The Last Innocent Hour

by Barbara Taylor Sissel

  “No! She loaned it to me--” But Charlie stopped now remembering the shape Maizie’d been in when he’d walked out on her. He heard how he sounded. Guilty as hell. Suddenly it was hard to breathe, as if all the air had been sucked from the room, from his lungs.

  Behind him, Tinker said, “Man, Lance, it's gone.”

  “What?”

  “The cash we keep for emergencies; it’s not here.”

  “Well, slap me silly and call me Edna.” The deputy grinned at Charlie. “This is too damned easy. Like shooting fish in a goddamned barrel. Stand up here, boy.” Devers grasped Charlie by his elbow, jerking him to his feet. “Jason? Get over here and check his pockets. Bet he's got a big wad in there, and I ain't talking about his pecker neither.”

  Charlie's heart pounded his chest. He tasted sand. “I’ve got cash on me, but I swear to God-- Look, I want to talk to a lawyer.”

  The deputy snorted. “Listen to the baby whine. He wants to lawyer up. What’s that tell you, Jayce? That don't prove he's guilty….”

  Tinker patted the outside of Charlie's thighs, and he tried not to think, to react. But even as he stared into the middle distance, he knew he was finished when Tinker pulled out the thick roll of bills that were his track winnings.

  Lance whooped at the sight. “I knew it.”

  “This is the cash that was in the safe.” Tinker found Charlie’s gaze.

  “You bastard,” Charlie said. “I will hunt you down, do you hear me? If it takes my last breath, so help me God.”

  The deputy's hands came down on his arms, turning him around. “'Pears to me, you're the one's needin’ God’s help, boy.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  She came awake slowly and lay absolutely still, on her back, eyes open to the vault of blue sky. A light breeze fingered her face, stirred the hair at her temples. Somewhere a bird sang, a cardinal, she thought. She tried sitting up and felt a weight on her chest that moved and shifted, whimpered and raised its head.

  “Mommy?” A small voice asked.

  The woman dipped her chin and saw a child, a little girl, lying astride her and lifting her, the woman sat up, blinking and wiping her face as if she might wipe away the confusion that muddled her brain. She looked from the girl’s grimy, tear-stained face, down at herself, and brushed at her clothes that were damp and muddy. Her muscles felt cramped, joints stiff and aching.

  “Mommy? I'm hungry. Where's Daddy? I want my daddy ... and I want Lamby. He's back there.” The child rose on her knees looking into the woods behind them, that was a mostly impenetrable wall, and as if something there frightened or disturbed her, she began to cry in earnest.

  The sound of motor noise drew the woman’s gaze to the road. A pick-up truck passed them, and then four cars whizzed by in quick succession. She pushed herself to her feet wincing as a hot blade of pain shot up her right leg from her ankle. The joint was swollen and blue. She looked at it curiously. Except for the pain, it could have belonged to somebody else. Beside her, the child tried to take her hand and the woman flinched from the touch and the electric kaleidoscope of near memories that ratcheted through her brain. She didn't want them.

  Home. She wanted to go home. But she didn't know how. Tears flooded her cheeks. She put her fingers in their stream, touching them as if they were foreign matter. She gazed out at the road surface and at the trees and the undergrowth that verged its trash-scrimmed edge. She stared at the sky that sailed high, wide and blue overhead, and waited for sense, but none came. She picked through her brain hunting for a clue and found nothing. Not her name, nor any recognition of this place. She wondered, Am I dreaming? It felt that way, slow and thick and not real. Another car passed leaving a coating of fine dust to drift in the air. Morning heat shimmered off the pavement.

  The woman lifted her hair from her neck, and pulling a strand of it forward, she saw that it was like the child's, a dark, wiry mane of curls. Tangled curls. Tentatively, she raised the little girl’s small chin, and staring into her green eyes, she caught a flash of something familiar, laughing eyes, dancing eyes. The edge of a memory hove into view on the horizon of her mind and then sank before she could grasp it. “I don't remember,” she whispered.

  “What, Mommy?”

  “Me. I don't remember me.” She held her head in her hands.

  “Does your head hurt?”

  A car slowed as it came around the curve, traveled a little distance beyond them and then backed up. A woman climbed out. “Are you all right?” she called.

  “My mommy's sick.” The little girl cried the words.

  She listened to the child's sobs, heard herself called “Mommy”, and felt the woman's concern. She even noticed the woman was brown-haired and older, old enough to be her own mother. She glanced at the car and saw that it had Texas plates and something about that seemed reassuring. It validated one more fact that she knew: they were in Texas. She knew that and she knew the cardinal’s song, but when the woman asked for her name, she could only shake her head in bewildered alarm.

  She sank to her knees and fell to her side, defeated. The grass prickled beneath her. Pain radiated from her ankle. Her head hurt. The woman's face hung over her, a shadowed oval that wobbled at the edges.

  Another car stopped and a man got out and joined the woman. Their voices wove an uneven cadence. Now at the woman's direction, she felt his strong arms lift her and place her into the back seat of the woman's car out of the sun.

  The woman leaned in behind the man and said, “She's not carrying a purse or anything, is she?”

  “No,” the man replied over his shoulder. Then he turned to her and found her gaze. “Do you have anything in your pockets, Miss? Any identification?”

  His question confused her, and she didn’t answer.

  She heard the woman ask if he’d ever seen her or the child before.

  He said no, he was from Huntsville. He said, “Maybe we should call the police.”

  The woman interrupted. “Do you see a phone around here?”

  “I have a mobile phone in my truck,” he said. But then he couldn’t get a signal.

  She lay in the backseat thinking she knew that. Sometimes even the landline didn’t work out here. How could she know that and not know her own name?

  “I could drive to a phone,” the man said.

  “And leave us sitting out here?” The woman sounded angry, but maybe she was scared. “I don't think that's a good idea, not with a child involved. I have experience with this,” she added. “My guess is they need a hospital now. The police will come into it later.”

  The man was cautious. “Well, I don't know as I'd--”

  “You're right, it's probably not the smartest thing to do, but I can't leave them by the road while I chase all over the countryside hunting a phone. Her ankle is badly swollen. Who knows what else might be wrong with either of them.” She crossed her arms, shaking her head. “I don't know … I just have an odd feeling about this.” Kneeling in front of the child, she asked, “Honey, can you tell me your name? Do you know where you live?”

  As if she'd taken a cue from her silent companion, the child didn't answer. The woman picked her up and put her in the front seat, and the child allowed it. After that, the man and woman poked around the roadside for a few minutes, one last look for a purse the woman said.

  “Where will you take them?” the man asked.

  “Houston. I know people there who can help.”

  “Nearest town's Wither Creek. It's about fifteen miles south.” The man jerked his thumb.

  “They could have come from anywhere.”

  “Dropped like stray dogs.”

  “Well, maybe after they get some medical attention, they'll be able to tell what happened.”

  “Nothing good from the looks of them,” the man said.

  In the back seat of the woman's car, she folded slowly over on her side and pulled her knees nearly to her chin.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “You want to tell me wha
t happened?” Jimmy Lee was settled in a worn leather chair behind the desk that belonged to the Lincoln County sheriff, who was helpfully away at some law convention in Austin.

  “Which version?” Jason asked, rubbing his eyes. “The one for public consumption or the truth?”

  “What the hell are you talking about? What kind of trouble are you in here?”

  “We. I think the word is we.”

  “We?” Jimmy Lee jerked forward. “Goddamn it, murder wasn't part of the deal.”

  “Well, I guess a lot depends on you and how much influence you've got. The case against Cunningham may not stand a lot of close scrutiny. Right kind of investigation could turn up the wrong sort of evidence.”

  “Lance told me you guys were practically eyewitnesses. You caught Cunningham cold with his hand in the safe.”

  “Wasn't due to planning, believe me.”

  “You’re talking in riddles.”

  Jason laid it out for Jimmy, how he’d been trying to get out of the house with the legal docs Lucy had signed when she’d caught him and gone off on him; they’d had a huge fight, and the next thing he knew she was dead at the bottom of the stairs.

  “Holy Christ, man, what were you thinking?” Jimmy said when Jason finished. He shoved back his chair, got up to pace. “Where is Beth now? Tell me you didn’t-- “

  “She got away. I tried to catch her. I wanted to explain, you know? That it was an accident. But she kept screaming murder.” Jason spread his hands, saw they were shaking and fisted them between his knees. “I thought she’d come here; I was sure she’d be here spilling her guts.”

  “Better pull yourself together, old son.”

  “Yeah. I know. But you've got to believe me, Jimmy, I didn't plan this. Lucy just—” Jason shook his head. At first, when he and Lance had found Charlie in the house with the wad of cash on him, Jason had considered it a stroke of pure luck, but that ebullience had faded. The buzz was back in his ears, a constant hum; he couldn’t stop it. He couldn’t push it off or ignore it the way he had before. It talked to him. He kept trying to catch the words. They wanted something from him, he thought, but they were indistinct, a blur.

  “Beth should never have come back here.”

  “Huh?” Jason looked up at Jimmy, blinking.

  “She’s gonna screw the deal. I told you she wasn't going to let you walk off with Lucy's land. Didn’t I tell you?”

  Jason stiffened. Patronizing bastard. But he couldn’t let on how Jimmy’s attitude pissed him off. He needed the mayor now, not the other way around.

  “Does Beth know her mama titled over the property?” Jimmy asked. “Does she know about Yamaguchi?”

  “I don’t know. I guess Lucy could have told her.”

  “Great, Jason. That’s just great.” Jimmy sat down again. “Royce tried calling you out at the house several times tonight and couldn't get an answer. He was worried. He said you were supposed to meet him at his office. He said you were bringing him the legal docs.”

  “Yeah.”

  “So, you lied to me before, is that right?”

  “I’ve got them. They're in the car.”

  “Go get ‘em. I'll call Royce, tell him what happened. Maybe he can help us with the damage control.”

  Jason didn’t move. “I shot Beth’s horse; that’s how all this started.”

  “That big black bastard, the one that killed her old man? What the hell did you do that for?”

  Jason shrugged. “Lucy wanted to take the land back, Jimmy. She said it didn't make a damn that she'd signed the deed; it was Clayton land.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It wasn’t hers to give. Property belongs to Beth and now Beth’s home. . . .” Jason looked at Jimmy. “You could have kissed your ass good-bye. Yamaguchi, the money, your campaign--everything.”

  Jimmy sagged like he’d been whacked in the gut.

  “When I got there tonight, Lucy said she’d filed for divorce. Can you believe it? She’d been talking to some goddamn lawyer, even had a restraining order. I don’t have to spell it out, do I? That we would have been fucked?”

  “Guess you didn't have a choice then,” Jimmy said.

  “I didn't see one.”

  Jimmy drummed his fingertips on the desk.

  “You think Cunningham will make bail? If he makes bail, I don't know what the hell I'll do.” Jason hated how strung out he sounded; he hated even worse how obvious it was to Jimmy.

  “What can he do? He didn't see what happened, right?”

  “But he knows. Trust me.”

  “Okay, but he's got no proof. Don’t sweat it.”

  Jason studied the muddy toes of his boots. He didn’t think he could take it, owing Jimmy, sucking up to Jimmy. Playing the lapdog. Bullshit on that. Maybe it was time to leave. He’d go down to Mexico. Get the hell out of this country altogether. Yeah. He was feeling a margin of relief when Jimmy said something about Maizie. Jason looked up.

  “... found her dead, too … heart attack ... paramedics told Lance....”

  Jason couldn’t focus; his breath went shallow. Maizie. He'd almost forgotten her.

  “Kind of coincidental, isn't it?”

  Jason felt the hot beam of Jimmy’s gaze; the hum buzzed in his ears.

  “Way this happened all on the same night. I'm not sure what to think.” Jimmy waved a hand. “Not that I'm all that cut up over it, you understand. She would have caused trouble, no doubt.”

  Jason met Jimmy’s stare now and realized the mayor was looking for direction. “Well, she wouldn't have just handed her car over to Cunningham. She would have put up a fight, don't you think?”

  Jimmy leaned forward, getting into it. “Everybody in town knew her heart was bad. Doubt anybody'll question it too close. But Beth's a different matter. Something happens to her, might be harder for a guy to cover his tracks, without the right kind of help, know what I mean?”

  Jason scrubbed his hands down his thighs. Yeah, he knew what Jimmy meant all right, and it made him want to puke. Jimmy's help wouldn't come free either. Jason was Jimmy's bridge to Yamaguchi, and all Jimmy cared about was preserving that bridge. But what had Jason's old man always said? Use the fuckers before they use you. That's what Jason had to do, play Jimmy's ego. On the surface, do what he said. Let Jimmy see he was grateful. Or he could take off for Mexico, which would mean losing everything he’d worked for here.

  “Beth saw everything,” Jason said. “She wanted to get the cops, an ambulance. I had to stop her.”

  “So, you chased her, but she was on foot, carrying a kid, for God's sake. How’d she get away?”

  “I don’t know. I had to take care of that nigger witch, you know?”

  “You're sure you didn't take care of Beth, too?”

  “No, believe me, she’s out there, a loose canon. Jesus.”

  “Calm down. Lance is getting together a search party. They'll find her.”

  “Yeah, and I’m dead if they do.”

  “What if she was never here?”

  Jason frowned.

  “Lance doesn't buy Cunningham’s story. He doesn’t believe Cunningham's married to Beth, or that they came here together.”

  “But you told me folks were talking about how Beth was back.”

  “Some folks. Lance hadn’t heard anything about it. Anyway, you know how they love to gossip around here. If nothing's going on, they'll make up something. Lance thinks maybe Cunningham got to know Beth somewhere else. That she told him about the farm and her rich mama.”

  “So he came here on purpose to rob her.”

  Jimmy got up to pace. “You were with me this evening, okay? All evening. When you got home, you found Lucy, your wife, dead at the bottom of the stairs. You tried to call the sheriff, but the phone was out on account of the storm. You follow?”

  “But where was Cunningham?”

  “You surprised him when you came in.” Jimmy leaned over his desk. “Say, he'd just killed Lucy, and he heard you comi
ng and hid, then when he heard you leave, he came out to finish robbing the place, figuring there was time to get the job done right before anybody came back.”

  “Go on,” Jason said.

  “Okay, so now you're driving like a bat out of hell. You come here to the courthouse, you get Lance and the two of you hotfoot it back out to the house, and lo and behold, what do you find but Cunningham inside holding a wad of cash he took right out of your safe.”

  “How's anybody going to believe he could be that stupid?”

  Jimmy slapped the desk. “Trust me, there's been stupider criminals. Ask any cop. I'm a lawyer. I've seen my share.”

  “What about Lance?”

  “He's family. He won't be a problem.”

  “But if Beth made it to the road, if she hitched a ride— Jimmy, c’mon. She could be anywhere, turn up any time.”

  “You got a better plan?”

  “Seems like it would be easier just to stick to my original story that Lucy was drunk.”

  “How’s that explain the marks on her neck? We’re going to have to figure out something with the coroner on that one. Or were you thinking he’d buy it, that she got those falling down the stairs? Jesus, talk about stupid.”

  Jason half rose, buzz in his brain notching up a level. “I don't need this shit.”

  “You best settle down before you piss me off some more, Tinker. Wasn't for me, you'd be in the slammer right now, not Cunningham.” Jimmy's glare backed Jason into his seat. “We both got a stake in this. Neither one of us can risk it screwing our deal with the Japs. God knows I don't have the clout with them that you do.” Jimmy sounded resentful as if he wondered how that could be true.

  He straightened. “You do what I say, everyone'll see you as the grieving husband. All you've got to do is keep repeating the story I gave you. You're going to tell it to Lance and the sheriff when he gets back, and you’re going to tell it to the DA. And when you take the stand at Cunningham’s trial, you'll tell it one more time to the jury.”

  Jason didn’t answer.