Witch Ball (13 page)

"I do. I did. I know because it came back to me two times. I lost my baby, and still I hated Ruby. She died. Then Mama died. That was my punishment. Killing Ruby killed my baby, and my mother, too!"

 

 

 

 

 

 

E
vidently my mom's guilt had haunted her for a very long time. She genuinely believed that she had murdered Ruby. Fleur may have been wrapped up in her own problems, but she was driven to help Mom.

"We are going into Friendship Cemetery to cleanse our karma and ask the dead for forgiveness," she told us.

"I'm not convinced that that's a good idea," Mom protested. "There is so much gossip about you being a witch. What if someone sees us? How will that look?"

"We must stop worrying about what the citizens of this little speck of a place think." Fleur waved her hands in the air, rattling her bracelets. "We will go this evening just at twilight, when the world is slightly cooler."

That evening we walked into the cemetery with a bouquet of lilies. Fleur held a basket covered with a white cloth. Mom and I didn't know what to expect. We walked directly to Grandma Belle's grave. I realized that both Mom and Fleur had been there many times.

The words "Annabelle Thomas, beloved wife of Hyrum, dear mother of Kay" were carved into the marble in a curly script. There was a border of forget-me-nots framing the words, and the dates of her birth and death.

We were all surprised to discover fresh white roses placed on it. They must have been there less than an hour, because any longer and the summer heat would have left them wilted and lifeless.

A few feet away was another grave with roses
, deep red, that had been laid in front of the headstone. I walked over and read the marker: "Ruby Alexander
—
Our Angel In Heaven" was etched into the creamy stone. This one was smaller than my grandma's, simple and elegant.

We looked at each other for a moment without speaking. Finally, I said, "Maybe Eric's dad put them there."

"Why would he put flowers on my mama's grave?" said Mom.

There was no explanation.

Fleur spread the white cloth on the ground. She brought out oatmeal cookies and a bottle of sherry. After we ate our snack, she placed three white candles on Grandma Belle's headstone, and lit them.

"Kay," she said, "ask your mother for forgiveness. She is listening."

"I don't know how."

"Just use your own words. There is no wrong way to do this."

"Mama," she started very slowly, her voice small and weak, "I am so very sorry that I killed you. I never meant to. I miss you more than I ever thought possible." Her voice got a little stronger. "I've tried to be a good mother to Gertrude, like you were to me. I know I made mistakes."

"Now tell her you will see her again," Fleur coaxed.

"We will be together again," Mom said. The flames of the candles flickered. Above our heads, a squirrel clucked and chirped. He sounded happy.

"Do you think that will reach her?" Mom turned to Fleur.

"I know that it already has," she answered. "But we should acknowledge Ruby as well."

We all turned to look at the grave with crimson roses placed against the cool marble headstone.

Fleur put three fresh white candles on her stone, scaring away a brilliant cardinal. When she lit them, Mom said, "Ruby, I am so sorry that I hated you. I will never be able to make amends for taking your life. I deprived you of the precious years watching your son grow. Can you ever forgive me?"

"That's all," said Fleur. "You don't need to do anything else."

"How will I know it worked?" Mom wanted some assurance.

"Because spirits in heaven don't hold grudges.
They forgave you a long time ago. Besides," Fleur added, "you didn't kill them. It was their fate to go when they did. That is pre-ordained, long before we are born."

She passed around the plate of cookies, and we ate in the beautiful serenity of the graveyard.

"Fleur," I said," have you ever seen a ghost?"

"Only one or two," she answered, "because I am still too closely connected to the Earth. Most people don't start seeing them until it is time to make their transition."

"What do you mean?" Both Mom and I perked up.

"Well, right before you die, your loved ones come to get you. They help you move through the veil."

"I guess that makes sense," Mom said. "The closer Mama got to death, the more she started talking about her parents. It was more like talking
to
them rather than
about
them."

"That's exactly what I mean." Fleur had only taken one small nibble on her cookie. She crushed the rest of it and tossed the bits into the grass a few feet away. It wasn't long before a robin and a starling dropped from a Magnolia's low branches and began pecking at the crumbs. They shared the morsels without a fuss. "Belle's parents were probably with her. You couldn't see them, but she could."

"She certainly acted like she was seeing them," Mom said. "She kept saying something about 'Daddy'—my daddy, not hers. Maybe they were giving her some sort of advice. Around that time, I think she softened toward him. They had been at war for years, then, suddenly, there was a truce. They began speaking to each other again. You could detect gentleness in their tone."

"So they made up?" I said.

"I guess so. But, Truly, it hardly mattered. She died only a few weeks later." Mom looked so sad. She smiled weakly at the headstone. The candles had burned down and melted wax dripped over Grandma's name and dates.

"Don't be so sad, Kay," Fleur said. "There is no real death, just a big change. We escape from the body, like flight from imprisonment. Anyway, they are still around us. Love doesn't die."

"That makes me feel better."

"Even little animals stay around us. I am sure they all go to heaven, but Michael
-Ray comes back to visit. I feel him rub against my legs, and I am quite sure that Jimmy-James talks to him as well. I recognize the distinct meow he used when they played together, so different from when they were hungry, or chasing a chameleon."

Shadows lengthened. Crickets near the
water began their courting call-and-response. We saw a policeman making his last rounds to clear out the cemetery before locking the gates for the night.

"Aunt Fleur, maybe we should ask him what's happening with the murder investigation. And if they have any leads on who killed Michael Ray."

She appeared to find this amusing. "Not a good idea," she said, as she returned our snack things to the basket.

Right before we left, Mom kissed her fingers then touched her mama's headstone.

 

 

 

 

 

 

I
t was beginning to look like school would start with Coach's murder still hanging over the city. Parents threatened to keep their children from participating in extracurricular activities. Most mothers work these days. This means that they might be late for after-school pick-up. Everyone was terrified of what could happen if the kids had to wait alone after football or cheerleading practice.

The City Council meetings in August were filled with contentious attacks on the mayor and council members. Petitions circulated in an attempt to remove the current office-holders. Everyone knew that that was pointless. Once someone gets on the City Council, they are impossible to unseat. There are no term limits.

Columbus Police Chief Roger Gordon gave a press conference stating that the murder was a rare occurrence, the first in years. It was unlikely to happen again. Mayor Perkins stood stoically behind the Chief as he spoke. When the meeting was broadcast on local TV, they both appeared stiff and uncomfortable. Many people took that as a sign that they were without any leads, and fearful of the voters' anger.

Maybe the police department was giving up, but
The Packet
didn't let it rest. They follow the crime beat, and this was the biggest story in memory. Residents around the coach's Northside "clubhouse" were interviewed again and again. They were encouraged to try to remember anything strange about the night of the murder.

Most people didn't want to talk to the media, especially to
that
paper, known as "The National Inquirer of Columbus." However, one woman, Mrs. Miller, who lived across the street, said she saw a group of boys go in around 11:30 or 12:00 that night, maybe a bit later. "Of course, that's not at all unusual," she was quoted as saying to
The Packet's
reporter. "Boys come and go at all hours."

"What made you notice?" the reporter asked. "Is there anything else you remember?"

"I had missed the 10:00 p.m. news, and was trying to stay awake for the rebroadcast at 1:00 a.m. I was drinking sweet tea to stay awake, so I had to get up to go to the bathroom several times. I kept looking out the picture window in front. Because there seemed to be a lot of activity that night, headlights flashing on and off, more noise than usual."

"Did you recognize anyone?
A familiar car?"
The Packet's
story contained every detail. They are known for including absurd points that interest no one. (My Dad says he thinks the reporters get paid by the word.)

"Yeah, I know most of the kids' cars. They are usually beat up. Earlier I had seen a nicer truck, but it wasn't there long, so it could have been at the house next door."

"Do you remember the color of the truck?"

"I don' know.
Light, I think—white, silver; somethin' like that."

"What about the noise?"

"That was later. Some boys, three or four, showed up. They came out of the house real quick-like. I noticed how fast they piled into the car. I remember chuckling. That house is supposed to have ghosts in it. They ran like they'd seen a haunt."

"Can you remember what the boys looked like?"

"It was dark. I went back to the TV; didn't want to miss the news again."

The Packet
published a photo of Mrs. Miller peeking through the flowered curtains of her front window. There was a picture of the Coach's house, too. They must have snapped the picture just as the sun was setting. It looked lonely and spooky, with jagged shadows under the bushes and crossing the lawn.

 

 

 

 

 

 

M
uch to my surprise, Eric phoned me several times during the next few days. I had decided that I couldn't be friends with someone who hated Aunt Fleur, so I'd been avoiding him the same way he had stayed away from me earlier in the summer.

When I finally chose to speak to him, he asked to meet me by the river. His voice was shaky, childlike. I felt that there was something that he had to say. I also felt some remorse, more than I cared to admit. After all, I had worked a spell to make him like me. Now, I wanted nothing to do with him. I was beginning to see how painful dating could be.

Eric was sitting on a bench facing the water. He handed me a tall paper cup from the coffee house. It was frozen mocha, light and creamy, with slivers of crushed ice.

"Truly, I've been thinking about you a lot. School will start in a couple of weeks. We probably won't be seeing each other much. This may be my last chance to talk to you." He ran his finger in circles in the cup's sweat.

"Go ahead." I was curious to hear this, hoping
and
fearing that he might finally have something personal to say. It was too late now to have a romantic relationship. For some reason, I needed to hear that he had felt something for me.

"I guess you can figure out why I was so
creeped out by your aunt."

"I suppose that in some way she must have reminded you of Coach Russell."

"And those weirdo friends..."

I started to defend them but decided to keep my mouth shut.

"Truly, remember when we went to the movie?" How could I forget? "Well, that night, I had something else to do. I took you home early because I was going to meet some guys, old friends from the track team."

"That's nice." I didn't really care.

"We were scoping out the Huddle House parking lot to check out the freaks who hang out there late at night. But I saw your aunt, and I just ran away."

"Eric, this is a very small town. Naturally we run into people we recognize."

"Yeah, well I ran away that time. But not the next time. After Coach's death, I was so enraged..."

"Enraged? I thought you hated him?"

"I hated him. But that doesn't mean I could kill him!" He threw his empty cup with a force that landed it several feet from the shore. We watched it slowly fill with water and sink into the muddy river.

"It was horrible! His face was purple. His eyes were open. I'll remember that face as long as I live!"

"Eric, what are you saying?! No one saw Coach's body except the police. How could you have seen him?"

"I can't keep that secret anymore. I saw the body."

Suddenly, I was frightened. The murderer had to see Coach. Could I be sitting next to a murderer?

"After Skip killed himself, things changed. That night, after we went to the movie, Greg and Butch and I went to confront Coach. I don't know what we were going to do. Try to make him stop hurting guys, I guess."

My stomach churned. The coffee felt like a storm deep inside me. 

"He was already dead when we found him, so we just got out of there as fast as we could."

It was beginning to make sense. He might be telling the truth. Mrs. Miller said some boys had run out of the house in a hurry. They probably didn't have time to kill him.

"Why didn't you say anything? Or go to the police?"

"We were scared." He no longer looked handsome to me.

"Maybe you could have helped. Anyway, everyone knows that old lady across the street saw some boys come and go that night. What if she can identify you?"