Unspeakable (34 page)

He had no idea how much of what he was saying she understood. Her parents had opted not to place her in classes for deaf children, but to enroll her in the Blewer school district, where she had attended regular classes with an interpreter. Ezzy had heard that she was as smart as a whip and that her only handicap was that she couldn't hear.

He had no experience with the hearing-impaired beyond watching the man in the First Baptist Church sign the Sunday morning services for the group of deaf people who came from several Protestant congregations in the county. Ezzy especially liked to watch them sign the songs. They looked prettier signed than they sounded coming from the choir. And sometimes watching the sign language made the preaching seem to go faster.

Best he could tell, deaf people were just like everybody else, so he couldn't really account for feeling so awkward as he stood in the entry hall of Anna Corbett's house. He didn't know if his discomfiture had to do with the situation or her handicap.

Maybe the former, because duties such as this usually fell to Cora. He had helped scrape up countless blood smears on the highway and zipped what remained of a Henry, or Joe, or Suzy—

somebody's loved one—into a body bag. He had notified their next of kin. There his responsibility ended—when the official duty was performed. That was when Cora took over. She upheld their social obligations and attended the funerals.

When told of Delray's passing earlier today, she had asked, "Was there a good turnout at his funeral?"

"I didn't go."

"Why not? Did you at least take something?"

"Take something?" he repeated stupidly.

He'd only mentioned Delray Corbett's death to fill the chilly silence between their two telephones. He had used it as an excuse to call her, when all he had really wanted was to hear her voice and, if the mood was right, to ask her please to come home. She had seized on the opportunity to talk about something other than their separation.

"For goodness' sake, Ezzy, you've got to take something."

"It's not like Delray was a bosom buddy, Cora. Not even a close acquaintance."

"But we've known that man practically our whole lives. And now that poor girl has to raise her son all by herself. I doubt if anybody has offered to help her because the gossip about her and Delray has been so vile. Some women, even in my circle who profess to be Christians, can be downright vicious."

"What gossip?"

"Good Lord, Ezzy! Didn't you ever bring your head up out of that McCorkle case long enough to take a look at what was going on around you?"

"Maybe I heard and just forgot. I don't usually pay attention to gossip," he said, trying to sound just a shade self-righteous and superior.

"I swear," Cora said with a long-suffering sigh. "There's been talk for years."

"That they...?"

"Yes. That after Dean died their relationship changed and became closer than it should have been. But I don't see that it's any of my business. Whether they slept together or not, she's lost him. You've got to take something."

Ezzy was dumbfounded by the rumor. Delray Corbett and his daughter-in-law? Not just living under the same roof, but sleeping under the same covers? Had Delray been capable of passion?

Was romance possible with someone so cold and standoffish, so rigid and stern?

"Hell, I can't imagine Delray taking off his clothes to shower, much less getting naked and nasty with a woman."

"Are you trying to provoke me, Ezra?"

"No." Yes.

Another vexed sigh. "I store the funeral food on the right side of the freezer chest."

"The what?"

He'd had no idea that Cora was so well prepared for any catastrophe that might befall their friends and neighbors. After they hung up—without his having mentioned a reconciliation—he'd gone to the freezer chest in the utility room and on the right side found several sealed casserole dishes labeled as to contents, the number of people they would serve, and heating instructions. Anna Corbett was holding one now. "Once it thaws completely," he said, "just heat it up for about thirty minutes at three fifty. You understand?" he asked dubiously. Nodding, she turned away to set the cold, wet dish on the hall table, then wiped the condensation on the seat of her blue jeans. As she did, Ezzy noticed what a nice shape she had. He tried to keep his eyes above her neckline, because he suspected she wasn't wearing a brassiere. Maybe that accounted for her apparent nervousness. She kept tugging on the bottom of her T-shirt, rubbing her palms together, and rolling her lips inward like she was embarrassed, like she had been caught unprepared to receive company.

Yeah, she was a pretty little thing. But when he thought about her and Delray going at it in bed, he just flat couldn't picture it. Even on a lonely, cold, winter night, he couldn't see Delray snuggling against anybody. The gossips were wrong about this one. Or he was no judge of character.

"Well, I best get on my way, Mrs. Corbett. You need anything?" She shook her head.

"If you think of something, just call." Wondering if he'd made a horrible gaffe, he asked, "Can you call somebody?"

She nodded vigorously.

"Okay, then. Good. You tell whoever you contact that I'm available if there's anything I can do." Nodding again, she opened the door for him. He stepped out onto the porch, but was reluctant to leave. He didn't want to frighten her, but he felt compelled nevertheless to mention the Herbolds. He turned. "Mrs. Corbett, I heard about Cecil Herbold's visit the other day. Did he threaten you or your boy?"

She shook her head and mouthed no. "I don't know how much news you've heard—what with the funeral and all—but he and Carl linked up and robbed a bank. They're still at large. Did you know about that?"

She nodded yes.

"I'm surprised nobody's out here guarding your place."

She held up her finger indicating for him to wait and ducked back inside. When she returned she was writing on a small tablet. She turned it to him. He read, "The authorities offered to guard the house, but Delray turned them down."

"Maybe you ought to think twice."

She wrote, "I'm not afraid. This is the last place they would come."

"You're probably right," Ezzy told her, although he didn't necessarily believe it. It had been his experience that criminals often gravitated to friends and family. The hotter their trail, the more likely you'd find them making their way back to a familiar place, one they called home. If she were his kin, he wouldn't let her stay out here all alone even if she had her hearing. But he had no authority, either professional or personally, to insist. So he said, "You see anything, you call somebody. Pronto. You understand? You've got your boy to worry about." She smiled at him, writing, "We'll be fine. Jack's here."

"Jack?"

She nodded toward the barn. Ezzy turned and saw a man sliding the barn door closed. He appeared to lock it, then struck off toward a trailer parked about a hundred yards from the house, his long stride eating up the distance between the two buildings.

"Oh, yeah, your ranch hand," he said more to himself than to Anna. He remembered Delray introducing him at the Dairy Queen, a man wearing a cowboy hat and slouched in the corner of the booth. Polite fellow. Much leaner, younger, and stronger than Delray. The type that made women go all aflutter.

Ezzy cleared his throat as he came back around to Anna. "Pardon me for asking, Mrs. Corbett, but do you feel, uh, comfortable being out here alone with a man who's worked for you such a short time? Do you trust him?"

She bobbed her head, leaving no room for doubt.

Ezzy wondered if the guy was that trustworthy, or if she were just naive, or if the gossips were right. For all he knew, the young widow was a hot number who'd worn of Delray plumb out until he finally succumbed, and now had plans for the hired hand to take his place. To Ezzy, she didn't look the type, but, God knew, he'd been wrong before.

CHAPTER THIRTY–FOUR

T
hey came early, shortly after daybreak, two of them.

Their tight-fitting uniforms were brown. Their boots were spit-polished. Wide-brimmed cowboy hats and mirrored sunglasses obscured their faces except for the grim, unsmiling lips.

"Mr. Sawyer?"

Jack had heard their car and had stopped his work to watch them approach. "Yeah?" He leaned on the handle of the shovel he'd been using to dig a hole for a new support post for the feed trough in the corral.

Already the day was stifling hot and he was dripping perspiration. But when he reached toward his back pocket for a handkerchief to blot up sweat, the two lawmen tensed. One even dropped his hand to the six-shooter strapped to his hip. Jack pretended not to see the precaution. He shook out the handkerchief and used it to wipe his face. "What can I do for you gentlemen?"

"We're from the Blewer County sheriff's office."

"Uh-huh."

"Came to ask you a few questions."

"About what?"

"Heard that Mr. Corbett—the late Mr. Corbett—had some cattle poisoned last week."

"I was with him when he found them," Jack said. "Three of them. Two more died the next day."

"Common enough poison, Dr. Andersen said." The deputy shifted his wad of tobacco from one cheek to the other. "Over-the-counter stuff. Nothing fancy. Easily obtainable. But in the right hands strong enough to do some damage."

"The sheriff's office is investigating?"

"That bother you, Mr. Sawyer?"

"No. I advised Delray to report it. He thought otherwise."

"Anybody hear you advise him?"

"We were alone."

"Hmm."

"How come, do you suppose, that out of all the cattle ranches around here, Corbett's was the only one hit?"

"I don't know."

"Give it a shot."

Jack propped the shovel against the trough he'd been repairing. "My guess would be that someone had a grudge against Delray."

"Like who, for instance?"

"I'm not from around here, and haven't been here long."

"So you wouldn't have any idea?"

Jack said nothing.

Eyeing him suspiciously, the younger of the two hiked up his holster. "Well, we weren't investigating until yesterday. Corbett didn't bring us in. We wouldn't have even known about it. except that somebody brought it to our attention. A concerned party. So we called the vet and he gave us the skinny."

Jack divided a. puzzled look between them, although he wasn't puzzled at all. He knew why they were here. Sheriff's deputies didn't pay courtesy calls this early in the morning. "And?"

"And"—the tobacco-chewer paused to spit—"we'd like for you to come on back to town with us so we can talk about it some more."

"Am I a suspect?"

"You and everybody else."

"But I'm the one you're arresting."

"We're not calling it an arrest."

"Then what are you calling it?"

"We'd just appreciate your cooperation, is all."

"But I'd feel better if you'd unstrap that knife and hand it over," his partner added. Moving carefully, Jack unsnapped the scabbard and detached it from his belt. One of the deputies stepped forward and took it from him. Jack said, "You're making a mistake."

"Maybe, but all the same you're coming with us, Mr. Sawyer."

"Can I drive my own truck?"

"We've got plenty of room for you to ride with us."

"Please. One of you can ride with me. I'd just like to have my own truck, so that after this is cleared up, I won't have to trouble you to bring me all the way back." They exchanged glances. The older, larger one with the chaw nodded. "Okay. I'll ride with you." The most humiliating part wasn't being escorted off the property with two all-business sheriff's deputies flanking him. It was having Anna witness it from the front porch. "Did you speak with Mrs. Corbett?" Jack asked as they approached the front of the house and he saw her watching solemnly.

"We told her why we were here, yeah. I'm not sure she got it."

"She got it," Jack said testily. Looking up at her, he said, "I didn't do it, Anna. Swear to God, I didn't."

But she looked wounded, disillusioned, her eyes bleak and vulnerable. They'd haunt his dreams for years, those eyes.

"Jack?"

David came through the front door. Jack had been thankful that at least David wasn't seeing this. It was bad enough having to face Anna. But Fate was a hateful bastard. David was there now, barefoot, his belly button poking out from beneath the top of his Spider-Man pajamas, looking sleepy and sweet and apprehensive as his eyes moved from the patrol car to the unsmiling men standing on either side of Jack.

A few weeks ago, Jack probably would have pretended not to see or hear him. He would have turned away without acknowledging him. After all, what was David to him? Nothing. But he couldn't do it. Not now. He remembered how it felt to have his trust betrayed by a person he wanted badly to love. He remembered how it had wrenched his young heart to watch his father turn his back and walk away, not knowing when he would return. Or if he would. Even as he smiled up at David, Jack cursed the Corbetts for resurrecting those painful memories, for making him feel them again.