When Will the Dead Lady Sing? (11 page)

I did take time, though, to use Cindy’s directory to call her friends, thinking maybe Tad had gone to one of them. He hadn’t. I made them promise not to alert his parents, explaining that he had camping supplies with him and promising we’d call Cindy and Walker if Tad weren’t home by the next day.

I returned to Ridd and Martha’s. Joe Riddley came back at dark, and Ridd half an hour later. We all sat on the side porch not eating much, exhausted and drained. A gentle rain had started falling. “He’s gonna get wet,” Ridd said, and sounded downright satisfied.

I understood that he was still mad at Tad for putting us through that horrendous day, but grandmothers have more patience and sympathy than parents and uncles. “I hope he doesn’t catch a cold or get bitten by a snake,” I worried aloud.

“Is Tad gonna die?” Cricket asked, looking at our long faces.

“We don’t think so, sweetheart,” Martha told him, “but nobody knows where he is.”

“God knows,” he reminded us. “Time to pray.”

I don’t know how families get through rough times without praying together. We all felt better after we’d spent time asking Tad’s third parent to take special care of him that night. But when I asked God to help Tad find a dry place to sleep if he was outdoors, Cricket interrupted, his lower lip stuck out like a plate, “You mean Tad gets to camp, and I don’t?”

“Camping without your parents can be scary, tiger,” his granddaddy reminded him.

Cricket thought that over, then closed his eyes. “Don’t let him be scared, but don’t you let him have fun without me.” That ended the prayer.

Joe Riddley stood up and headed for the phone. “It’s too early for a missing persons report, but I am gonna call Buster.” We heard him explain the situation and could tell that the sheriff was promising to alert all his deputies to watch for Tad and the horse.

It was late when Joe Riddley and I finally admitted Tad might not be coming home, and left. He gave a little laugh as he walked me to our car. “I was sitting there,” he confided softly, “wondering why those folks didn’t go home so we could go up to bed.” His voice sounded a little wistful.

“Do you miss this place?” I asked, keeping my voice down.

“Yeah,” he admitted. He turned and I knew in spite of the darkness, he could see every inch of it in his head. He pulled me close to him under one arm and spoke into my hair. “We did the right thing, Little Bit, but it’s gonna take some getting used to.”

I turned and threw my arms around his chest. “I’d rather get used to it with you than anybody else.” We stood there a minute, enjoying the closeness, then I pulled away. “This place smells awful. Let’s go home where we can breathe.”

When we got there, I had so much smoke and soot in my hair, I had to wash and dry it before bed. Phyllis wouldn’t be open again until Tuesday, and I couldn’t lay my head on the pillow reeking of smoke. As I slid in beside Joe Riddley, he murmured sleepily, “Know what? That
was
Burlin Bullock admiring your roses this morning. I ran into him at Gusta’s party. If you’d known, you could have invited him in for coffee. He’s real nice.”

I’d been enjoying the cool sheet beneath me. Now an unpleasant chill slid all the way up my body. I gave a quick little shiver. “You talked to him?”

His voice grew drowsier and drowsier. “Just for a little while. Mostly about Georgia’s football team. He was at the university when we were, but he and I never—” He slid into sleep.

I lay awake for ages, alternating between worrying about Tad and concocting reasons I could give for leaving town that week.

 

Neither of us slept well until nearly dawn, then we both slept like dead people until Ridd called at nine. “Tad’s still not back. Martha’s got to work, but I’m going out looking for him and leaving Bethany here in case he comes home. One of Walker’s associates is coming, too, to assess the damage. Can you all eat on your own?” We usually went to their house for Sunday dinner.

“We were eating on our own before you were born,” I reminded him. “We’ll go out somewhere.” Joe Riddley was still snoring beside me. He hadn’t even heard the phone. I hung up and closed my eyes, promising myself I’d snooze just one more minute. When I woke again, we barely had time to dress and sling the Sunday paper into the living room on our way to church.

In the narthex, a friend greeted me. “That was a good picture in the paper, Mac.”

“Thanks,” I told her. “We were all having a great time.” Of course, she was a little late with her compliments. It had been a couple of weeks since I’d been in the
Statesman
with a bunch of middle-school kids who were conducting a mock magistrate’s court.

The woman gave me an odd look and walked away.

Joe Riddley and I took our usual pew, with him on the center aisle. A lot of people turned around to look at us. They must have heard about the fire and wanted us to know they were sympathetic. It wasn’t our barn anymore, but it had been for thirty-five years.

I was checking my bulletin to see what the first hymn would be when I heard a light wave of whispers coming from the back. About the time it slapped the back of my neck, I heard Joe Riddley offer, “Why don’t you join us? There’s plenty of room.”

I looked up to see Burlin Bullock hesitating by our pew. I wished he were somewhere else—Outer Mongolia, for example—but figured the two of them couldn’t come to much harm in church, so I slid down. I took Joe Riddley’s arm to pull him after me, though, so Burlin had to sit on the aisle.

That was the most restless service I’ve ever attended. Maybe Burlin was used to it, being in politics all his life, but I was distracted by all that whispering and craning of necks toward our pew. In addition to praying for Tad, I added a special prayer of thanksgiving: “Thank you, Lord, for saving me from life in the political fishbowl.”

I was scared to death Joe Riddley would ask Burlin to join us for dinner and relieved when Burlin turned to Joe Riddley during the last hymn, shook his hand, and slipped out before the benediction. He had ignored me the whole service, for which I was grateful.

A lot of folks craned their necks to get a glimpse of the famous man as he left. We don’t often get worshipers who’ve appeared on national TV.

Celebrity dust must have rubbed off on us, because when Joe Riddley and I came through the doors and started down the church steps, everybody down on the sidewalk stopped talking and stood looking up at us. When they saw we’d noticed, they quickly turned away.

We stopped by the house on our way to the restaurant. My feet were still sore from the day before, and I wanted to put on some everyday shoes.

As soon as we got in the door, Joe Riddley called Ridd’s—with me standing at his elbow so I could hear. Bethany said they still hadn’t heard from Tad, but added, “Mama told Daddy that if Tad hasn’t come home by night tonight, we have to call Uncle Walker and Aunt Cindy. They may have some idea where he would have gone.”

I was ready to skip lunch and start driving around the county again, but Joe Riddley refused. “I’m starving, woman, and we both know that kid’s inherited the Crane temper from your family, just like his daddy did. But Tad’s also got common sense. He’s either hiding with a friend whom he’s sworn to secrecy, or he’s loitering on Ridd’s property somewhere waiting to build up his courage to come back home.” He pulled me close to him. “And I promise you, Little Bit, if he’s not back by nightfall, Buster will start combing this county inch by inch, and Ridd and I will be right beside him.”

Satisfied with that, I hurried down the hall to switch my shoes.

I heard Joe Riddley opening the newspaper in the living room. Next thing I knew he was slamming it down on our bed. “And I thought he was different. Those politicians will say anything to get elected. Look at that.”

I stared down into the faces of Lance Bullock, Burlin Bullock, and MacLaren Yarbrough, close together in a huddle. Burlin had his arms draped around both our shoulders, and we were obviously having a great time. Numb, I assessed the damage.

Front page, center of the page, picture four inches square. The headline read “Unexpected Ally” and the caption said
Burlin and Lance Bullock share a private moment with Burlin’s college sweetheart, Judge MacLaren Yarbrough.

I couldn’t read the rest right then. My eyes were too blurry with tears. How could Burlin do that to me? Now I’d have to tell Joe Riddley.

I was trying to get my voice to work when he growled in disgust, “Dangnabit, I thought I’d finally met an honest politician, but if Bullock would make up a story like that just because we were all on the campus at the same time—” He shook his head and stomped back down the hall.

I couldn’t face anybody after that, so I pulled out the week’s leftovers and set a microwave buffet out on the counter. We each filled a plate and heated it up, but I wasn’t really hungry and Joe Riddley isn’t fond of leftovers. He looked at his plate, bowed his head, and said, “Lord, you’ve already been thanked for all of this once, so I just thank you that we had enough before to serve it twice. Amen.”

While we were eating we got three calls from excited friends wanting to say they’d seen my picture in the Atlanta paper, the Macon paper, and the Savannah paper. Joe Riddley put the dishes in the dishwasher while I took the third call. I hung up and told him, “This is the most embarrassing thing that’s happened to me since I tripped at Gusta’s wedding because she ordered my dress too long.” My voice wobbled and angry tears streamed down my cheeks. “And you know what? This is Gusta’s fault, too. If she hadn’t thrown that dumb party—”

He pulled me to him. “It’s gonna be all right, honey. The Bullocks will leave in a day or two, and you know how quickly folks forget. Just watch your step while they’re in town. I know I keep telling you to keep up with politics, but that doesn’t mean you need to jump in whole hog.” He gave me a little squeeze. “And don’t be too hard on Gusta. She’s probably hopping mad that you got your picture in the paper with the Bullocks and she didn’t.”

He reached for his cap. “I’m going down to Ridd’s to see if we can think of someplace we haven’t looked for the boy. Why don’t you take a nap? Ignore the phone.” He knew as well as I did that I couldn’t ignore the phone. Tad might call, or a deputy needing me down at the jail.

National news must have been slow that day, and Burlin was news anytime. During the afternoon, I talked to people from all over the country who called to say my face was on their front page. My brother in Montgomery suggested I sue somebody for libel. A woman I’d met at our church’s general assembly called all the way from Albuquerque to gush, “I hadn’t realized you were Burlin Bullock’s wife. It’s an excellent likeness of you, and your husband is a real handsome man. Is Lance your older or younger son?” I told her what I’d told everybody—that it was a big mistake—but she asked, “Would your family like to have this clipping? I don’t have your address.”

I hung up and went outside to spray my roses. Killing Japanese beetles and black spot fit my mood. Wouldn’t you know I’d step in a lump of buffalo doo? A fitting comment on the day.

 

About five that afternoon, Martha and Cricket showed up. “You ready to walk?” she asked. “Ridd and Pop are putting up a new shed for the lawn mowers, but I can’t stand the smell of smoke for one more instant.” We both knew she also couldn’t stand waiting at home for Tad.

I checked my watch. Two hours until Joe Riddley and Buster would start looking for the boy. “I’d rather go to Myrtle’s,” I said. Martha and I are old pie buddies, and if there was anything guaranteed to make time pass and me feel better, it was chocolate pie with three-inch meringue at Myrtle’s Restaurant.

“Myrtle’s, Myrtle’s.” Cricket seconded my motion by jumping up and down.

“You know that’s why we’re in the shape we’re in,” Martha reminded me.

“Yeah, but today, honey, I need all the support I can get.”

“Me, too,” she agreed. “And we can at least walk over there.”

“Did you see today’s paper?” I asked as we headed that way, trying to sound casual.

“Haven’t had time,” she replied.

“We had a big fire down at our place,” Cricket informed me. “We nearly all got burnt up.”

“I was there,” I reminded him. “I asked about the paper,” I continued to Martha in a low voice, “only because there was a stupid picture of me in it taken at Gusta’s party, so folks may look at me funny.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “With you and you-know-who?” When I nodded, she grinned. “I’ll have to go home and look. My mother-in-law the celebrity.”

“Your mother-in-law the fool.”

We ambled along listening to Cricket chatter and talking of this and that. When we were almost at Myrtle’s, Cricket suddenly pointed. “Look! There’s Mr. Spence with a
woman!
”

Hubert came down the sidewalk looking real natty in tan linen slacks and a short-sleeved blue shirt. Holding his arm, Abigail was plain but neat in khaki pants, a white knit top, and a navy cotton sweater tied around her shoulders by its sleeves. Hubert held the door like she was royalty.

“Gusta and Pooh must be conducting good manners and hygiene classes,” I murmured to Martha. “Shall I send Joe Riddley down for a few sessions?” She gave a gurgling laugh, then broke off to exclaim, “Half the town must be here today. I hope we get a table.” Hubert and Abigail were still waiting near the front.

As we got inside, Cricket beamed up at me. “You’re famous, Me-mama. Everybody stopped talking when they saw you come in.”

Georgia Bullock sat at a corner table with her husband, looking like a Southwestern belle in tan jeans, a turquoise-and-tan shirt, and several pieces of silver-and-turquoise jewelry. She stood as soon as she saw me and came toward us with both hands outstretched. “Oh, Mackie.” Her voice carried all over the room. “I was just sick about that awful picture in today’s paper.”

Anybody who hadn’t already seen it was sure to scurry off and find one. Down in front of me, Little Big Ears was staring up and demanding in a voice that carried at least as well as Georgia’s, “Why does that lady call you ‘Mackie,’ Me-mama?” He informed Georgia, “Her name is Little Bit.” Georgia laughed, then turned to speak to Abigail.