Redemption (3 page)

“
Well, at least wait on the forensic report so it’s official.” Overton stood, easily towering over Autumn. “We just have to wait, okay?”

Autumn rolled her eyes and shut her notebook. “Can we talk off the record?”

“
No.”

“
I promise not to print any of it.”

“
No.”

“
Come on, Sheriff. Nothing happens here, you know that. I’m getting sick of writing about Joe Belcher’s dying corn or Mrs. Simpson’s prize wilted roses or which cow has the best shot at living long enough to compete at the state fair or whose well dried up yesterday. Like it or not, Darcy’s death is big news.”

Overton sighed. “Look, the story isn’t going anywhere. Just be patient.”

“
But I went to school with her. I knew her.”

“
How well?”

Autumn dropped her eyes. “Well, I heard things about her, you know, about her and Jeremiah Poindexter.” She looked up. “I mean, he’s dead, and now she’s dead of a suicide. Maybe they’re connected. She never married, and lots of folks think she never got over him even though he was black.”

I never married either,
Overton thought,
and I will never get over that boy’s death.

“
I’m looking for something,
anything
. Please help me out, Sheriff.”

“
What you got cooking for the next edition?”

Autumn closed her eyes. “A litter of labs born to the Johnson’s dog, Dixie, the ever-thrilling tomato of the week, July’s church schedules—”

No wonder no one reads that thing.
Overton pointed to the porch swing. “Sit.”

Autumn smiled and sat. “Thank you.”

“
This is completely off the record, you understand?”

“
Yes.”

“
You talk in your sleep?”

She shook her head. “What a question!”

“
You sing in the shower?”

“
No.”

“
Nothing I say gets printed.”

Autumn raised a hand. “I swear.”

“
But first, I have a question for you. What would a woman keep in the drawer of a nightstand?”

Autumn’s fair face reddened. “You really want to know?”

“
Yes.”

She bit her lip. “Oh, condoms, birth control pills, that kind of thing.” She smiled. “Not that I have any of that, you understand.”

Times have surely changed.
“I understand.”

“
Uh, maybe a paperback or two. Some aspirin or cough drops.”

“
None of that seems worth stealing.”

Autumn’s eyes widened. “There was a robbery? Is this a murder?”

Overton smiled at the crowd across the street and squatted in front of her. “Not so loud, Miss Harper. There
may
have been a robbery, but none of what you’ve told me is worth stealing. Do you have a nightstand?”

“
Yes.”

“
What do
you
keep in it?”

Autumn turned a deeper shade of red causing many of her freckles to vanish. “Sheriff Overton, are you, in some very strange way, trying to get to know me better? Because if you are—”

“
I’m not.”
Though I
am
a tad bit curious. She has such nice, firm lips and the darkest brown eyes. I’m a sucker for eyes.
“It’s just that you and Darcy are about the same age—”

“
I was two years behind her,” Autumn said quickly, “and we had nothing in common. What’s your point?”

Overton shook his head. “Maybe I don’t have one. Just want to know what might be in there that someone would consider valuable.”

“
Did she have a gun?”

Overton coughed. “Is that what
you
have in—”

“
No. Did
Darcy
have a gun?”

Overton nodded. “Yup, but I found that already. Inside the cash box.” He paused. “A
locked
cash box. On
top
of a stack of money.”

“
Doesn’t sound like a robbery to me, unless ...” She frowned. “Hey, you’re supposed to be giving
me
information!”

“
Unless what?”

She crossed her arms in front of her. “I get an exclusive, right?”

“
You’re the only reporter for the only paper in town, Miss Harper. How much more exclusive can you get?”

“
Sheriff, if this turns out to be something big, you know the
Calhoun Times
weenies will be down here. They love investigatin’ us country folk when we been bad,” she said. “That’s so they can balance out all the crime in their city.”

Overton had to agree. The
Times
usually showed up whenever DEA agents found a marijuana field or ATF operatives uncovered a still or someone gunned down his neighbor’s cow by mistake on the opening day of deer season.

“
Tell you what, Miss Harper. I’ll only talk to you. I can’t speak for Madison Powell, though. He likes lots of coverage.”

“
He’s a prick.”

I could grow to like you a whole bunch, Autumn Harper,
Overton thought,
but I’m already spoken for.
“Prick or not, what he says, goes. Now what else could be in that drawer?”

Autumn leaned in and whispered, “I keep a journal in mine, really a glorified diary. I don’t write in it every day, but—”

“
Hold on,” Overton said.

He reentered the house, took the stairs two at a time to the second floor, and looked in the bathroom at the note. He measured it with his hands and returned to Autumn.

“
What’s going on?”

“
Would a diary be about this big?” He made an imaginary square in the air about six inches wide and eight inches high.

“
It might be. Why?”

Overton looked down Front Street, the heat finally driving people inside. “Just asking.”

“
Sheriff, that ain’t fair!” She stood. “Why won’t you—wait ... she left a note, right?”

“
She might have.”

“
And she wrote it on a page in her diary.”

“
Hypothetically speaking, she might have.”

“
So someone stole her diary ...”

“
Maybe. Her mama says it should have been there, and you have to take what Annie Mitchem says with a grain of salt, so ...”

Autumn looked past Overton. “Here comes Ramsey. And in a hurry. I didn’t know he could move so fast.”

Overton scowled. “And without my lemonade.”

Ramsey bent over, huffing and puffing, before blurting, “Sheriff, it’s Annie. She’s been hit by a car.”

“
What?” Autumn shouted.

“
Over on one-fifteen.”

Of all the ...
“Is Lester through with the car yet?”

“
He says it’ll be a few more hours.”

“
Damn!” He looked at Autumn. “Ramsey, stay here and wait for Mr. Powell. Miss Harper, I’ll need your car.”

Autumn smiled. “It’s my lucky day.”

They drove in silence in Autumn’s ‘94 Escort past the old First Baptist, yet another empty shell as its congregation migrated to the city of Pine, the county seat fifteen miles to the east. Autumn turned onto county road 115, and after two miles of desolated fields, she slowed to a stop behind a beat-up Ford truck.

“
This ain’t gonna be pretty,” Overton said to Autumn as he unbuckled his seat belt.

“
I can handle it.”

Joe Graves, a black farmer in overalls whose wilting tobacco field lay to the right, wiped his face with a brown towel. “She’s still alive, Sheriff. But I doubt she’s gonna last much longer. I think her back’s broken. She said she was cold, so I put that blanket on her.”

“
You see what happened, Joe?”

“
No sir. Just happened by and saw her. It’s a damn shame.”

Overton and Autumn walked over to Annie, Overton kneeling and looking under the red and white blanket.
She won’t make it,
he thought. Annie’s legs had been crushed, her forehead gashed, her neck twisted grotesquely, and yet she smiled.

“
Ms. Mitchem, it’s Sheriff Overton.”

“
Howdy,” she whispered.

“
Who did this to you?”

Annie didn’t or couldn’t turn her head. “J,” she wheezed.

She’s delirious.
“J’s dead Annie, been dead going on sixteen years now.”

“
He’s back.” Blood oozed from her lips. “J’s back. In a pink Cadillac with crushed velvet seats.” Annie laughed and sputtered, blood speckling her face and neck.
“Ms. Mitchem, who was driving the car that hit you?”

“
J. You hard of hearin’?”

“
Ms. Mitchem, maybe it just looked like J.”

“
It was J. I saw him with my very own eyes. He’s back.”

Overton looked at Autumn who was writing furiously. “Ms. Mitchem, was Darcy’s diary missing from that nightstand?” Annie didn’t respond. “Ms. Mitchem, you have to help me here. Was Darcy’s—”

Annie choked, her eyes fluttering back. “The bastards,” she gasped, and she lay still.

Overton checked the pulse in Annie’s neck and shook his head. He settled the blanket over Annie’s face and stood. “Joe, you know anyone with a pink Cadillac?”

“
No sir,” he said. “But wasn’t there a song about one a few years back? Maybe that was the last song she heard today. You know how she could hold onto a tune. Remember when she sang ‘Amazing Grace’ for about three years straight?”

“
Yep.”

“
Made me almost hate that song.”

Overton patted him on the back. “Thanks for your help, Joe. We’ll get the blanket back to you.”

Joe got into his truck. “Don’t worry about it. Ain’t gonna have much need for a blanket with this heat wave.” Then he roared off.

Overton turned to Autumn. “Why don’t you head back to town, let Ramsey know what’s happening. I’ll wait here with Annie.”

“
I’ll stay.”

“
No reason to.”

Autumn flipped another page in her notebook. “So what do you think about what she said?”

Overton blinked at Autumn. “At a time like this, standing over a dead body, you want to interview me?”

Autumn smiled. “Yeah. You might slip and say something interesting for a change.”

Tough lady.
“Well, let’s get in your car at least.”

They got into the Escort, and Autumn turned up the AC. Overton adjusted the vent so it would blow on his face. “This’ll have to be off the record, too.”

Autumn sighed and tapped the steering wheel. “I was right there. I heard everything. I could print everything she said.”

“
I know, but I hope you don’t. You don’t have all the facts, and you don’t want to go stirrin’ up folks about J.”

“
Suppose not. Well, what do you think happened?”

He took off his hat, running his fingers through his short, brown hair. “I have no idea, but it’s obvious that she walked smack dab into whatever hit her.”

“
A pink Cadillac.”

“
Maybe.”

“
Driven by J.”

“
Not a chance. I helped bury that boy. It could have been anyone, and Crazy Annie might have put J’s face on the driver. She had an amazing imagination, you know.”

Autumn revved the engine, colder air filling the car. “I’ve heard that crazy people sometimes have moments of complete lucidity, especially right before they die.”