The Deep Abiding

by Sean Black

  “You’re gonna do it?”

  “It’s a hundred bucks,” she said, like that settled it, which it kind of did. “Who wouldn’t want to be a fly on that wall?” She leaned in to kiss him on the cheek. “I’m going to take a shower.”

  He watched her walk into the house. His thoughts settled in around him again.

  A dinner party? He could hear Mimsy already. It was a long time ago. No, likely no one will ever know the truth. There’d been talk of a drifter in town the week before the murder. Maybe he’d had something to do with it.

  He blinked in the afternoon sun, and in that fraction of a second he saw the tree, and the rope. He heard the shouts this time, too. The catcalling. The frantic, fevered chatter, followed by the silence.

  Reaching up a few seconds later, he felt his cheeks moist. He wiped away the salty tears with the back of his sleeve.

  He thought of the black man he’d watched. He’d looked tough. Like he’d seen things. Maybe things even worse than RJ had. Maybe he was the person who could lift the weight of all this from them. Him and that young reporter.

  But they’d need help. RJ knew that much.

  The problem was, whoever helped them would still be stuck here. Living with Mimsy, and the others. Seeing them every day. There was Sue Ann to think about too.

  RJ looked back to the pond. Curious George had sunk back down into the muddy water. RJ couldn’t see him. But he was there all right. Lying low. Waiting for suppertime.

  13

  Ty held open the passenger door of the Honda for Cressida. She got in. He walked around and got into the driver’s seat.

  “You find anything?” Ty asked.

  “No, and I’m not going to. Not in the stuff they’ve given me anyway.”

  “What about the locked door?”

  “Too risky. The librarian kept coming down to see if I needed anything. I think she noticed that the boxes had been moved.”

  “She say anything?” said Ty.

  “No, but it was kind of obvious, the way she kept looking at them.”

  “So why not just ask her? ‘What’s up with the locked store room and the boxes you had in front of the door?’”

  Cressida chewed a little on her bottom lip. “I thought about it. I don’t know.” She paused. “It’s like there’s this really polite dance going on, but everyone’s on edge. You know what I’m saying?”

  Ty studied the main street. “Yeah. You ever see that movie The Stepford Wives?”

  She shook her head. “Nope, but I kind of know the story. You think these people are robots?”

  Ty smiled. “Not literally, no, but they seem pretty tightly wound. Like that cook at the diner is shaping up to throw me down, and the next second he’s kissing my ass.”

  “They’re hiding something. I know that much.”

  Ty switched on the engine, and placed the car in Drive. “So what’s the plan now?” He nodded towards the library. “Assuming there’s no answers to be had in there.”

  “Someone will talk.”

  “You sure about that?”

  “Small towns. They’re full of petty rivalries, people holding a grudge, just waiting for their chance. If Carole Chabon’s murderer is here, and people know who it is, sooner or later someone will ’fess up.”

  “That’s a lot of assumptions right there. What’s to say it wasn’t an outsider? Serial killer. Something like that.”

  Cressida shifted in her seat and looked at him. “You think it was a serial killer? Really?”

  “No, but it’s possible. Look, where do most investigations go wrong?”

  She waited.

  “The cops have a theory and they work to make everything fit, rather than keeping an open mind.”

  “I hear you,” said Cressida.

  They had reached the end of Darling’s main street. There were two turns. One left and one right.

  “So where we headed?”

  “Back to the Airbnb to get ready.”

  “For?”

  “The mayor has invited us to dinner at her place. Part of the charm offensive, no doubt.”

  “Man, if I’d known I would have brought my tux,” said Ty.

  “You own a tux?”

  Ty side-eyed her. She had a habit, like Lock, of catching him out. “Okay, I’d have rented one.”

  “Let me guess. Burgundy crushed velvet,” she said, smiling.

  “You’re funny.”

  “I was right,” she said.

  “So what’s the plan for this dinner?” said Ty, shifting the subject.

  “Plan?”

  “Yeah.”

  She grimaced. “I don’t know. Hope someone gets drunk and says something they shouldn’t.”

  “How likely do you think that is?” Ty asked.

  She shifted again in her seat. “It’s not really a plan, is it?”

  “Not really.”

  “Okay, I plan on playing nice. At first, anyway. And then when the time’s right I have a couple of direct questions for the mayor.”

  “Which are?”

  “You’ll have to wait and see, but I guarantee you one thing, she’s not going to like them.”

  “Is that so?” said Ty.

  Cressida stared at him. “You didn’t think I came all the way down here on a wing and a prayer, did you?”

  14

  Ty came down the stairs in a pair of neatly creased black trousers, a freshly pressed white shirt, and a grey sports coat.

  Adelson Shaw’s head appeared at the door. “Can I get you something to drink, Mr. Johnson?”

  “No, thank you. I’m driving.”

  Adelson stepped into the hallway. “Are you sure? Mimsy’s dinner parties can be pretty dull. Don’t think I’ve ever managed to get through one without at least a few belts of something strong.”

  “Thanks, but I’m good. You haven’t been invited to this one?”

  “I was.” Adelson smiled. “Sadly, I had a prior engagement.”

  He held up a tumbler with a couple of ice cubes and some bourbon. “Last offer,” he said.

  “Maybe when we get back.” More like definitely when I get back, thought Ty. If the old man kept pounding bourbon, by the time they returned he might be oiled enough to let something slip about the Carole Chabon murder. Even if it was only unsubstantiated gossip, Ty was certain that in a small town like this one Adelson must have heard something about what had gone down and who was responsible.

  “My, my,” said Adelson, as Cressida walked down the stairs in a little black dress.

  Ty had to agree. She looked stunning. She had put her hair up, and her makeup was expertly done. Her green eyes shimmered as she floated down the last few steps.

  He did his best to pack away any thoughts he might be having about how she looked. She was his principal, and the rules about that were cast iron. Bodyguarding and close protection required a cool head at all times. Emotions were best kept out of it. They could make things very dangerous very quickly.

  “Well, don’t you make the perfect couple!” said Adelson, with a sly wink in Ty’s direction.

  “We’re not a couple, but thank you,” said Cressida, swiftly correcting him.

  Ty walked with her to the door. “Save me some of that,” he said to Adelson.

  The old man raised his glass in a toast. “I got you.”

  Ty and Cressida went down the porch steps to the car. Ty held the passenger door open for her. She got in and he walked around to the driver’s door.

  Ty already had the route to the mayor’s house scoped out. It was on the other side of town, about a seven-minute drive, assuming they didn’t have to stop for any ’gators crossing the road.

  “What do you think of our host?” Ty asked, as he pulled away from the house.

  “I think he knows more than he’s letting on,” she said.

  “I’d say that probably goes for most people around here.”

  She crossed her arms. “And not one of them is going to tell me a damn thing un
less I drag it out of them.”

  “Why would they?” said Ty.

  “If you knew something about an innocent young woman being murdered, what would you do?” she fired back, green eyes flashing in the light of the Honda’s instrument panel.

  “I don’t live in a small town in the middle of nowhere with no one to watch my back when a reporter moves on to the next story.”

  “They’re scared? Is that what you’re telling me?”

  “I’d imagine some of them are. And some are apathetic. And some probably figure talking now won’t do any good anyway.”

  Cressida lapsed into silence. Ty studied the road ahead. Living in LA, it was easy to forget just how dark it got once you were outside the city. With no moon, the darkness was complete. All he could see was the forty feet or so of road carved out by the car’s headlights.

  They crested the top of a hill to see Darling’s meager streetlights laid out below. Ty tried hard to imagine the kind of people who’d decide to settle in a place like this. Hot, humid, almost fully encircled by swampy wetlands full of things looking to eat you. People, he guessed, who weren’t likely to give up their secrets easily, or cave to outside pressure.

  Something else came to his mind. A question not for the locals but the young woman next to him. “What got you interested in this story in the first place?”

  She made a face, like this was a question she’d anticipated but had hoped she wouldn’t be asked. “I was researching a bigger story on sundown towns, and this was one of the most notorious cases.”

  Something about the way she rattled off her reply told Ty there was more.

  “No, really,” he said.

  She sighed, confirming his suspicions. “It stays between us?”

  Ty nodded. “Of course.”

  “It’s personal.”

  “Personal how?”

  “Carole Chabon was my great-aunt,” said Cressida.

  15

  Mary Elizabeth Murray sat at her dressing-table, changed her earrings for the third time in the past ten minutes, and did her best to compose herself. The visitors would be here at any moment, and she wasn’t sure she had done the right thing by offering this invitation.

  Apart from maids and other domestic help, no African American had ever set foot in this house. Not as a guest. Apart, of course, from that one time. The time that had led to this horrible mess that was still plaguing them all these years later.

  The whole affair was proof of what she had always believed. Of what her family had believed. That the races shouldn’t mix. That no good could come of it.

  And yet here she was, enabling just such a thing.

  Had she done right? she asked herself. She could only hope she had, that this dinner would be sufficient to prove to this slip of a girl that the town had moved on. That there was no story here. That she should go back to New York and tell everyone there was no scandal to be found. That they were only simple people who wished to live their lives in peace. Others could move on if they wished, but Mimsy Murray had no desire to follow them. No, she liked things as they had been. Every kind keeping to its own.

  She took a final look at herself in the mirror, something she avoided most days. There was no cheating the passage of time and what it did to a woman. Men didn’t know how easy they had it. No one minded that they lost their looks, assuming they’d had some in the first place.

  Finally, Mimsy stood up. She adjusted her double strand of pearls and brushed at her dress. She took a deep breath, and closed her eyes. She had to keep her temper, she told herself, no matter what was said or what happened this evening. Her temper had been a problem for her over the years. It had lost her friends, and caused her no end of grief. Surprisingly, it hadn’t receded with age as it did with most people. Didn’t people mellow with age? Well, she hadn’t. If anything, the shifting world had only consumed her even more.

  But now, tonight, she had to keep herself in check. No matter what. She could rage all she wanted when her guests had departed, but while they were here, she was the public face of the town, and she had to play that part, and play it well.

  She walked to the bedroom door. It opened directly onto the upstairs hallway. She stepped out. She was an actress, and this house was her stage. It was time to put her best foot forward.

  From downstairs, she could smell something burning. She felt the anger well in her stomach. Sue Ann scuttled past the bottom of the stairs, heading with a tureen towards the dining room, which had been beautifully staged for this evening’s dinner.

  Mimsy cleared her throat loudly. Sue Ann froze in her tracks. Mimsy raised one finger, beckoning Sue Ann to stay where she was. Mimsy wasn’t about to shout down the stairs, like some commoner.

  She walked down the flight. Sue Ann was still waiting for her. “I smell burning. Might you go and see if Lyle requires any assistance?”

  “It’s okay. He left something on the stove a little too long, but it’s under control.”

  Mimsy forced a smile. “Very well.”

  Headlights swept across the front of the house. She took another deep breath. “Well,” she said, “don’t just stand there. Put that down and get ready to greet our guests. Bring them to me in the drawing room.”

  * * *

  Ty killed the lights and switched off the engine. He’d backed into a space in front of the house and left the hood of the Honda pointing down the long driveway. He’d never had to flee a dinner party, not that he could remember, but old habits died hard.

  Cressida glanced at him. “Do you have your gun with you?”

  He lifted his jacket a little. “Of course. You want me to leave it in the car?”

  She seemed to think it over. “No.”

  “You sure?”

  “I don’t think we’re going to need it at dinner, but probably better not to leave it in the car.”

  “That was my thinking,” said Ty. “Anything else?”

  “Like what?”

  Ty shrugged. “Anything you want me to ask? Or maybe not mention?”

  “Just follow my lead, okay?”

  Ty smiled. She might have been only in her twenties, but he had to hand it to his principal, she was pretty self-assured.

  “The people around here . . .” said Cressida, doing a final check of her make-up in the vanity mirror “. . . they might seem all sweetness and light, but they can be anything but.”

  “That’s why you’re here.”

  “Correct,” she said, opening the passenger door, and getting out.

  Ty followed. He stood with her for a second, and took in the house that loomed above them. It was similar to the one where they were staying. It had the same porch that wrapped around it, like a skirt, and the same roof, but it was even larger. From what Cressida had told him on the way here, the family had originally been slave owners, and this was the main plantation house.

  That knowledge sent a shiver down his spine. Even now, Ty found it hard to fathom his country’s history. How could people own other people, like livestock, and not only see nothing wrong with it but go to war to retain the right to do so?

  The wind, as if sensing his unease, picked up a little, as a breeze rattled through a stand of nearby gumbo-limbo trees. Ty put out his arm, and Cressida linked hers through it. They walked up the steps towards the front door and Ty rang the bell.

  A few seconds later, the door was opened by the waitress from the town’s diner. Ty remembered her name as Sue Ann.

  “Really is a small town,” he said to Cressida, as they walked into the hallway.

  Sue Ann had traded her yellow and white diner uniform for something black and a little more formal. “Welcome, may I take your jackets?”

  “Thank you,” said Cressida, slipping hers off to reveal her strapless black dress.

  “I’m good,” said Ty, aware that taking off his blazer would reveal the SIG Sauer holstered beneath.

  It didn’t look the kind of house where you’d eat dinner with your side arm, although
it was Florida, so who really knew?

  Sue Ann took Cressida’s jacket as the lady of the house appeared from another room. She walked over to them, smiling.

  “Mayor Mary Elizabeth Murray but, please, call me Mimsy. Everyone does,” she said, putting out a delicate, wrinkled hand.

  Ty spotted Sue Ann tamping down what looked to him like an eye roll.

  Cressida shook her hand. “Cressida King. Thank you so much for welcoming us to your home.”

  There was an undercurrent to how both women were looking at each other, but Ty couldn’t get a handle on it. Somehow the vibe was like two gladiators circling each other in Rome’s Colosseum.

  Ty offered his hand. “Tyrone Johnson.”

  There was a fractional hesitation, which Ty also noted, before she shook it. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Now, can I have Sue Ann fetch you something to drink? A bourbon, perhaps? A glass of wine?”

  Ty demurred. Notwithstanding that he never drank while he was working, he had a feeling he wanted his wits about him this evening. “Nothing alcoholic, but thank you.”

  “An Arnold Palmer? Dr Pepper? Something cool and refreshing. I would offer you water, but we’ve had a little problem with the town supply and I’m all out of bottled.”

  “An Arnold Palmer sounds great,” said Ty.

  “Miss King?”

  “Please, call me Cress. A glass of white wine, please.”

  Mimsy turned and snapped her fingers. “Sue Ann. Some white wine for Cress, and an Arnold Palmer.”

  Inwardly, Ty grimaced. Finger snapping at staff was one of his pet hates. He reminded himself that they weren’t there to make friends so much as get some answers.

  “Actually, you know what?” said Mimsy. “I shall fetch them for you myself. I’ll be right back. Please, go into the drawing room and make yourselves comfortable.”

  Ty traded a look with Cressida as both women left. She walked towards the room Mimsy had indicated. Ty followed.

  The drawing room was all dark wood and heavy red drapes. There were two club chairs and two red couches, all antique. There was money in the family, but Ty could tell it was old, and no doubt dwindling. One of the couches was showing a badly repaired tear that had been partially hidden by a cushion.