Who Let That Killer in the House?

by Patricia Sprinkle

  “I wouldn’t be alone. I’d be with Hollis.”

  I spoke before I thought. “Better Hollis than Todd.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “He is such a scumbag. Don’t ever mention his name to me again.” It might not be too long before she’d be mature enough to drive to California, after all.

  We generally went to church supper on Wednesdays, but that night I decided to let Joe Riddley go alone. We’d have had to take two cars anyway, because he had a meeting and wanted to drop by Ridd’s afterwards to discuss some business. Martha would later say my decision to stay home was me hearing and obeying the voice of God, but the truth was, I was too tuckered out to even listen. I just wanted an evening by myself.

  This was the lightest week of the year, so the sun didn’t go down until after eight. I wanted to putter around in the yard while the long evening lasted, but the gnats got bad, so after I’d had a little bite to eat, I sat in my rocker on our screened side porch and watched the moon come up, fat and full.

  “I don’t want DeWayne’s killer to be poor Art,” I told the Boss Upstairs, “but I can’t think of who else it could be, except Smitty. You’ve told us to pray for our enemies, and Smitty’s the closest thing I’ve got right now, so I’ll ask you to bless him and stop him doing any more harm around here. That’s the best I can do. If he’s responsible for all this mess that’s been happening, please let that be found out. If he’s not, please help Ike”—I had to make myself say the next part—“or Charlie find the right person. If there’s something I can do to help, I’m here.”

  If you think that’s not a proper prayer, you do it your way and I’ll do it mine.

  I truly believe God holds the world in loving hands and that we can trust things to work out for good ultimately. But in tough times, I have to line myself up with that polestar called faith time and time again. Comforted, I took a good, deep breath and settled back to watch the fireflies and listen to the crickets. I couldn’t hear a single sound of civilization except the soft whir of our refrigerator. I took another deep breath, sorting out the smells of Joe Riddley’s new-mown grass, honeysuckle over by the barn, and my gardenias beside the back door. For a little while, I stopped thinking about the awful things that had happened and let my mind drift. I may have even dozed, because the next thing I knew, the dogs were barking and I heard a car coming down our road.

  Since we’re at the end of the road, except for Ridd’s fields, our ears perk and our dogs bark at the sound of tires. My watch said nine-thirty, so I didn’t think it was Joe Riddley already. It could be company coming, but there were several other alternatives. Folks with cars too old to fix or trade often decide to abandon them on other people’s property. We’ve had a number of them over the years, and invariably we spend a lot of time tracing the owners or pay good money to have them towed away. Or it might be a courting couple, uninformed about Joe Riddley’s reputation for sneaking up on parked kids with a big flashlight. It could even be somebody coming to look at Hubert’s house, although I’d never known a Realtor to show a house in the dark.

  When I heard the engine stop somewhere between Hubert’s and our house (you get good at judging those things when you’ve lived down a gravel road as long as we had), I was truly puzzled, so I went upstairs and peered out across Hubert’s watermelon patch. I saw headlights switch off up near the pasture and a flash of light as a car door opened, then something long and white got out.

  We don’t have many ghosts in Hopemore. If this was a real one, I didn’t want to miss a chance to see it. If it wasn’t, I didn’t want anybody hunting in the little plantation of pines we had put in for pulpwood, or messing with Hubert’s cow pond. Hubert had stocked it with fish a couple of years ago, and occasionally one of my sons or grandchildren got the urge to sit on the grass for an afternoon and catch my supper. Even a prankster with a gallon of liquid soap could make things real unpleasant.

  The full moon bathed the whole world in soft white light, drawing me outside anyway, so I decided to go investigate. And in case you’re thinking I am one of those disgusting women in books and shows who foolishly climb unlit steps into towers, tiptoe into dark cellars, or otherwise go stupidly into danger, let me assure you I was going armed with a flashlight and a cell phone, and was taking with me a three-legged beagle who was well able to protect me from anything on two.

  Furthermore, I’d stay well back. I just wanted to see who it was and what they were up to. Remember, I knew almost everybody in Hope County at least by sight. More important, since Joe Riddley had been a magistrate for thirty years and I was one now, everybody knew who I was. If this was kids up to tricks, I’d send them home with a stern warning. If it were anything more dangerous, I’d hightail it back down the road and call the sheriff. I just didn’t want to call out the troops for something silly.

  I heard another car stop as I snapped on Lulu’s leash. I tied a dish towel around her muzzle so she wouldn’t bark in case I surprised a courting couple and wanted to make a quick, silent getaway. That didn’t please her much, but she always enjoys a walk. I also stopped by the kitchen closet to put on my garden shoes. I had on my house slippers and didn’t want sharp gravel bruising my feet.

  It was a pleasant night for a walk—or fishing. It was entirely possible I would find Hubert and a couple of his cronies on the banks of the pond. The sky looked taller, somehow, in the bright moonlight, and shadows spread a lovely leafy carpet on the road. Night birds sounded downright friendly as we passed. Lulu whined when I wouldn’t let her investigate rustles in the undergrowth, but I knew the rabbits and squirrels were grateful. It was too nice a night for anything to feel hunted.

  I was surprised to reach the pasture and recognize Sara Meg’s silver SUV. I wondered again where she had found money for that vehicle. Had Fred left her more than she’d let on? More important, what was Sara Meg doing in Hubert’s pasture? Or had Hollis brought Bethany down to fish? Martha said Hollis drove that car more often than Sara Meg did.

  Behind the SUV was the old jalopy I recognized as Art Franklin’s. Were he and Garnet meeting by the pond in the moonlight? I didn’t want to bother them, but if Art had murdered DeWayne, was Garnet safe?

  I was still standing in the road trying to decide what to do when I heard a sharp cry.

  Lulu strained at her leash, whining, so I bunched up my skirt and managed to get between two strands of the barbed-wire fence without doing permanent damage to my clothes or my skin. That dratted dog, of course, slid under the bottom strand, so we had to spend a minute disentangling her leash.

  The pasture was awash in moonlight as I climbed a slight rise toward the pond. A lanky form weaved back and forth across the uneven grass, straight at me, flapping its hands and crying, “Help! Oh, help her!”

  Lulu growled deep in her throat. I bent and released her dish towel, and she gave a short volley of barks, then jerked the leash from my hand and ran toward the pond in full bay. Down at our place, Joe Riddley’s hunting dogs added three-part harmony from their pen.

  “Help her! Oh, please, help her. I can’t swim!” Art Franklin grabbed my arm and pulled me toward a little dock Hubert had built when he’d stocked the pond with fish. Just beyond it, I saw a widening set of gentle circles. Lulu danced on the edge of the water, urging me on.

  Nobody swam in that pond. It wasn’t but five-and-a-half feet deep in the middle and had been well manured for years by cows.

  I clearly remembered that last fact as I dropped my skirt and kicked off my shoes. To my dying day, I will consider running into that filthy water one of the bravest things I’ve ever done.

  Near the middle, right at the end of the dock, my feet landed on something soft. I was over my head by then and so startled that I opened my mouth. Gagging and coughing, I bobbed to the surface. Only willpower and terror enabled me to take a deep breath and dive back under. Of course, the bottom of the pond wasn’t far. If I’d stood on tiptoes and raised my arms, my elbows would have been out of the water. Instead, I groped
with both hands and found something soft and silky. Hair. I grabbed it and yanked, rose to the surface for air and hauled with all my might.

  Garnet Stanton’s pale face rose to meet the moonlight.

  I let go of her hair and grabbed her shoulders awkwardly,

  wishing I’d taken that Red Cross lifesaving course with Joe Riddley back when we built our pool. At least I was smart enough to head straight to shore. “Come help me,” I yelled to Art. “It’s not deep.” My feet were already touching bottom. He splashed in toward me and took her other side. Together, we walked up the shallow slope, letting the water take most of Garnet’s weight.

  Getting her up the muddy bank was harder. She might look like a ghost, but waterlogged and limp, she weighed more than marble. Art mostly got in the way, he was so hysterical.

  “Do you know CPR?” I gasped when we reached the grass.

  “No, ma’am. Is she going to die?” He looked like a specter himself, he was so pale.

  “Grab my cell phone and call 911,” I gasped, nodding toward it. I rolled Garnet over so she was facedown and hoped that was right. Lulu danced around, encouraging me with sharp little barks.

  I straddled Garnet’s slender back and started pushing hard on her shoulders like I’d seen folks do in movies, and all the time I was praying over and over, “Help, God. Don’t let her die.”

  “Get up, Little Bit. She can’t breathe with you sitting on her.” Joe Riddley took five years off my life, coming up behind me like that. He put a hand on my shoulder and shoved me away. Then he knelt over her and began to pump her back with strong even strokes.

  I’d never been so glad to see him, but I wasn’t going to let him know it, not after that rude remark. “How did you know I was here?” I asked, squatting back on my heels.

  “I was riding with my windows down and heard Lulu’s serenade, and then I saw the cars.” He kept pumping, but Garnet didn’t move. Art hovered over us, wringing his hands.

  I saw now why I’d thought Garnet was a ghost. She wore a long white gown with short puffy sleeves. She’d have looked like a Victorian princess if the gown hadn’t been rusty red from the muddy water.

  Across the fields I heard the ambulance start its wail over at the hospital. As it came nearer, I prayed while Joe Riddley pumped.

  “Go . . . show them . . . the way.” He sounded absolutely exhausted, and I saw in his eyes that he was afraid we were going to lose her.

  I shoved damp feet into muddy shoes and ran, tugging my skirt over my head. I wasn’t about to greet anybody in a muddy slip if I could help it.

  Finally, as I brought the technicians over the little hill between the pond and the road, Garnet moaned and threw up like she’d swallowed half the pond. The technicians ran toward her and took over so efficiently, I was proud to know them.

  Joe Riddley pulled Art away when they strapped her to a stretcher, or I think he’d have gotten on it with her. As the techs headed back across the pasture, I walked beside her, saying dumb things like, “You’re going to be all right, honey. You’re going to be all right.” She gave no sign that she heard. Or maybe she didn’t believe things were going to be all right.

  Only once did she open her eyes. When she saw Art hovering over her, she moaned, closed her eyes and lay as still as a sodden Sleeping Beauty who’d rejected her prince. Joe Riddley gave the information the technicians required while Garnet lay like alabaster in the moonlight. As they lifted her stretcher and slid it into the truck, Art begged, “Will she be okay?”

  “Can’t tell yet,” said one, heading for the driver’s seat.

  “She took in a lot of water,” said the other, running for his seat.

  Art ran to his car and followed them. As they all roared away into the night, I stood in that road and sobbed.

  “You okay?” Joe Riddley draped an arm around my shoulders and held me close, sopping though I was. He was trembling, but he was warm. “She’s going to be all right. Come on home for some dry clothes.”

  “I want to go with her.”

  “Get yourself dry first, and then we’ll go. The breeze is picking up, and I don’t want you catching your death of cold.” His fingers gently rubbed my neck.

  He peered into the SUV. “Keys are in the ignition. You drive it. I’ll bring Lulu in my car.” We both needed some private time to recover.

  My hair hung wet and muddy on my cheeks. I’d have to call Phyllis first thing in the morning to see if she could work me in for a shampoo and set before I went to the store. As I started the ignition, my knees shook so hard I could hardly get my foot on the gas pedal. I drove slowly, peering through the windshield as though I were peering down the long, bleak tunnel of Garnet’s life. What could have driven her to do such a thing? Did she not know how precious life is?

  I glanced in my rearview mirror at Joe Riddley driving through the leaf-dappled brightness with Lulu beside him, her head hung out the window to sniff the breeze. Neither seemed to notice the spot where they’d both been shot last August, but I shivered to remember how long it had taken him to recover and how near we’d come to losing Lulu and not just her leg. As I pulled into our drive, I sent up a silent word of thanks that they were still around and asked the same blessing for Garnet.

  27

  Joe Riddley spent weeks in the hospital after he was shot, and I spent a week there in February, getting pills out of my system. Neither of us looked forward to yet another dash to the emergency room with hearts fluttering and prayers ascending that we’d make it in time.

  “We’ll have to go get Sara Meg and take her to the hospital,” I pointed out as I sloshed across the yard to the kitchen door, “since we’ve got her car.”

  It was only that afternoon that Sara Meg had asked me to leave Skye MacDonald’s office. I dreaded explaining to her about fishing Garnet out of the pond tonight, so I was real grateful when Joe Riddley said, “I’ll go get her. You get dressed and come in your car.”

  “Take the cell phone and call her to say you’re coming.” I grabbed it from my pocketbook and thrust it at him.

  She and Joe Riddley were already at the information desk when I arrived. “Where’s Garnet Stanton?” Sara Meg was demanding in a tight voice.

  The clerk checked her list. “Room five, but the doctors are with her now. You can’t go in there yet.”

  “I’m her mother!” Sara Meg headed for the doors marked NO ADMITTANCE without noticing I was there.

  Art crouched in the waiting room on an orange plastic chair. “Why were you down at the pond?” I asked as I sat down beside him.

  “I was going to help her run away this evening after I got off work. I was going to drive her to Swainsboro, but she didn’t come, so finally I went to her house. I saw her come out and drive off, and I followed.”

  Joe Riddley joined us and we all sat on those hard orange chairs and waited. We watched patients come in with runny noses and runny eyes, bullets to be removed, sprains to be braced, broken wrists to be set, and sore throats to be soothed. I kept my mind off Garnet by wondering which of the patients would appear before my magistrate’s bench as soon as they were released and which of us would be the first to come down with something we’d caught in the emergency room.

  Art sat hunched with his hands between his knees, seldom saying a word.

  Joe Riddley stood all of a sudden. “I think we ought to invite the hospital board to hold their next meeting here, to see how long they can stand these chairs.” He started prowling.

  When he next orbited past me, I said, “We ought to call Hollis.”

  “She’s okay. She’s spending the night with Bethany.”

  “I know, but I think she ought to be here. You’ve got the phone. Call her.”

  He wandered over to a quiet corner to make the call, then came back and reported that Sara Meg had already called Buddy, and he was stopping for Hollis on his way to the hospital.

  I hadn’t realized Martha was on duty until she hurried over and sat down in the chair Joe Riddley
had vacated. “Somebody told me you all were out here. Is it about Garnet?”

  “How is she?” Art demanded.

  “She’s going to be all right. She’s being processed for a room right now. The EMTs said it was you who called. What happened?”

  “She jumped in before I could stop her,” Art said. I thought he was going to burst into tears.

  “And I went after her and got myself a new hairdo.” I shoved back my hair, which was matted, filthy and straggled down my neck.

  “She was suicidal?” Martha was on her feet as soon as I nodded. “That changes things. Excuse me.” She hurried out. When she came back a few minutes later, she reported, “They’ve sent her to the psychiatric unit. We can’t take the chance that she’ll try something else. Can you tell me everything that happened?”

  We didn’t get a chance. Sara Meg dashed out and headed straight for Martha, shooting sparks ahead of her. “Why are they changing Garnet’s room? I was filling out paperwork and heard them say she’s being sent to Three-C. Is that still the psychiatric ward?” I remembered that Sara Meg’s mother-in-law had been there for a few days after Fred’s death.

  “It’s only for a night or two,” Martha soothed her. “She tried to take her own life.”

  “Take her own life?” Sara Meg’s voice rose. “Garnet? You have been trying to get her to see a psychiatrist for weeks. There is nothing the matter—”

  “Mama?” None of us had noticed that Hollis and Buddy had arrived until Hollis spoke.

  Sara Meg turned and gathered Hollis in her arms. “Oh, honey, Garnet’s been hurt. She’s real bad.”

  “What happened?” Buddy demanded.

  Sara Meg shook her head. “I don’t know. She fell in the Yarbroughs’ pool or something and nearly drowned.” Three pairs of eyes turned to me accusingly.

  Joe Riddley circled by again right then and overheard. “Garnet was in Hubert’s cattle pond,” he corrected them.