Unraveled (13 page)

Chapter Twenty-five

The baby was asleep when he came out of their tiny bathroom. The baby's mama lit another cigarette in the breathlessly hot trailer and dropped the match into a full ashtray. At one time she was afraid of The Wraith, but not anymore. The bruises always healed and at least she had a roof over her head.

***

Deputy Anna Sloan pulled up in Donald Ray Clay's yard and killed her squad car's engine. She studied the house not far out of Center Springs that once stood proud, but could use a little paint. The front porch was solid and level, but the end of several porch planks were broken off above the steps where they received the most foot traffic, a testament to hard financial times.

The shadows were growing long and dusk brought out the crickets and croaking tree frogs. Cicadas still buzzed their monotonous rhythm from the trees. A quail called from the nearby pasture and was answered by the covey gathering for the night.

She tapped the horn twice and waited to see if any yard dogs showed up. A tired-looking woman stepped through the screen door. “Is something wrong?”

“Not a thing.” Anna smiled and spoke through her open car window. “I'm here to talk to Donald Ray about his brother's death.”

“Well, I'm Cheryl Lynn, Donald Ray's wife. He ain't here. He's at work, but he'll be home in a little bit for dinner. You drink coffee?”

“Sure do.”

“Get out and come in the house.”

Hat in hand, Anna followed Cheryl Lynn through the door and into her spotless kitchen, wondering why she'd been invited in so quickly. The windows were open, and a light breeze scrubbed the air, freshening the interior smelling faintly of onions and fried food. “I'm Deputy Anna Sloan.”

Cheryl Lynn plugged in a percolator and put a sugar bowl on the wooden table covered by a lace tablecloth. She opened the Frigidaire and removed a pint jar of cream. “I don't believe I've ever seen a woman deputy sheriff.”

Anna put her hat upside down on a nearby cupboard beside some dishes she recognized as the Cactus Flower pattern. She sat at the table in the middle of the kitchen. “There aren't many of us.”

“I don't imagine.” Cheryl Lynn wiped her hands on her apron and sat opposite Anna. She tucked a strand of brown hair behind her ear. “I know it's getting late in the afternoon for coffee, but I dearly love the stuff. You're not here to talk about coffee, though, are you? Did you find something out about Frank's death?”

“You're not calling it a murder?”

“
I'm
not. Some of the boys are.” Behind Cheryl Lynn, the electric coffee pot started to bubble with a fat, rumbling sound. “What I heard sounds like it was an accident to me.”

“We can't find any evidence of foul play. Maggie might have dodged to miss something, a deer or a dog, maybe.”

“I swanny, it's a crying shame, that's what it is.”

“Tell me about Frank's wife and kids.”

“Why you want to know that?”

“Because I'm trying to get a picture of him in my mind. Sheriff Parker hired me a while back because I look at things most of his other deputies don't think about, or miss entirely. I'm looking for any details that might help us solve what happened on the dam so we can cool down this feud between y'all's families.”

“I don't know much, 'cept I bet you don't do this for every car wreck you come across. You're looking for more'n that, but I'll help you if I can.”

Anna cocked her head, appraising the slender, wavy-haired woman. “I'd appreciate anything you can tell me.”

“I bet.” Cheryl Lynn adjusted the salt and pepper shakers in the middle of the table, putting them right back in their same positions. “Let's see. They were married for about twelve, thirteen years. They was happy. I never saw them argue. Frank loved his kids, Lordy did he love 'em. He was always taking the boys huntin' and fishin'.”

“Did Harriet go?”

“Lord, no. She didn't do nothin' but stay home.”

“She was a good housewife?”

“She was a housewife. Good? That girl didn't even sweep. I don't think she ever made the bed, either. I swear, I've been over there at all times of the day, but the beds looked like they'd just got up. I don't even know why she bothered to buy bedspreads, they were always on the floor at the foot. Frank finally hired someone to do that.”

“Who'd he hire?”

Cheryl Lynn grinned. “Rubye Mayfield.”

“Well, there's a connection.”

“Ain't it?”

“Why in the world would he hire a
Mayfield
to do housework for them?”

“'cause that was always Frank's way. Rubye did everything for them. She cooked and cleaned and washed their clothes, at least until Saturday when Frank was killed.”

“Does she live with them?”

“No. She lives down the road a couple of miles. She walked to work every morning, and home ever evening.”

“How old is she?”

“Forty-five or so.”

“She's married to who?”

“Cass Mayfield. They started early, and her three kids are already grown and gone. You can put that eyebrow back down. She worked for 'em, but I never suspected her and Frank of doing anything together.”

Anna felt a flush on her face and wondered what else her expressions gave away. “What does Cass do?”

“He's a handyman for folks who don't mind colored people being around. You use cream in your coffee?”

“A little bit.”

“You ought to go talk to Rubye. She knows things I don't.”

“I will. Tell me this, what does Donald Ray think happened?”

Cheryl Lynn couldn't find a place to rest her eyes. “He thinks they were murdered.”

“I don't see how that could have happened.”

“He says it did. Ask him.”

“I really came to see you.”

Cheryl Lynn was taken off balance. “I…I don't…coffee's ready.”

She took two saucers and coffee cups from the cupboard and set them on the table. She wouldn't look at Anna as she unplugged the cord from the percolator and poured. She set the pot nearby and slid one of the sets toward Anna. “Cream's right there. Hope it's not too strong. Donald Ray likes it strong, and that's the way I'm used to making it.”

Anna adjusted the cup and added cream. “Cheryl Lynn, have you ever played poker?”

“Why, lands no. Playing cards is a sin. Why'd you ask me that?”

“Because you don't have a poker face and you'd lose every hand you played. You know something you're not telling me.”

The kitchen grew silent as they waited for the coffee to cool enough to drink.

“I can't say no more, Deputy.”

“You haven't said anything.”

“That's not what Donald Ray'll think.”

Anna blew across the surface and sipped. “This is good. It's a lot better than what we have at work.”

Cheryl Lynn added more cream without answering. “You're not here just about the accident, are you?”

“No, I'm trying to stop what's going on between your families.”

“I know. It's awful.”

“It is, that. Can you help me?”

The air in the kitchen seemed to thicken, and Anna wondered if she could have phrased it differently. It was too late, though. The question was out there.

“I don't think it's Wes doing it.”

The answer was so unexpected that Anna sipped more than she intended and burned her tongue. She hissed, sucking in cool air. “I didn't say anything about Wes.” She put the cup down.

“You'll hear his name called any day now, because if something bad happens and a Clay's involved, people point fingers at Wes. You need to know he don't
plan
things like that. He fights when he gets mad, and if was a woman he might slap her, even beat her I guess, but he don't sull up and steam about things for a long time. He acts without thinking and then goes on.”

“Well, then, maybe Wes saw them together and tried to scare them or something and it went bad.”

Cheryl Lynn unconsciously twisted her wedding ring. “It isn't
him
.”

“How do you know for sure?”

“I know.” Their eyes met, and Anna read the story before Cheryl Lynn could place her gaze back in her coffee cup.

“Uh oh.” Taken aback, Anna studied her cup for a moment. “I know it's none of my business, but you're wading in dangerous waters.”

“I live there.”

“Oh, honey. Be careful.” Anna paused. “I have to hear you say it, though. You know with all certainty, that Wes isn't doing it himself, or having it done?”

“Yes. He was with me.”

Anna watched Cheryl Lynn's face, expecting tears or at the very least a quivering chin. She was completely composed.

“Wes is my bad boy, but it isn't him. He's a lot of things, and he has a cold side, colder than sin about most things, but he's no murderer.”

“Then help me.
Someone
killed Merle and Hollis Mayfield, and burned a house, and in turn, from what I hear about y'alls families, someone will start doing the same to Clays. This has to stop.”

“I know it. I want to help, but there's nothing I can do.”

“You could be covering for Wes.”

“I wouldn't cover for a murderer.”

Anna traced the pattern in the tablecloth with a forefinger, confident Cheryl Lynn was telling the truth. “Why are you still in this house then?”

“Because I won't leave Donald Ray for Wes. I'm happy with my life.”

Anna frowned. “But you're having…”

“That'll pass someday. It's fun and exciting and dangerous, and I need some of that right now. Living out here in this house….I'm missing something. I'm missing a lot and the only way to get any excitement is…by looking for something fun, you know? Donald Ray works all the time, and when he's home he's out hunting or fishing. I need a lot more than I'm getting. You're a woman, you know what I mean. Me and Wes are kinda, you know, pals, but when it's over, I'll still live here and I'll be older and what I'm feeling will be gone and then I'll be comfortable.”

“Donald Ray's your age. He should be feeling the same. That should work in favor of the two of y'all.”

“I'm sure he does, but not with me.”

“Oh.

“Oh's right. He gets his ashes hauled somewheres else, like over at that hot sheet place outside of Hugo. He sure goes over there a lot for feed, he says, or to the sale barn, but the funny thing is, he don't never come back with anything except the smell of perfume on him.”

The kitchen was silent except for the ticking of a black Kit-Cat clock on the wall.

Cheryl Lynn leaned forward. “You know there's girly shows out there at Frogtown, where they dance and they have what they call ‘acts' with comedians and such on stage, but I know what they really are. He goes there, too, sometimes.”

Anna knew about the scattering of rough buildings at the Oklahoma bend of the Red River, but she hadn't been over there. She made a note to ask Cody about them. “All right. Let me ask you this. How can I find Rubye tonight? Will she be home?”

Cheryl Lynn met her eyes. “No. She works at Saperstein's store now and if you go over there after they close, she'll be cleaning up.”

“So I go see Rubye Mayfield for what…?”

“She can tell you about what's going on with her family. She also does things for other folks no one else does and she listens.”

“How do you know all this?”

Cheryl Lynn wouldn't look at her. “I just do.”

“All right. I'll talk to her as soon as I leave here.”

Cheryl Lynn sat straighter, as if she'd made a decision. “How tough are you?”

“Not very.”

“I heard you was shot here while back.”

Anna licked her lips and took a tiny sip of coffee. She didn't like to talk about it. “You're right. I was shot, but that don't make me tough.”

“Get someone to take with you and go see Royal Clay. It might take several of you, but put Royal in jail and it'll stop.”

“Is Royal some kind of title?”

“No, that's his name. He's Donald Ray and Frank's first cousin. He's been in the pen a time or two, and there's always a story coming from the beer joints across the river of how he's fighting or cuttin' somebody. He don't like anyone who ain't white, and being over there in the Indian Nations gives him plenty of folks to tangle with.”

“What do you want me to put him in jail for?”

“Breathing for one thing. You think Wes is bad, or tough. He don't hold a candle to
that
mean son of a bitch. He despises a badge and lives on a hill not far from the west tip of Lake Lamar. He never had a wife or kids, and spends most of his time dodging the law.”

“I still can't just drive up to a man's house and arrest him because he's mean. What has he done in all this?”

“If he didn't beat Merle to death and shoot Hollis, he had it done. He's tight with Cecil Clay, but he usually gets others to do his dirty work for him. Cecil will do everything Royal tells him, and that's a fact. Everybody knows that.”

She stood and flicked on the kitchen lights, startling Anna. “And you didn't hear none of that from me. Remember, I'm married in, and even then you're not a Clay until you're about a bajillion years old and most of the elders dies off. Right now, I'm just a wife and that's all.” She placed the palms of both hands on the table, a clear signal she was finished talking. “You can't use my name, neither. I'll deny we had this conversation if you do.”

Anna watched Cheryl Lynn refill their cups and wondered how to tell her there was no way to keep her out of it.

Chapter Twenty-six

The Wraith worked in the shade, wishing the sun would hurry up and go down. He had a lot to do. He'd stumbled on a great idea when Charlie Clay came by looking for a job. Seeing Charlie was like getting a surprise dessert, and his plan for him would be just as tasty.

***

Friday morning found Cody in his office and chomping at the bit. He never was much for paperwork, though the stack on his desk was considerably smaller than it had been before Anna arrived. She made a pretty good dent in the piles while her wounds healed.

She and John were already gone, digging deep into the investigation of the two Mayfield murders. For a small town, there was a lot of killing and Cody was afraid it would get worse before it got better.

He fidgeted behind the desk, barely glancing at a folder full of reports. Disinterested, he sharpened a few pencils, filled an ink pen, and turned on the radio to hear the news. A Pepsodent commercial was about as irritating as the flies that came through the screenless windows. He dialed it to a different station. “It's Such A Pretty World” came on and he snapped it off. Wynn Stewart's voice always irritated him, and it was especially worse at that moment.

Unused to being inactive, he pushed back in his chair and stood in the window to watch cars pass on Main Street. A few loafers laughed in the shade of the crepe myrtles lining the sidewalk. A blue jay scolded them, and the smell of frying food drifted up from Frenchie's café, half a block to the north.

He flicked on the radio to catch the news which was still filled with Martin Luther King's murder and the capture of James Earl Ray. The ag reports came on and he flicked it off. Sighing, he went to see Judge O.C. Rains.

Mr. Jules, the frail old elevator man, slid the double doors closed, followed by the scissoring safety gate. “Where to, Sheriff?”

“You used to call me Cody.”

Born a former slave's son, Old Jules nodded at Cody's feet. “Thass right, but now you's the high sheriff and it ain't right to call you by your first name no more.”

“Everyone calls you Jules and you're older than anyone I know. That's not respectful.”

“They's a lot both right and wrong 'bout this ol' worl', Sheriff. Where to?”

“Oh.” Cody realized he hadn't told him what floor he wanted. “Going to see Judge O.C.”

Jules ran gnarly fingers over the buttons, as if playing a musical instrument. “He ain't in his office. Had to travel to Dallas for some kind of meetin'.”

Indecisive, Cody waited in the silent elevator.

“Sheriff?”

“Huh?”

“It'll be all right.”

“What?”

“I know why you ain't on the street this mornin'.”

Cody studied Jules' white hair cut close to the scalp and his rheumy eyes. “You hear a lot in this elevator, don't you?”

“Yassir. White folks forget I'm here, or don't think I'm listenin', so they talk free.”

“You heard enough to help clean up that case with the Skinner a few years ago. You know anything on this feud?”

“Heered lots, both here and up at the barbershop.”

“You talking about Tom Hubbard's place?” It was a house in the “colored” section of Chisum, south of the tracks. Tom cut hair on the porch when the weather was tolerable, and inside when it wasn't.”

“Yassir.”

“Anything that'll help us settle all this down?”

“'nough to know it ain't over yet. Blood's thick and when it rises, it's slow to cool. It'll be a while 'fore the families have shed enough of it.”

“This ain't the Hatfields and McCoys. We're living in modern times.”

“I ain't met none of
them
folks, they must be from down south in the county, but if they families got crossways too, I 'magine it took a while to settle down. The right ones got to settle down first, then the rest of 'em'll tag along behind. I'm afraid it's gonna grow some before it's through.”

“You know of any way to take the fire out of it?”

“There's lots of ways to damp a fire, Sheriff. I'd start with the little things, if I could, and that might help some. Just the opposite of what it is. You know, a match sho' is small, but it can make a big flame.”

“You're talking in circles to me now.”

“I'm awful sorry. It ain't my place to tell you what to do, Sheriff, 'cept that I need to start this elevator. Mind ridin' down to the first floor?”

“Go on.”

Cody chewed his lip as they descended with creaks and rattles of the cables above. Jules stopped the elevator and opened the doors. He held out a hand to keep Cody back and adjusted the elevator even with the floor.

“I got one mo' thing to say, if you don't mind.”

Cody waited. “Go ahead.”

“There's only one thing in this world that's real, son, and that's the here and now. You and me a-talkin'. The past is nothin' but memories, some bad, some good, and the future is what you do after this minute, what you want it to be, or think it might could be, but you cain't touch that yet. The things you do now, and the things you say changes the future, and the future of them around us…maybe not right away, but it does.”

Jules glanced out the door to make sure no one was within hearing distance. “I heered 'bout that high-yeller gal gettin' killed with Mr. Clay. He was a good man, and she was all sunshine, from what I hear. I got no business noodlin' around with what they was doin', 'cause we don't know what goes on in other folks' minds. We all got demons, and dreams, and lives that others don't know about. That makes us who we are, if you know what I mean. Whatever they was doin' together in that car was they business, and folks don't need to go havin' a killin' over it. It was between them, and that's all.”

“You think they were…together?”

“Didn't say that. I heered she was givin' him a ride. Thass all, and you know what? What difference does it make now? They both gone.”

Cody chewed the inside of his lip, wishing he had a cigarette, but he'd quit once again. “I agree with that. Maybe your people will come to understand it, and I hope I can get the Clays to let things alone.”

“Folks won't. That's human. They won't leave nothin' alone.”

Two men in business suits and carrying briefcases came through the brass and glass front doors and headed for the elevator. Cody stepped off and they passed, nodding hello. Jules didn't say another word to Cody. He addressed the men while looking at their belts. “What floor, gentlemen?”

“Third.”

The elevator closed, leaving Cody to think. The lobby was empty, except for Albert Shames sitting on the stool in front of his shoeshine stand.

The black man lowered
The Chisum News
. “Shine, Sheriff?”

“May as well.” Cody climbed onto the stand, the chair a good four feet off the ground.

Albert stuffed Cody's pants into the tops of his boots to keep from getting polish on the cuffs and buffed the dust off with a long rag, snapping it a couple of times. He opened a drawer full of jars and cans.

The elevator returned and Jules stepped out. “Albert, I need to go outdoors while there ain't nobody around.”

He nodded and selected a can of black polish. “Go ahead on. I'll tell folks you'll be right back.”

While he blacked Cody's boots, the sheriff watched Jules pass the men's restroom. A small sign reading “colored restroom” pointed to an outside door. Beyond that were the water fountains designated “whites only” and “colored only.”

Cody thought of the little matches Jules talked about only moments before, and Jules' “here and now” opinion. He thought of King's recent murder and came to a decision. “Hold it a minute, Mr. Albert.”

The black shoeshine man raised his eyebrows. “Mr. Cody, you all right? Did I do something wrong?”

“Nope.”

Khakis still tucked in the top of his boots, Cody stepped down off the shine stand and walked across the black and white penny-tile floor to the water fountains. The signs attached to the wall had been there since he was a child, but he'd barely noticed them. He stood there a good two or three minutes while Albert waited with the brush in his hand.

Squaring his shoulders, Cody grabbed the “Colored Only” sign with both hands and yanked. The old screws pulled loose surprisingly easy.

Jules came back inside and stopped beside Albert. Shocked into statues, they watched Cody yank the “Whites Only” sign off and return to the shine stand.

He leaned the signs against the wall and climbed back into the seat and met Jules' wide eyes. “Matches, Mr. Jules. Matches.”

The old elevator operator exchanged glances with a confused shoeshine man as two secretaries came through the lobby. Jules shook his head. “I don't know if you blowed one out, or lit it, Sheriff.”

His step was lighter, though, as he ushered the ladies into the elevator.