Roots of Murder (8 page)

Is this what Aaron Dupree found attractive? Then she hastily walked on. Even with her intellect and instincts saying that, if only for a brief flirt, yes, he did, she still found it unreal.

She and Thom met on a class project. They were both getting their masters in journalism at Columbia. They found they worked well together. Thom claimed that he was smitten the first time she edited him, but Nell remembered a more measured courtship, their togetherness while studying slowly and tentatively turning into romance. When Thom had first asked Nell up to his room, for something clearly more than books, she had turned him down. Not because she didn't want to, but because serious Naomi Nelligan couldn't imagine dashing and handsome Thom McGraw wanting more that a quick fling with her. He had asked again, and again, and finally asked, “If I marry you, will you sleep with me?”

Nell had cynically replied, “Already got the divorce lawyer hired?” Only then did she see the hope—and the subsequent hurt in his eyes. That she could hurt him gave her the courage to say yes.

No, I'm not very good at playing the sexual game, Nell thought as she left the school, hurrying to her car through the rain. She'd had a few lovers before Thom. Starting with, of course, the boyfriend she had dutifully dated in high school. But when she'd gone off to college
she'd easily left him behind. They had done little beyond heavy kiss
ing, which had suited Nell. He'd later written her that he was gay and hoped that she wasn't scarred for life. She had resisted the temptation to write him back saying, no, no scars, only disappointment in his kissing. The first person that Nell actually had kissed had been Sally, a girlfriend of hers; they were supposedly practicing for the real thing. But Sally was a much better kisser than most of the boys she dated. For a while she was worried that Sally's expert tongue had ruined her for the sloppy thrusts of boys. There were even a few occa
sions when she wished Sally would write her a letter saying she was
gay.

She had finally lost, or rather thrown away, her virginity, at a frat party. She had simply picked the candidate that seemed both willing and reasonably sane. It wasn't painful like she was afraid it might be, but no fireworks went off either. Her first passionate affair had been with one of her professors. He was separated from his wife and they had two children. Nell could look back and see it clearly now—he was using her to fill his loneliness and to enjoy that exquisite attention from a young woman newly in love. He was a skilled lover, ensuring that her pleasure equaled his, teaching her ways to touch and explore.

He had been a bastard ending it, telling her he loved her and yet making excuse after excuse for not being able to see her save in class. She finally heard through the campus grapevine that he was back living with his wife. Nell got an A in the class even though she hadn't bothered going to the final exam.

She hadn't learned her lesson and repeated the same pattern on her first job, having an affair with the news editor while he was separated from his wife. It, too, had ended, but he at least was decent enough to sit down with her and tell her, and even admit he had been wrong; he was older and should have known better.

The end of that affair was what prompted her to apply to graduate school and get out of the Midwest.

Driving back to the office, Nell reflected that even before Thom, her experience hadn't been extensive. Not bad, though, for the one who wasn't beautiful. Another bitter wash came over her.

With Thom, whatever early awkwardness they'd had was made up for with ardor. Until Lizzie announced herself, they'd had quite a randy time in bed. “I'm a married woman, I get to be promiscuous with my husband,” Nell had often told Thom while doing something like unzipping his pants.

This is not a safe topic to think about, Nell admonished herself as she pulled into the parking lot. That ease and knowing touch was gone. In a flash of anger, she pounded her fist against the steering wheel. With the pouring rain to cover her, she yelled out, “Goddamn it! Five minutes … and you'd still be here.”

Now she was single, alone, and one man with one glance seemed impossible to handle. She and Thom had once or twice talked about what they would do if something happened to one of them. Go on living, find someone else to love. Occasional flowers on the gravestone is all you owe me, they had told each other. Those words had been easily said in the comfort and belief that it would never come to be.

“Find someone else to love. How the fuck do I do that?” Nell asked the pouring rain. As her anger ebbed, she admitted she felt a mark of attention to Aaron Dupree, not just appreciation for a handsome man. Safely in her car, she felt the slight tingle of possibility and attraction. He was a handsome man, he seemed interested. She was lonely.

I've barely been a widow a month, Mr. Dupree, she thought. But then she wondered if she was saying that to him or to herself.

five

After returning to the
Crier, Nell withdrew to her office, afraid her recent anger would be too palpable. Or, worse, her coworkers might read the lust that had flitted through her head. She used the energy to tackle stacks of paperwork. When that energy started to flag, she had to just look at the two phone messages from Tanya Jones to renew it. Just as she was approaching closing time, the end of her stack of paperwork, and her anger, Sheriff Clureman Hickson came knocking on her office door.

“Miz McGraw, I have a story for you,” he boomed, even though she was close enough to see the gray in his nose hair.

He had often come to Thom with story ideas, most close to thinly disguised promotions of Sheriff Clureman Hickson. Thom usually managed to find some story angle in it, minimizing the sheriff's starring role although leaving enough to appease him. Nell left those for Thom to write. She couldn't help pointing out that the deadly snake the sheriff (with the able help of his deputies) managed to catch on someplace like the very doorstep of the Orphans & Small Dogs Home looked more like a garter snake than a water moccasin. Thom would take the copy and say that there were some times when it might be better not to check the facts.

Now the sheriff was back with another of his story ideas. Somehow she didn't think Sheriff Hickson would see the humor if she suggested channeling Thom.

He took her expressionless face for interest and continued. “Yes, ma'am, blood is thicker than water.” With that pronouncement, he flipped open an oversized piece of paper that Nell recognized as a genealogy chart. His massive pudgy finger stabbed at the top of the sheet. “Turns out I'm descended from Alred Ellington, the master of the Fair Haven Plantation. He's my
great-great
-grandfather. Didn't know I came from such worthy stock, did you?”

The sheriff didn't wait for an answer, as if suspecting that Yankee Nell might not think slave owners worth much.

“His eldest son produced two family lines. One of them led to me, and the other led to a newly discovered cousin of mine.” Here he consulted another piece of paper for her name. “Beatrice Carver. Seems that Miz Carver has done quite well for herself—I'm guessing it was her husband—and she did this chart and wants to connect with her family. This next Saturday, at noon, she's coming to town to donate the funds to buy a new highway patrol car, one with all the bells and whistles. Now what do you think of that story?”

I'm going to have to start wearing a bracelet with WWTD—What Would Thom Do—on it, Nell thought. Okay, she quickly told herself, for a small town like Pelican Bay, a
long-lost
relative coming to town could be a reasonable story.

“When did you get this news?” As she asked the question, Nell grabbed a notepad and took enough notes to look like she was taking this seriously. She went through the list: who was his cousin, where did his cousin live, why had she looked up the family, and what made her decide to donate an entire car? She was tempted to ask if it came with
snake-catching
equipment.

Nell dutifully wrote down his answers and promised that she would be outside the courthouse, with camera, at precisely noon.

Then she decided that this shouldn't be a
one-sided
visit. “Any thoughts about the bones found in the woods?”

He paused for a moment, then answered. “Damn fool hunter.”

“Two damn fools?” Nell asked. “One with chains on the wrists?”

The sheriff gave her a sharp look. “Where'd you get that?”

“From the ground. I went out with Kate Ryan the day she found the bones.”

“Don't put nothin' like that in the paper,” he lectured her.

“Why not?” Nell guessed it was the usual police thing—keep details out only the killer knew—but she still wanted to hear it from Sheriff Hickson.

“You want to panic the town? All we need is rumors of chained killin' in the woods.”

“Do you really think Pelican Bay will fall into a frenzy at the idea of two murders that happened decades ago?” Nell shot back at him.

“You still don't need to go puttin' it in the paper,” he insisted.

“For how long?”

“How long what?”

“How long do I keep it out of the paper?” Nell repeated. “Do you really think that no one else is going to pick up this story?”

“Look, I know it's sad and too bad 'bout whatever happened to them, but those people are history. We'll dig 'em up only to then bury them again.”

“Even if they were murdered?” Nell answered.

“Miz McGraw, be real. They been in that ground long enough for a big tree to grow over 'em. What evidence we gonna find? And even if we find something, what are the chances whoever did it isn't also already in the ground?”

“If that's the case, then what's the harm with telling the story?”

The sheriff let out a long sigh. Nell gathered he didn't appreciate logical women. He sighed again before answering. “Okay, Miz McGraw, you can write your story, but you might just give us enough time to make sure nothing comes out of the ground that's gonna bite us in the butt.”

Nell didn't let on that she was still debating whether to hold the story for next week's paper. It might depend on what else was discovered. And if the sheriff thought that she was genteel enough to be thrown off by the word “butt,” he was much mistaken. Nell had learned to curse at a Catholic girls' school and there was nothing like a plaid polyester skirt and a nun with a ruler to expand the vocabulary. “I'll think about it. I plan to be there when the forensic anthropologist continues the dig. With camera ready, just in case there is any
butt-biting
.”

The sheriff didn't see any humor in her comment. He shook his head and said, “Just don't forget the story about my
long-lost
cousin.” With that he turned to go.

Nell decided he wasn't going to get off so easily. “Oh, Sheriff? Tanya Jones called Mrs. Thomas, Sr. and ‘suggested' the Jones boys aren't happy about their brother being in jail. And if that didn't change, they might do something about it.”

The sheriff turned back to face her. “They threatened Mrs. Thomas?”

“Used her as a messenger. The threat was aimed at me.”

He seemed to be mulling this over, as if a threat to Mrs. Thomas was serious but Nell had fallen into the “looking to be bitten in the butt” category. “Tanya say just what they planned?” he finally asked.

“No, the opposite, she didn't know what they might do. And she wouldn't want to be me.”

The sheriff mulled this additional information for a moment, then said, “You gonna go after Junior, aren't you?”

“Are you saying that I should capitulate to his brothers' threats?”

“No, ma'am.” The sheriff had enough sense to recognize the undertone of fury in Nell's voice, even if he didn't seem sure what capitulate meant. “Not at all. Just that … Junior's been in the hoosegow now for 'bout a month. Tanya's gonna be struggling to take care of those kids.”

“Perhaps there's where the Brothers Jones could do something constructive,” Nell said coldly. “Assist with raising their nephews and nieces while Junior pays his debt to society.”

“Now, Miz McGraw, I ain't sayin' that Junior don't deserve what he gets … ”

Nell cut in. “Good. I'd hate to have the Sheriff of Tchula County say that a drunk driver with two previous arrests doesn't deserve to go to jail after he finally kills someone.”

“But I am sayin' a little mercy might go a long way. Seems that Junior has finally learned his lesson and …”

He said something more but Nell didn't hear it, a blind fury coursing through her. “Fuck your mercy!” she suddenly shouted at him. “Your wife, your child. If they were the ones left dead on the roadside, how much mercy would you have? Don't you goddamn ask me to have mercy! Junior will get out of jail someday. Thom will still be in his grave.”

“Now, Miz McGraw,” the sheriff said. “I understand that you're upset.”

“Don't you dare patronize me. I am not ‘upset.' I'm fucking furious!”

“Now, Miz McGraw,” he tried again.

She cut him off. “Junior had two previous arrests to learn his lesson. I doubt he has learned much more than he doesn't like being in jail.”

The sheriff sighed again. He didn't like emotional women either, particularly ones whose emotion was anger instead of something more feminine. “It's not that you and I disagree. If it was my wife … jail would be too good for him. But the Jones boys, well, Junior learned his drinking from them and it worries me what they might do. You got two kids.”

“Are you telling me that the law enforcement of Tchula County and Pelican Bay is helpless before the Jones brothers?” Even the sheriff couldn't miss the sarcasm in Nell's voice.

“No, Miz McGraw, not at all. But, well, Whiz ain't the most active police chief we've had, and even if he was, we're just lawmen, not guardian angels. Arrestin' them after the fact might not be much of a help.”

“Isn't there a law against making threats?”

“Yes, ma'am, there is. But it's Tanya making a claim they threatened and Miz Thomas is the only witness. They deny it, Tanya ain't exactly gonna be a friendly witness.”

“So they get away with it?” Nell demanded heatedly, angry at both him and the fact that what he was saying made sense. “And someone threw a rock in the door this morning, with a threatening note. I suppose they get away with that, too?”

“Did they do it? Yeah, who else. Can I prove it enough to do more than put them in jail for a few hours? I doubt it. Those boys are snakes and you don't want riled snakes.”

“Nor do you,” Nell acerbically added.

“I got a jail full of 'em,” he reminded her. “I'll talk to those boys out on the porch, so all the neighbors hear. Tell 'em they won't like jail and that's where they'll end up if anything happens to you. That's the best I can do.”

Nell suddenly felt exhausted, the anger gone, emptiness where it had been. She just wanted him out of her office. “Then I'll have to settle for the best you can do.”

“You call both me and Whiz if they try anything.” With that, the sheriff escaped.

Her office door had been open the whole time, so Nell knew, unless her staff had deliberately blocked up their ears, they heard everything. At least now they know I can say “fuck,” Nell thought. It was as close as she could get to a positive thought.