Jebediah County doing up here?” the man asked.

“Following a hunch,” Frank said. He leaned against the car. “Might be you could help me out.”

“Me?” the old man asked, arching his eyebrows. “What would I know about anything that happened down in Jebediah County?”

Frank pushed himself off the car and walked casually around the gas pump. “I think I’ll get myself a drink. Maybe some chips. I’ve got to drive on to Hattiesburg and I haven’t had breakfast.” He hesitated for a few seconds. “You got something good and cold?”

“There’s a cooler in the store.” The old man didn’t look at him.

“What’s your name?” Frank asked.

“Sample Corley,” the man answered. He tapped the gas nozzle twice and pulled it out of the car’s tank. “That’ll be four-twenty-three.”

Frank pulled a five-dollar bill out of his wallet and handed it over. “I’ll walk in with you and get my Co-Cola.” He followed one step behind Corley as they opened the screen door and walked into the store.

The wooden floor was well-worn, darkly oiled so that it caught the dim light and held it. A low hum came from the freezer box at the back of the store where glass bottles of fresh milk chilled beside brown-bottled beer. Another meat freezer was on the far side of the store, and Frank could see steaks, roasts, pork chops, sausage, and bacon already cut and laid out on pieces of wax paper. A round of hoop cheese was beside the meat. Staples, canned goods, and baking supplies lined the aisles. The rack of Big Sun chips was right at the counter. Only a few bags remained.

“I was wanting some chips, too,” Frank said, “but you’re out of the barbecue.”

“Johnny didn’t come by yesterday,” Corley said, frowning. “He left me short last week and then didn’t come by.”

“Is that normal for the Big Sun route man?”

“Heck, no, Johnny’s usually on the dot. He must be sick.”

Frank didn’t say anything. He got a Coca-Cola from the red box freezer, opened it, and took a long swallow. “That hit the spot,” he said. “Could I get some cheese and crackers?”

“Sure,” Corley said, going to the meat cooler and pulling out the hoop cheese. He cut a hunk and weighed it. “That’ll be forty-five cents, and the crackers are five.”

Frank nodded. “That’s fine.” He took the cheese, wrapped in wax paper, and got a single stack of saltines. Corley moved back to the cash register, totaled up Frank’s purchases, and gave him his change.

“Do you know John Hubbard well?” Frank asked. He broke off a piece of cheese and put it in his mouth.

“Why are you so interested in Johnny?” Corley asked, suspicion in his gray eyes.

“Like you said, he missed his route Friday. Could be something bad happened to him.”

Corley snorted. “Right. You’re all worked up over a chip and candy salesman who don’t even live in Jebediah County.”

Frank grinned. “You’re too smart to be a grocery clerk.”

“One thing about running a store. You learn folks. No lawman from down by the state line is gonna come all the way up here to check into the well-being of someone who
might
be in trouble. What’s going on?”

“Mr. Hubbard may possibly have information on the abduction of a child.” Frank knew it was foolish to dance with Corley. The old man had nothing to do except exercise his caginess.

“Johnny wouldn’t take a young’un.” Corley’s face had gone tight. “A woman, maybe. A young’un—not on your life. Johnny wasn’t overly fond of the little ones.”

Frank took another swallow of the cola, feeling the burn at the back of his throat. “I’m not looking at him as the abductor. I think he may have been on the scene, or nearby. Could be that he saw something that will help us.”

“When did all this happen?” the clerk asked.

“Thursday, around lunch or a little after.”

Corley reached under the counter and got a plug of tobacco and a pocketknife. He cut off a chunk and put it in his jaw. As an afterthought, he held it out to Frank.

“No thanks. I quit smoking in Germany. Never cared to take up tobacco again.”

“World traveler,” Corley said, snorting.

“Prisoner of war,” Frank said, unwrapping the cheese and breaking off another piece. He chewed it slowly. “So Hubbard didn’t care for children, and he liked women. How do you know this?”

Corley walked out from behind the counter and went outside, motioning for Frank to follow. Two old chairs had been set up in front of the store. Corley took one and waved Frank into the other. He spat into the dirt at his feet. “It was more or less a joke not to leave the wife minding the store on the day Johnny was due to come by. He talked to the womenfolk.” He shrugged. “He had a way with them. Women liked him. He made them shine.”

“Did he do more than talk?”

“Not here. Myrtle may enjoy a compliment, but she’s not interested in much more. She sure enough loved to see that Chevy pull in, though. Her whole face would light up and she’d call out to me, ‘Sample, it’s Johnny. Get that slice of pound cake I brought him.’ She’d bake a cake just for him, too.”

Frank watched the old man’s face. “You like Hubbard?”

“Couldn’t help it,” Corley said, then spat again. “He’s a likeable guy. Not a kidnapper, though. Like I said, might run off with a wife, but he wouldn’t take a young’un.”

“You’re sure of that. Why?”

“More in the way he’d look at the children when they came in the store. Like he thought they had some kind of disease. No, he wasn’t a man who thought a lot of kids.”

“This girl who was taken, she comes from a wealthy family.”

Corley snorted and laughed. “Johnny doesn’t need money. He has everything he needs, and then some. Big Sun pays him well. He’s their top salesman, and he told me just a couple weeks ago that they offered to move him to the best route, up to Jackson. He’s sitting pretty.”

“Did he ever talk about any women in particular?” Frank asked. His Co-Cola bottle was empty, but he held it in his hand, enjoying the lingering chill.

“He was sweet on someone. The reason I know is that he stopped talking about all the other women. He usually had some foolishness going, like men do.” Corley peered at Frank to see if he understood. “Maybe you’d better explain.”

“You know, like he’d talk about what this one did and that one did, which one was better at what.” A slow flush crept up Corley’s neck. “Not in front of Myrtle. No, he wasn’t like that. Only when I was here by myself. Hell, he’d get me so worked up I’d order anything he put in front of me.” He laughed, looking away. “But all of that talk stopped about six months ago. He said he had him someone special.”

“Really? Did he say a name?”

Corley shook his head. “He never did. He did say the only fly in the ointment was that she had a kid.” He chuckled. “He just didn’t care for children, and he said this one in particular was a real brat.” Another thought crossed his mind, and his eyebrows arched. “Maybe he ran off with this girlfriend and got married. Maybe that’s why he didn’t run his route Friday.”

Frank stood up. He put the empty Coke bottle in a wooden rack beside the door. “I don’t think so,” he said. “If you see Mr. Hubbard, tell him he needs to check in with the Jebediah sheriff’s office.”

Corley leaned forward. “You’re not looking at Johnny for some crime, are you?”

“Like I said, he may have information we need.” Frank still held the cheese and crackers. He looked down at them as if he’d forgotten what they were. “Thanks, Mr. Corley. You’ve been a real help.” He walked to his car, got in, and drove back toward Highway 98 and Hattiesburg.

The heat was oppressive, almost like a wet glove pressing down on her face, clogging her nose. Dotty tossed on the bed, her body itching with unfulfilled needs and hot memories. She had the terrible sensation that her skin no longer fit, that her swollen flesh was splitting.

She rolled to her back and stared at the ceiling. She hadn’t heard a word from Lucas since she’d taken him breakfast, and the more she thought about it, the angrier she got. Except the anger turned back on herself and she wondered why she’d ever thought Lucas would call her. She’d provided him a service, and that was that. He never said he would call, never hinted that he might think of her in the future. She’d let things happen too fast. Fearing that she wouldn’t have another opportunity, she’d never made him anticipate her. She’d been too damn easy.

Her head throbbed from the whiskey she’d drunk the night before, and even though it was late afternoon, she was still in bed, still suffering. She had a vague memory of dancing with Junior Clements and Pet Wilkinson, and the idea of it made her feel nauseous. She swung her feet to the floor and sat on the edge of the bed, woozy and sick. Whatever her sin, she always paid triple for it. So, she’d gotten drunk and danced with Pet and Junior and some other men in the Friendly. She wasn’t the only woman who did such things, but she was surely the only woman who paid such harsh penance for a few hours of laughs. She glanced at herself in her vanity mirror and quickly turned away. Bags hung beneath her eyes, and the skin on her face looked parched and bloated. She couldn’t remember how much she’d had to drink, or how she’d gotten home.

She struggled to her feet, the pressure in her bladder too painful to ignore. Taking short, quick steps she made it down the hall to the bathroom and sank to the toilet, her head resting in her hands. She hadn’t been this hung over in a long time. She considered vomiting but she hadn’t eaten in hours. If she began retching, it would quickly degrade into dry heaves. No good would come of that. She ran water in the sink, soaked a washcloth, and put it over her face. The cool water seemed to help. She finished peeing, wiped, and struggled to her feet. Water was the thing she needed, if she could drink some and keep it down. She filled a glass and drank. She found the aspirin bottle in her medicine cabinet, shook out three, and swallowed those, too.

When the phone began to ring, she considered not answering it. Then she thought it might be Lucas, and she hurried down the stairs to the telephone table in the front hallway. By the time she reached it, she was panting and about to vomit.

“Dotty, it’s Lucille Longier. I’m sending my driver over to pick you up. We need to chat.”

Before Dotty could say no, the line was dead. She held onto the receiver as if it were some unknown implement. At last she put it down and hurried back up the stairs. She started her bath and went to the closet to find a dress. Lucille Longier was Marlena’s mother. She was Lucas’s mother-in-law, and a powerful woman. Dotty couldn’t be sure if she’d heard disapproval in Lucille’s voice or desperation. There was no way Lucille could have found out about her sexual encounter with Lucas. No one had been behind her when she turned into the Bramlett driveway. No one could have seen her. She hadn’t whispered a peep about it, and she didn’t think Lucas would be running to his mother-in-law to tattle. Still, there was the sensation of cold fingers on her spine. Her stomach churned and she rushed up the stairs to her bathroom, barely making it before she heaved up the water she’d just drunk. Her life was a terrible mess. She’d never done anything bad enough to deserve all that was happening to her. She clung to the toilet seat and sobbed, waiting for the next round of vomiting.