Dark Waters

by Susan Rogers Cooper

  ‘They rent these downstairs,’ I said.

  ‘You really feel you need that?’ she asked.

  I shot her a look. ‘Better this than me pushing you in a wheelchair. Those are your options.’

  ‘I prefer my crutches,’ she said, turning her back on me.

  I got off the scooter, took out the key and pocketed it, and headed in the cabin after her. ‘I can say there were at least two hundred people on the promenade deck last night who would prefer you took the scooter.’

  She turned and gave me a withering look. ‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ she said, the sarcasm dripping off her tongue. ‘Did my pesky old handicap get in your way?’

  ‘For Christ’s sake, Jean! There is absolutely nothing wrong with finding a way to fit into your environment! These corridors are not the streets of Longbranch where there’s plenty of room for people to get around us if they’re in a hurry. This is a smallish ship with five hundred people on it, half of ’em going the way we’re going. Besides, girl, you’ve got the biceps of a weightlifter,’ I said, reaching for one of them. ‘Which I find incredibly sexy.’ I shrugged my shoulders. ‘Who knew?’

  Jean laughed and sat down on her bed. ‘So I need to worry if Arnold Schwarzenegger comes to Longbranch?’

  ‘Oh, baby!’ I said and sat down next to her, kissing her neck. ‘God, I’m hungry,’ I murmured. ‘I wish we could live on love alone.’ Then I took an innocent nibble.

  ‘Uh uh,’ Jean said, standing up. ‘If you want to bite something let’s go eat.’

  ‘You’ll try the scooter?’ I asked.

  ‘Only if I can take my crutches along so I can park the scooter at the restaurant, or outside a shop, or whatever. You understand?’

  ‘Completely,’ I said, already working my head around the breakfast menu I’d seen last night.

  Johnny Mac, Day Two

  Johnny Mac went for seconds on pancakes and Early was behind him waiting for seconds on waffles. While they stood in line they grabbed some extra bacon, a couple of sausages, some fruit and three donuts each. Neither of them even ventured a thought toward the night before last, when they’d hugged a toilet for over-indulgence.

  They’d barely started on their second helpings when Janna, one of the girls from the night before (the blonde with the big blue eyes), came by with her parents.

  ‘Hey!’ she said, smiling mostly at Johnny Mac. ‘Those pancakes are delish, right?’

  ‘Yeah, real good,’ Johnny Mac said, around a mouthful of said pancakes.

  ‘Janna, introduce us to your new friends,’ her mother said.

  ‘Oh, yeah, sure. Johnny Mac, Early, this is my mom, Lucy Tulia, and my dad, Mike Tulia. This,’ she said, putting her hand on Johnny Mac’s shoulder, ‘is Johnny Mac and this,’ she said, using only her head to point in Early’s direction, ‘is Early.’

  Lucy Tulia smiled at the boys. She was a short, thin woman with pointy features – chin, nose and cheekbones. Her hair was highlighted and mostly blonde. ‘I think you might have last names, is that right?’ she said and laughed slightly.

  ‘Yes, ma’am,’ Johnny Mac said, trying to stand up in the presence of a lady, like his dad had taught him. He made it up, brushed his hands off on his shorts, and held out his right hand to Mrs Tulia. ‘Johnny Mac Kovak, ma’am. And this is my friend, Early Rollins.’ Early rushed to stand up and shake hands with both parents. Johnny Mac thought the whole thing went quite smoothly and was very grown-up.

  ‘And how did you meet?’ Mr Tulia asked. He towered above his shorter wife. Well over six feet, he had dark hair and eyes and pleasant features.

  Janna answered quickly, ‘They’re friends of Ryan’s.’

  ‘Oh,’ Mr Tulia said and smiled. ‘He’s a nice boy.’

  Johnny Mac nodded, although he figured it was a pretty big stretch of the imagination to call the Ryan he’d met the night before ‘nice.’

  ‘My dad and Ryan’s dad are partners,’ Janna explained.

  Johnny Mac nodded again, this time echoed by Early.

  ‘Mom, can I go with Johnny Mac and Early to the kids’ pavilion?’ Janna asked, the big blue eyes turned up to her mother’s face.

  ‘Sure. Are you kids finished eating?’ Mrs Tulia asked.

  ‘Mom! Look! Their plates are still full!’ Janna said, sliding in the seat next to Johnny Mac.

  ‘We’re almos—’ Johnny Mac started, but felt Janna kick him in the leg. ‘We won’t be long,’ he said.

  ‘Well.’ Mrs Tulia looked at Mr Tulia, then at the children’s pavilion at the far end of the food court. Then they both turned to look at the three fresh-faced children. ‘OK, but go straight there and stay there until we come get you.’

  Janna smiled at her mother. ‘I’ve got my cell, Mom. Just call when you’re on your way, OK?’

  Mrs Tulia kissed her daughter, as did Mr Tulia, and then they were away.

  ‘Gawd, I thought I’d never get rid of them!’ Janna said. ‘I’m so glad I ran into you two!’

  ‘It’s nice seeing you, Janna,’ Johnny Mac said.

  ‘Whatever,’ she said. ‘Let’s dump that food and get out of here.’

  ‘How far is the children’s pavilion?’ Early asked.

  Janna laughed. ‘The children’s pavilion? Are you out of your mind? It’s right there!’ she said, pointing at the far end of the food court. ‘But Lyssa’s waiting for us – well, me anyway – on the top deck. We’re going to spit in the ocean!’

  Johnny Mac and Early looked at each other and shrugged. Johnny Mac said, ‘Cool,’ and they were off.

  Meanwhile, Back In Prophesy County

  The next morning Emmett decided it would be a good idea to go check out Darby Hunt. The address listed in the release papers faxed over by Bill Williams showed him living at his mama’s house, just outside of Longbranch. It was the other side of the town from where the sheriff’s office was located, but the town wasn’t that big, so going through it to the other side took only about fifteen minutes, even accounting for both stoplights. Mrs Hunt lived in a defunct subdivision started back in the seventies. The builders had mowed down a lot of trees and only managed to put up six houses. Hers was on the one street, Camino Real, in the middle on the right. Like the rest of them, it was rundown, the brown brick looking tired and the mustard-yellow trim needing a paint job – preferably, Emmett thought, in a different color. There wasn’t much grass, just bare spots interspersed with still-brown weeds that would blossom in about a week or two. The driveway led to an attached garage and was filled with vehicles: a Ford F150 pickup, probably an eighties model; a rusted-out Chevy Camaro with a faded racing stripe, a ten-year-old Cadillac, and on the walkway to the front door a spanking new Harley, bright red, with saddle bags.

  Emmett brought Dalton with him, just as a visual aid, and the two walked up to the front door and rang the bell. It was obviously still working because Emmett could hear it in the house. At first no one answered, so he tried a knock. Before he could draw his hand back, the door was wrenched open and an elderly woman with a walker barked, ‘What the hell do you want?’

  She was hefty, close to three hundred pounds, Emmett figured, wearing a short-sleeved house dress, her upper arms big and floppy, and slip-on slippers. Her dyed brown hair was sparse and the look on her face was not what you’d call pleasant.

  ‘Good morning, Mrs Hunt,’ Emmett said. ‘I’m with the county sheriff’s department. I was wondering if I might speak with Darby.’

  ‘You got no call coming here and harassing my son!’ the old woman fairly spat out. ‘He’s not on parole so you got no reason to come checking on him; ’sides, he never did it in the first place! And even if he did, that little bitch deserved it, the way she treated my boy!’

  Emmett tried to shake off the disgust he felt and asked again, ‘May I see Darby, please?’

  ‘No!’ she shouted and slammed the door.

  Dalton turned and started back to the squad car, but Emmett grabbed his arm. ‘No way,’ he said. He looked at the motorc
ycle sitting on the walk. No plates. Well, unless he found Darby with it on the street, nothing he could do about that. He was contemplating other ways to get at an ex-con when the door to the house opened.

  In the file Bill Williams had faxed to Emmett the day before had been a fax-faded picture of Darby Hunt. Even just looking at a headshot, you could see he was a big old boy, and the type some women would find handsome. Blond hair in a mullet which, truth be known, was actually popular in the eighties, a big smile with straight teeth and dimples, dark eyes with long lashes – all that crap women think looks good on a man. Unfortunately the man standing at the door didn’t look a lot like the Darby Hunt of the picture.

  ‘And you are?’ Emmett asked.

  ‘Who you’re looking for. I’m Darby Hunt,’ he said.

  The Darby Hunt of yesteryear was not present – this man was skinny to the point of being frail, the blond hair turned gray, what was left of it. The face was taut and wan, his pallor almost matching his hair for grayness.

  ‘Y’all wanna come in?’ he asked, holding the door wide.

  Emmett hesitated.

  ‘Mama’s in her room,’ Darby Hunt said, a smile showing missing teeth but still a hint of the dimples.

  ‘Good. I’d hate to have to shoot her,’ Emmett said, crossing the threshold of the Hunt home with Dalton right behind him.

  ‘She’d probably outdraw you,’ Darby said, still smiling. The front door opened immediately into the living room, which smelled of dust and sickness. There was a beat-up recliner and a sagging couch, but against one wall was a new and big flat-screen TV. Darby pointed them to the couch and took the recliner.

  ‘What can I do for y’all?’ the ex-con asked.

  ‘I heard yesterday that you got out. You’d made some threats against your late wife’s family at your trial. Just wanted to come by and encourage you not to act on those threats,’ Emmett said.

  ‘Do I look like I have enough strength to hurt a fly?’ Darby asked.

  ‘Doesn’t take much strength to pull a trigger,’ Emmett said.

  Darby nodded his head. ‘True enough.’

  ‘Besides, as I understand it, you’ve got a lot of cousins who could do your dirty work for you.’

  Darby laughed. ‘Not so you’d notice anymore,’ he said. ‘You might be thinking of my old running buddies, Billy and Shorty, right?’

  ‘It crossed my mind,’ Emmett said.

  ‘Well, Billy died in a car wreck back in ’ninety-three, and they wouldn’t let me out for the service, damn their eyes,’ he said, the glassy-eyed stare making Emmett think he was seeing the past now, not the present. Darby shook himself and looked up at Emmett. ‘And Shorty moved to California where he currently resides in one of their fine institutions for the criminally stupid.’

  ‘Pardon?’ Emmett said.

  Again, Darby grinned. ‘The boy never was much without me and Billy. He held up a diner where his girlfriend’s mother worked. He pulled some pantyhose over his face, but he couldn’t breathe, so he picked a hole in them. You know how a hole in pantyhose just grows and grows?’

  Emmett couldn’t help himself. He smiled. ‘Showed most of his face before he was through, huh?’

  ‘Oh, yeah. Enough so that the girlfriend’s mama goes, ‘Shorty Hunt! You can’t date my daughter no more!’ All he could do was plead guilty.’

  The smile faded and Darby Hunt rubbed his face with his hands and leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. ‘Look. I got nothing against Cheryl’s kin. They did the right thing. I killed my baby right in front of ’em.’ He shook his head. ‘I deserved what I got, if not more. I’da died with her, if I could, but I know my baby doll went to heaven, and I doubt I’ll be visiting there ever.’ He shook his head. ‘What I did—’ He shook his head again. ‘That never can be forgiven, by God or anybody else.’

  ‘Have you seen your daughter?’ Emmett asked, more out of curiosity than anything else.

  Darby shook his head. ‘No, sir. Haven’t seen her in twenty-five years. Not since the day I killed her mama – right in front of her.’ Tears sprang to Darby’s eyes. ‘I’ll never forgive myself for that. Ever.’

  Emmett stood up. He wasn’t going to shake Darby Hunt’s hand, but he felt satisfied that the McDaniel family was safe for now.

  ‘Thanks for the time, Hunt. We’ll let ourselves out.’

  Darby stood and grinned. ‘Y’all hurry now. ’Fore I let Mama out.’

  Emmett refused to hurry inside the house; once outside, however, it was a completely different story.

  THREE

  Milt – Day Two

  The breakfast was everything I thought it would be and more. I loved cruising. I was going to go on a cruise every other week if the food would always be this good. Strawberry crêpes, eggs Benedict, champagne, beignets, croissants, Irish oatmeal, Greek yogurt and Cajun coffee. Oh my God! I didn’t want to leave, but Jean made me.

  Once we got Jean on the scooter she used my phone to call Johnny Mac. She put it on speaker.

  ‘Hey, sweetie. We’re on our way to the buffet.’

  ‘Oh, Mom, listen! We met some kids who told us about this children’s pavilion and we came with them here! This girl’s parents went with us and dropped us off. I hope that’s OK?’

  ‘You should have called first, buddy,’ I said.

  ‘I know, Dad, but I’m not used to having Mom’s cell phone and I just forgot,’ he said.

  ‘Are you having fun?’ Jean asked.

  ‘Yeah, it’s a blast!’ Johnny Mac said.

  ‘OK. Well.’ Jean looked at her watch. ‘Did you wear your watch this morning?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’

  ‘OK, mine says fifteen after ten. We’ll meet you at the pavilion at fifteen after eleven. That gives you an hour more, OK?’

  ‘You sure we can’t stay longer?’ he begged.

  ‘No. Eleven-fifteen. We’re going to have some family fun. ’Bye, sweetie,’ Jean said and hung up.

  And I stood there and she sat there and we stared at each other, then Jean turned the scooter around and we headed back to our cabin.

  Twenty minutes later we were back on the promenade deck checking out the stuff. Shops everywhere, most of them full of crap you’d never need in your lifetime. But some stuff you might have forgotten to pack – like sunscreen and sunglasses and big floppy sun hats for women and golf hats for men and purses that jangled with geegaws and T-shirts that said everything from ‘My parents went on a cruise and all I got was this lousy T-shirt’ to ‘Fuck a bunch of ’em, I’m going to Puerto Rico.’ We didn’t buy anything, although Jean did linger a bit over the jangly purses. We peeked into the casino and I managed to lose twenty-five cents in the nickel slots, then got caught by a country song coming out of one of the smaller auditoriums. We went in and sat at the back, listening to two songs before we continued our slow progress toward the bow of the ship. We stopped for a moment to check out today’s shows and programs, then made our way toward the pool area.

  This was open to the actual sky, but still the only way you could see the actual ocean was to look out the saltwater-stained windows. This area was a little less maneuverable for Jean and the scooter. The pool was surrounded by deck chairs sitting in mostly sun, while the shaded areas were filled with tables and chairs. Although I’m sure first thing in the morning all the chairs – deck and normal – were appropriately placed, by this time they’d been moved by passengers to the point that it was almost impassable.

  But, like Indiana Jones moving through the jungle with his machete, I led the way for my wife, moving a chair this way, another that way, until we’d reached the other side, which led to the food court and, beyond that, the children’s pavilion. Part of the pavilion was an attachment to the food court, glassed in and air-conditioned, while the other part was open, half-covered by a roof, half-open to the sun, but surrounded by a high picket fence. To the extreme starboard – or port? I couldn’t keep that straight – was an exit from the food court onto an open deck
around the ship.

  We headed into the air-conditioned part of the children’s pavilion. And it was packed. Everyone from two-year-olds to early teens. I spied Johnny Mac and Early out in the fenced-in area and told Jean to wait while I went and got them.

  Working my way out there – after having signed my boys out with the lady in charge – I saw them talking to two little girls and a bigger boy.

  ‘Hey, guys,’ I said.

  ‘Oh, hey, Dad,’ Johnny Mac said.

  ‘Hi, Sher— I mean, Mr Kovak,’ Early said.

  I gave Early a look for his slip – I didn’t want anyone to know my profession as you get all sorts of demands on your time when you let people know what you do for a living when you’re in law enforcement – and said, ‘Who are your friends?’

  Johnny Mac pointed at the boy. ‘This is Ryan.’ Then the dark-haired girl. ‘This is Lyssa, and –’ at this point he looked longingly at the blonde and said with a sigh, ‘this is Janna.’

  ‘Hi, kids, nice to meet you,’ I said, and Ryan shook my hand. I was turning around, ready to grab the boys and head out, when three more adults entered the patio area, or whatever it was called. They turned out to be the little blonde’s parents, Mike and Lucy Tulia, and Ryan’s dad, Vern Weaver, who was Mike Tulia’s partner in a tool and die company out of Houston.

  We all worked our way back into the air-conditioned area and I introduced Jean to everybody.

  ‘We’re going to play miniature golf,’ Lucy Tulia said. ‘Why don’t y’all join us?’

  So we did. My phone rang just as we got to the top deck where the miniature golf course was – out in the open, with sun and the ocean and all. I let Jean and the boys get ahead of me and answered the new phone like my wife had taught me (I have no illusions of manly self-esteem any longer – that’s all gone), and said, ‘Hello?’

  ‘Hey, Milt,’ Emmett said.

  ‘Hey your ownself. I’m still on vacation, you know.’

  ‘Just wanted to let you know I spoke with Darby Hunt this morning. Boy’s a shadow of his former self. I say he’s probably dying of something nasty. Aids, cancer – something that eats the body up.’