by Ann McMan
Once again, Dorothy had done what she did: found a way to defuse the emotion that had been building up between them.
She’s doing this to give us both some breathing space. She wants to make this easier for me, even though my job is to make things easier for her.
“Lemon Zinger or peppermint?” Dorothy asked.
“Peppermint, I think.”
Dorothy extracted two teabags from a tin on the counter before joining Celine at the island.
“I wonder how you would feel about talking with someone about these possibilities, Dorothy?”
Dorothy looked at her with an expression that was only slightly wary.
“Talking with who?”
“You remember meeting Maddie’s friend, Avi, don’t you? At dinner on Friday night?”
Dorothy nodded, but made no other comment.
“Avi helps people sort through their confusion. She can be a very good person to talk with about . . .” she nearly said orange dogs, but stopped herself in time. “Things.”
“She’s a doctor, isn’t she? Like you and Dr. Stevenson?”
“Yes. She is. But she’s a different kind of doctor. Avi is a doctor who helps heal wounds that aren’t visible on the outside.” This time, she decided it was okay to channel Buddy. “The kind that sometimes come for us at night.”
Dorothy seemed to consider what Celine had said. She met her eyes.
“Okay. I will if you want me to.” Her tone gave nothing away.
“It matters more that you want to do it, Dorothy. I would never push you into anything.”
“Not even . . .” Dorothy stopped herself. “She seemed pretty nice. And funny, too. I guess I could talk with her.”
Celine gave her a small smile. “I promise if you decide it’s not right for you, you don’t have to do it again.”
The teakettle began to whistle. Dorothy started to get up but Celine stopped her.
“My turn. I’ll fix these and meet you in the living room. Maybe we can watch some Cutthroat Kitchen?”
Celine knew the show was one of Dorothy’s favorites. The format featured guest chefs who were hit with epic sabotages by their competitors in a mad race to create the best dish.
Celine found its parallels to life impossible to miss . . .
Dorothy brightened right up.
“I’ll go turn on the TV.”
◊ ◊ ◊
Roma Jean and Charlie were sitting on the couch. Normally, Roma Jean was smart enough to know that if they did that, it would inevitably end up in the same place—Charlie’s bedroom. But tonight was different. Tonight Charlie had invited her over so she could explain why she’d been so upset about her father showing up the way he’d done the other night.
Charlie was taking her time getting it out. Roma Jean didn’t want to rush her. She’d always known there was some kind of story behind why Charlie had ended up living with Sheriff Martin through high school. But nobody ever talked about it in any way that wasn’t vague and full of innuendo.
Innuendo seemed to be the dominant way people in this town talked about anything that hinted at bad or inappropriate happenings. Syd’s revelation that Charlie’s father had hurt her bad enough to land her in the hospital had really upset Roma Jean. It made no sense to her that people could be as mean as they’d been to Charlie—and to Dorothy. In Dorothy’s case, at least, her father had gone away—permanently. Even though the circumstances were maybe not the best. Roma Jean knew a lot people, including her parents, thought Mr. Watson had been murdered. There were even some people who hinted that they thought Dorothy had killed him in self-defense. She hated that idea for Dorothy, but she found it hard to blame the young girl for it if it had happened that way. That man had abandoned his responsibility to take care of his daughter and he’d treated her shamefully. And not just her, either. Mr. Watson had pretty much behaved badly toward everyone—including her and Charlie. It was no wonder so many people hated him.
Yes, it was good he was gone from Dorothy’s life.
But Charlie couldn’t say the same thing. Her father had decided to come back. And it was obvious from her reaction that Charlie wasn’t very happy about it.
“I first met Jimmie at Christian service summer camp,” Charlie was explaining. “Out at Oil Belt. We were in the same age group so we shared a cabin with two other girls.”
Roma Jean knew Jimmie was Nelda Rae Black’s niece. She guessed that’s why Mrs. Black had been with Mr. Davis on Saturday. But Roma Jean had never heard very much about the girl—except that she’d left Jericho as a teenager and never come back.
But the way Charlie was talking about her now suggested that this Jimmie had been someone very important in Charlie’s life. Roma Jean tried hard not to reveal how jealous she was beginning to feel. She knew it was crazy. She didn’t even know Charlie all those years ago.
“So Jimmie and I found out that we . . . liked each other. A lot.” Charlie looked at Roma Jean intently. “More than girls were supposed to like each other. I’d never experienced anything like that before, and I didn’t really understand what it meant. It all seemed so natural and innocent. But Jimmie had a better idea about it all, and she made the first overture toward me.”
“What kind of overture?” Roma Jean asked. She tried to keep her voice neutral.
“We were at the swimming hole during free time one afternoon, and we’d been splashing each other and pushing each other off this big rock into the water. The other girls had already gotten tired of that game and had gone back to their cabins. But we stayed on. Then Jimmie jumped into the water and pretty much landed on top of me. We went under together and before I knew what was happening, she’d put her arms around my neck and started kissing me. I’d never experienced anything like that before.”
“Was it like us at Grayson Highlands?”
Charlie must’ve heard the disappointment in her voice, even though Roma Jean did her best to hide it.
“No.” Charlie took hold of her hand and squeezed it. “It wasn’t like that at all. Nothing in my life has ever been like that.” Charlie kissed her. “Believe me.”
Roma Jean felt silly. “I believe you. I didn’t mean to go all Fatal Attraction on you. I’m really sorry.”
“You don’t ever have to apologize, Roma Jean.” Charlie stroked the side of her face. “I’ve never loved anyone the way I love you. That’s the truth.”
“I believe you. I feel the same way.”
They kissed again—for longer this time. Roma Jean could tell that Charlie was starting to get distracted, so she broke away and laid a hand against her chest to hold her back. “You need to finish your story.”
“I can finish it later.” Charlie tried to move in again.
“No, Charlie. I want to hear about this—and about your father.”
“Okay.” Charlie sat back, but it seemed to be an effort.
Roma Jean hoped Charlie knew it wasn’t easy for her to stop, either. They didn’t get very many chances to be together this way, and it was hard to waste one.
“Was Jimmie the girl your father found out about?”
“Yes.” Charlie nodded sadly. “The camp counselors caught us together one afternoon, and they pretty much freaked out. We both got expelled on the spot. Jimmie’s parents came and got her. I wasn’t allowed to see her, but I remember hearing her father screaming at her while they drug her to their car. He called her terrible names, too. Words I’d never even heard before. She was crying when they finally got her into the backseat. They left and I never saw her again.”
“And her parents sent her off to live in Kentucky?”
Roma Jean was glad Charlie didn’t ask how she knew about that.
“Yes. I guess to some kind of evangelist who was supposed to save her from being queer.”
“That’s crazy,” Roma Jean declared. “You can’t save someone from being how they were born. That’s like saying you can save someone from having blue eyes or being terminally stupid—like those Lear twins.�
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Charlie smiled. “I wish I’d known you then, Roma Jean. My life might’ve turned out differently.”
“I don’t think your father would’ve reacted to me any differently than he did to Jimmie.”
In fact, I know he wouldn’t have . . .
Charlie agreed with her. “You’re right, of course. When he found out what I’d done, he gave me the worst beating I’d ever had. And believe me, he’d beaten me a lot of times before that. He said that I was no better than an animal and that I’d humiliated him in front of the entire town—and that he refused to live with the shame I’d brought on him.”
“Is that how you ended up in the hospital?” When Charlie looked at her quizzically, she added, “Miss Murphy told me about it.”
“Oh,” Charlie said. “Yes. I was in the hospital for more than a week. When I got out, my father was gone. He’d left town. I went to live with a foster family in Bridle Creek for a while, but eventually ended up just staying at Byron’s house. He took care of me until I finished school and entered the training program to become a sheriff’s deputy.”
“Sheriff Martin is a good man.”
“You’ll get no argument from me about that.”
“Why is your father back now?”
“I went to find him the other day,” Charlie explained. “He’s staying out at the Osborne Motel.”
“That place? It’s gross. Daddy says it’s a rat trap—literally.”
“I think that makes it a perfect spot for him.”
“Did you talk with him?”
“Yeah. I told him to leave me the hell alone—and that I had no desire to ever see him again. But he launched into some crazy story about finding Jesus and being born again. He told me he’d come back to save me from my wicked ways.”
Roma Jean’s eyes blazed. “What wicked ways?”
Charlie gave her hand a squeeze. “The you and me kind of wicked ways.”
Roma Jean rolled her eyes. “We might be a lot of things to a lot of people, but nobody except those Bible-beaters out at Bone Gap thinks we’re wicked. Not even Gramma Azalea does—and she’s two bubbles off plumb.”
Charlie laughed.
“I’m not kidding. She’s gotten really famous on Twitter for being a first-class nut job. Did you know those Rock Star people actually hooked her up with Kendrick Lamar?”
“The rapper?”
“Yeah. They said Nike wants to hire them both to do ads for those Cortez sneakers they both wear. Gramma Azalea is nearly as famous as he is on Twitter because of her whole Grand Theft Auto thing. She’s got, like, a Blue Check account. They tweet at each other all the time.”
“Azalea and Kendrick Lamar?” Charlie sounded incredulous, but it was true.
“Yeah.” Roma Jean prattled on. “It’s so embarrassing. Kendrick Lamar always calls her ‘Crazy AF.’ She thinks he means ‘Crazy Azalea Freemantle.’ I tried to tell her that wasn’t what ‘AF’ meant, but Mama actually slapped me when I said it means ‘As Fuck.’ Nobody is allowed to curse in front of her.” Roma Jean digressed to clarify. “It’s an offense right up there with blasphemy against the holy spirit—or maybe washing Daddy’s red work socks with a load of whites. Trust me . . . I’ll never make that mistake again, either.”
Charlie was running a hand across her face.
“I did it again, didn’t I?” Roma Jean asked her. “I rambled off topic.”
“Honey?” Charlie put an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. “Just promise me you’ll never change.”
Roma Jean snuggled in closer. “I promise.”
This time, when Charlie kissed her, Roma Jean didn’t push her away. It had been a while since they’d been together in this special way, and Roma Jean was suddenly as invested in changing that as Charlie had been earlier.
They hadn’t progressed very far when a loud crash and the sound of squealing car tires made them lurch apart.
“What was that?” Roma Jean was taking deep breaths.
Charlie was already on her feet.
“I don’t know.” She crossed to a cabinet and withdrew her service revolver and long-handled flashlight. “Stay put while I check it out,” she ordered.
Roma Jean did as Charlie had directed, even though it was killing her not to look outside. She was scared, too. She didn’t want anything bad to happen to Charlie.
She could hear dogs barking from behind the house next door.
After a couple of minutes, Charlie came back inside the house. She was still carrying her gun and flashlight. Her demeanor had changed. Roma Jean could tell Charlie was angry and barely containing it.
“What was it?” Roma Jean asked. “Did you see anything?”
“Yeah.” Charlie returned her gun and flashlight to the cabinet. “Somebody drove by and threw a brick.”
Roma Jean got a sinking feeling. “It hit my car, didn’t it?” She’d only just gotten the thing back from Troutdale today.
Charlie nodded sadly. “I’m really sorry.” She hesitated. “It broke the back window.”
“Oh, man.” Roma Jean sank back down onto the sofa. “I might as well leave the damn thing out at Junior’s.”
“I’m so sorry, Sweetie. I guess we both know who did this.”
Roma Jean was horrified. “Do you really think so?”
“I don’t think so, Roma Jean.” Charlie walked across the room to pick up her phone. “I’m sure of it.”
Chapter Six
Recorded Interview
Preliminary Inquest Investigation
Death of Mayor Gerald Watson
“My name is Natalie Diane Chriscoe. I work at Cougar’s Quality Logistics. Rita is my sister-in-law. She works at Cougar’s too. And she lives in our garage apartment.”
Dear god, I hope he don’t ask me any questions about Rita and Eva. That would make her look like Public Enemy Number One.
“Yes sir. Rita and me were having lunch at Freemantle’s Market the day Watson come in there and went after the Sheriff.”
He pretty much went after everybody else in that place, too. I wish Rita hadn’t provoked him the way she did. It sure ain’t helping her case right now. She never did have the sense to hold her peace.
“The mayor was hoppin’ mad because he said somebody tipped off them Mexicans who work up at the tree farm up on Whitetop. He blamed Sheriff Martin for it, and come in there with guns blazin’ to accuse him. I guess his band of ICE raiders had just gone up there to round up illegals and didn’t manage to find any. That’s when he went off on the Sheriff and started accusing him and his deputy of all kinds of things.”
I’m not gonna tell them what the mayor said about the sheriff and Dr. Heller. It don’t bear repeating that Sheriff Martin looked like he wanted to knock Watson’s block off.
“Yes sir. He kicked up quite a ruckus. He knocked over some snack displays and pretty much started calling out everybody who was eatin’ lunch in there that day—even the librarian and her brother.”
I wonder if they already know about the words Watson and Rita had? I don’t wanna lie, but I’ll be damned if I’ll say anything that points a finger at her. I don’t even know the truth about what all happened between her and Watson’s wife, Eva, all those years ago.
“Well, I didn’t really see it. But they all said Watson tripped over Rita’s foot on the way to the door. Curtis Freemantle had told him to clear out. To tell the truth, Watson didn’t seem to me to be any madder at Rita than he was at anybody else in there. That man pretty much hated everyone, and most people felt the same way about him.”
How much longer is this gonna take?
“Yes, sir. He threw a bag of them Cheetos at her and stormed outta there. It was a sight to see, really. Everybody in that place pretty much stood up to him, too. Nobody was gonna take his guff. Me’n Rita finished our lunch and went back to Cougar’s. We didn’t talk no more about it, neither.”
They’re asking me too many questions about Rita . . .
“Yes sir. We were b
oth at the river on the 4th. We were standin’ near the food tables with James Lawrence, in line to get dessert. That’s when Watson showed up and went after that Jenkins boy. He spewed all kind of mess at him, too. Then he pushed him into one of the tables and drug his daughter off. That’s all we saw. We didn’t know anything else that happened until later, when the whole town found out he was dead.”
Rita and James Lawrence both wandered off, and that was the last time I saw her until later that night, when it was time to head home. I hope he don’t ask me if I know where she went . . .
“If you’re lookin’ for people who had reason to do harm to that man, you’re pretty much gonna have to look at everybody in the whole dern town. You won’t find one person that had more reason than anybody else. Nobody liked him. But I don’t think anybody hated him enough to bother killing him, neither. He wasn’t worth it. Most people just looked the other way. You can mark my words: that man was a bad penny from first to last—and I think God knew it was time for all the torment he caused around here to end. Even now, his unholy memory is keepin’ everything stirred up.”
They just need to let this rest. No good’s gonna come out of any of this—especially for that little girl.
◊ ◊ ◊
Bert and Sonny were at the cemetery, trimming and weeding around all the headstones. The city paid them to head out here once a month to mow and tidy up, but it had been raining so much lately, they were more than two weeks behind.
“I can’t get over how much these dern baby’s breath plants have spread since we were out here at the end of June. I wish people would quit using that mess in arrangements.” Sonny was restringing his line trimmer after it got caught on a burdock root near the base of the Pollard family monument.
“Well, it’s all that rain,” Bert told him. “Then this heat and humidity kicks up and it’s like a dern greenhouse effect.”
“Well, we can’t be waitin’ this long again to get back out here, rain or no.” Sonny finished reattaching the spool containing lime green wire to his trimmer. “It’s gonna take us the rest of the afternoon to get this mess sorted out.”