"Well, I was with Noreen McMaster...” Aunt Margaret hissed. She knew Noreen was a tramp. “And that's all I remember until Strother woke me up."
"Were you drugged?"
"I think it was just the liquor, Aunt Margaret."
"All right.” She turned to Strother. “Where is the car?"
"Out by the Switchety, near those old Indian mounds, Miss Margaret."
"All right.” She squared her shoulders. “Jack, we will go speak to the police now. It's probably good that they can see these bloodstains for themselves. Strother, you keep nearby so you can lead us to the car after.” She marched out. Pud came up and pushed me along behind, and Strother went to wait in the kitchen.
I was nine years old when Mother died in the front seat of Jimmy Airhart's Stutz Bearcat. I was out of school for a week or so, and there was a lot of gossip going around. Billy Thurston cornered me at recess. “My Uncle Tom says when they pulled Airhart's body out of the wreck, his pants were down around his knees.” Billy's uncle was a deputy sheriff. “He says your mama was pretty wild.” He nodded and repeated it to show he was making a direct quote. “Pretty wild."
I wanted to push Billy Thurston's fat face in. But he was two years older and bigger than me and I was scared of him, so I just walked away. Behind me I heard snickering and whispering, and I hated Billy Thurston with all my heart. The rest of the day I sat and thought out a plan. I left school a few minutes before the bell rang. No one said anything or tried to stop me. They knew I was grieving.
I ran down to where the Miller Creek path forked off from the road and followed the path to the footbridge there. I found a good-sized stick and hid up under the willows. I knew Billy would walk home that way.
I waited a long time, a half hour at least, until Billy finally came along. I waited until he started out on the bridge and then ran out and swung my stick hard as I could. He was a little above me, up on the bridge, and I caught him back of his knee. Billy pitched off of the bridge into the mud there, and I whaled on him with that stick. I hit him and hit him and hit him. I tried to kill him, but he was half buried in the mud and I only connected once in a while. After a while I wore out and just walked off.
Next day, Billy was in school, not showing much damage beyond a couple of bruises. He never said a word to me then. I thought maybe because he was face down in the mud that he never saw who was beating on him. But he must have known.
So now, we walked into the parlor and there stood Sheriff Thomas Moomaw and beside him his nephew and trusted deputy, Billy Thurston, in their shiny damn uniforms, and I knew I was in deep trouble. Their jaws dropped when they saw me all covered in blood. Chief Moomaw walked over to take a closer look. Deputy Thurston stood frozen in shock.
Aunt Margaret broke the spell. “How can we help you gentlemen?” She raised her chin and drilled a glare right into the sheriff's face.
"Well, Miss Tait, a few hours ago we found the body of Miss Noreen McMaster over in the Switchety, and your nephew here was the last person seen with her. When she was alive, that is.” Sheriff Moomaw went straight to the point, no fooling around.
"I see. Did Miss McMaster drown?"
"No ma'm, her throat was cut."
"I see. So you suspect my nephew."
"We want to ask him a few questions."
"Of course. He will cooperate fully. Sheriff, you noticed the bloodstains on my nephew?"
"Well, now, yes ma'm, I did."
"Please note their location."
"All right. Your nephew is right handed?"
"Yes, he is."
"And is his left arm broke?"
There was silence for a second. “His left arm is in working order, if that's what you mean."
"Yes, ma'm, that's exactly what I mean.” The sheriff worked his chaw and looked directly into Aunt Margaret's face.
She wasn't fazed. “You will want to examine the car. My man Strother will take you there."
But the sheriff shook his head. “We already found the car. And the marks where a body was drug from it. But I am going to ask your nephew how he got here from there."
They took me down to the sheriff's office and started in. They asked me where I was and when and what happened. I told them I didn't remember anything after about my fifth or seventh drink. They asked me about the BusyB as though they didn't know it was there. I expect Sheriff Moomaw picked up quite a few dollars in payoffs from the Bee to let it alone, but that was the game they were playing. After a while the questions got tricky. The sheriff would repeat back something I said, only he'd get it a little bit wrong and I had to catch it. My head hurt and my stomach heaved and I could feel the blood crusting on my face. I was indignant they were interrogating me this way but too sick to do anything about it. Then, after an hour or two, things shifted. Moomaw left the room and Billy Thurston stared silently at me. Finally, he shook his head and said, “Quite a temper you got, Tait. Sometimes it just gets away from you."
"What are you talking about? I never get in fights. Or even arguments, for that matter.” Thurston just looked at me, but I could see the doubt in his eyes. He still didn't know for sure it was me beat him on the Miller Creek Bridge that day.
The sheriff returned with a glass of water and an aspirin. “Here you go, Tait. You look like you could use this."
I thanked him, and I really was grateful too. So we began chatting, kind of, like we were sitting around a table over a few drinks and not sweltering in a miserable windowless little room in the sheriff's office. Sheriff Moomaw talked about this and that, then brought the subject around to women. He told an off-color joke or two, and I didn't feel like laughing but I smiled along to show I got the punch lines. I knew what he was doing. The sheriff told a blue joke and hit the punch line, “...so she kept an ear out.” And I felt Thurston tense across the table from me. They both laughed fit to kill, watching me through narrowed eyes.
I was puzzled and I guess it showed in my face. Moomaw let it drop and went back to his friendly chitchat and then said something about “ear to the ground.” They both of them laughed and looked at me, looking for a reaction, but it meant nothing to me. This went on for a while, Moomaw just talking, then sticking in some comment about ears and studying my response. After a while he gave up. “Say, you know what? I think your lawyer's here."
"My lawyer?"
"Yessir. Montgomery Shiflett, attorney for the damned.” He didn't even chuckle. I figured he meant it.
The Shifletts had been tenants on Tait land for at least fifty years. I think it was the Senator who helped Montgomery get an education. I guess that's why Aunt Margaret called on him. He was obligated.
Shiflett's car was about what you might expect a man like him to drive: an A model Ford about six years old. A decent lawyer would have a DeSoto, anyway, or maybe something better.
"Tell you what, Shiflett, why don't you carry me on out to the BusyB.” I wanted to talk to Benny.
Shiflett glanced at me. “Don't you want to get cleaned up first?"
I recalled that I was covered in blood. “Oh, right. Well, I need to go to the house first."
"I think you should stay far away from that place. Brennan is none too happy with you."
"Brennan?"
"Benjamin Brennan, who runs the BusyB for certain interests in Kansas City. They don't much like all this publicity."
So Benny was Irish! And all this time I thought he was Italian. “Benny is my friend. I'm sure he'll look out for me.” Benny was my friend, too, though not in a social way, of course.
"Well, your friend sent a pile of gambling markers with your signature on them over to your aunts this morning with a demand for payment."
"A man of your background might not understand..."
Shiflett yanked the wheel over and stood on the brakes. He stuck his face about an inch from mine and let me have it. “Your friend finds you a great embarrassment right now and is mighty motivated to get rid of you. And your friend is the sort of scum with the connections
to make that happen.” He sat back, breathing hard. “You listen to me, Tait. If your father was alive, he'd slap some sense into you, and if you don't smarten up, I might just do it for him! Right now I'm your friend! Lynch mob or legal execution, you're set to hang, and I'm the only thing between you and the gallows!” He sat there, breathing some more, then started up and drove to the house. All the way, I never said a word.
We got back to the house and I went straight upstairs and took a hot bath and changed my clothes. I took my time about it. I was surprised when I came down to see them waiting at the dining room table. I thought I was done for the day but there they were, Shiflett, Aunt Margaret, Pud, and Strother! Sitting at a white man's table! I never saw the like before, but I kept my mouth shut. There was a glass of milk and a sandwich waiting for me, egg salad with thin slices of ham. Amelia knows the way I like it. I sipped at the milk and they started in.
"You said you had too much to drink at the BusyB and don't remember anything until Strother found you this morning. Is that right?"
"Yes, exactly."
"Think back. Can you remember anyone else coming to your table at the BusyB?” But I couldn't remember anyone at all.
Pud said, “Jack, whoever drove the car killed this girl."
Shiflett nodded. “Then he must have walked back to the BusyB. Someone may have seen him."
Strother said, “I'll ask over at the BusyB, see if any of the help saw anything."
I shook my head. “No colored work at the Bee, Strother."
Pud looked at Shiflett and he nodded. “They only have white waiters in case they have to get rough with a customer."
"That's only in the front, Mr. Shiflett. In the kitchen and the back, they have colored help. White folks always have colored to do the cleaning-up."
"All right then, Strother, see what you can find out."
Pud said, “See if a car was parked there after everybody left that was gone when they opened in the morning."
"Yes, Miss Charlotte."
Shiflett said, “Good thinking!” He turned back to me. “Tell me what questions the sheriff asked you."
I shrugged. “The same as you, mostly. The only funny thing is, he kept asking about ears."
"Ears?” Pud and Shiflett glanced at each other, but nobody said anything.
I looked around the table. Two old ladies, a colored man, and cropper trash. That was my team. I was doomed. I remembered what Shiflett said in the car about hanging, and I knew I was going to die. “Excuse me,” I said. I managed to get all the way up to my room before I started crying.
I slept pretty late. When I went downstairs next morning, there they all were around the dining room table again, just like they'd never left. I drank some coffee. It wasn't very good, which meant Amelia wasn't around. Sometimes Aunt Margaret loaned her out to other houses.
Strother had some news. “After they finished cleaning up, about three in the morning, some folks saw a car outside, all by itself. Then, after sunup, some other folks walking by say it wasn't there anymore."
"What kind of car, Strother?"
"An Essex touring car, Mr. Shiflett, gray."
"Good work, Strother. Now we'll find out who owns it..."
"Oh, we already know that, sir. Folks say it belong to that man that sells those rubber things. The back seat was full of boxes, they say."
"Prophylactics?"
"Yes, sir."
"For God's sake! Not in front of the women!” It was bad enough to have colored at the table without discussing this kind of business.
They all looked at me blankly, Pud, Aunt Margaret, Shiflett, Strother. Then Shiflett turned back to Strother. “This salesman still in town?"
"No, sir. I expect he's gone off on his sales route. His name's Winston and gets some of his goods up in Little Rock, but that's all I know. He could work out of Kansas City or St. Louis or Chicago, even."
"We should find out,” said Pud. “We need to know when he'll be in town next."
"All right, then,” said Aunt Margaret, “I will go to Little Rock and find out."
"Oh, no, Aunt. I can't have this! I'll go up to Little Rock and ask questions about this person."
Shiflett shook his head. “You shouldn't leave here at all. The word is out that Brennan will be quite pleased if bad things happen to you."
Something must have showed in my face because Strother said, “Don't you worry, Mr. Jack, we all looking out for you.” Shiflett nodded.
There you have it. I was being guarded by colored field hands. Well, they would, I suppose. They all loved my father and they practically worshipped the Senator. After serving many terms in the state senate, my grandfather went to Washington as a congressman. Right away he got involved with supporting an anti-lynching bill. Why he did such a foolish thing, I don't know. He was never going to get re-elected after pulling a stunt like that. But the colored loved him. I suppose if they were allowed to vote, he would have won easily. Anyway, they figured it was the loss of his seat and his son all at once that killed the Senator, “just made him give up living,” as Strother put it.
"I will take the next train to Little Rock,” said Aunt Margaret, “These people will tell me what we want to know.” And they would too. Nobody could stand up to Aunt Margaret.
Just then, Amelia showed herself at the kitchen door, and Aunt Margaret went in to talk to her. I tried to get Shiflett to see how improper it was for her to go over to Little Rock and question a prophylactic distributor, but he just looked at me and sighed. Pud smiled at me, “It'll be all right, Jack."
So that was that. Aunt Margaret was off to Little Rock, Strother was captain of the guard, Shiflett was organizing, Pud was cogitating, and I—I was just sitting there like a wart on a frog's behind.
Aunt Margaret came in from the kitchen. She was very pale. “I sent Amelia over to Jenny Harding's place this morning. Jenny does hair for Luscombe's and the other funeral parlors. I wanted to know if she could tell us anything about this girl's body.” Aunt Margaret paused and caught herself. “Jenny was asked about a special styling to cover up the right side of Noreen's head where her ear was cut off."
It took a second for the words to sink in, and then I recalled Noreen that night and the little rose earbob that she had been wearing and it sank in, for the first time really, that she was dead. “Oh, no! That's too much! Who would want to kill her like that?” Everybody looked at me. “Noreen never harmed a soul, she liked to have a little fun, that's all! She never deserved this."
"Did you like her very much, Jack?"
I had to tell her the truth. “We had good times, Pud, that's all. We liked each other but we weren't serious or anything. We had a few laughs.” I choked up. “Maybe she was a little wild but she didn't deserve to die."
"No, Jack, she didn't,” said Aunt Margaret. “Being young and foolish is no reason for people to die.” That was all anybody said for a minute.
"Margaret,” said Pud, “when you are in Little Rock, find out what other towns this Winston goes to, then check over at the newspaper office and see if there have been any similar deaths in those places.” Aunt Margaret nodded, very serious.
Shiflett said, “You think he's done this before?"
"I'm thinking about that German man, Kurten, I think his name was. He killed a lot of people, but no one connected the murders because he traveled about."
Shiflett nodded. And that was that. If Pud said Winston killed Noreen, then I knew for certain he must have done it.
Aunt Margaret was gone four days. Pud tried to keep my spirits up. We played cards, Russian Bank mostly, but I couldn't concentrate, and Pud kept yelling, “Stop!” and showing me the move to the middle that I'd missed.
Shiflett came by every day. There was nothing much to report except one night when somebody tried to cross the fields where Bains was cropping. Bains and Pritchard and Hardwick all set their dogs loose. Maybe it was just some fool looking for a shortcut. If so, he was mighty sorry now because that is probably the
meanest pack of hounds in the country. That was the first I knew that Shiflett had got the white tenants guarding the place same as Strother had the colored ones doing.
Shiflett drove Aunt Margaret in from the train and we all sat around the dining room table again. She pulled a bundle of paper from her reticule and smoothed it out. Every page was full of notes in her neat Palmer hand, every line as straight as if it had been written on ruled paper.
"Mr. Harvey Winston has a sales circuit that takes in the entire state, but mostly he avoids the hill country and everything up west of the Hot Springs. He picks up his goods in Memphis—they are shipped down there from Chicago, which I believe is where they are manufactured. Then he travels over to Little Rock and Hot Springs. He has an arrangement with another salesman in Little Rock whereby they trade products with one another.” Aunt Margaret looked up, her mouth pulled into a disapproving line. “I believe this is a practice forbidden by the respective companies these men represent.” She went on. “Major stops for Mr. Winston include Arkadelphia, Pine Bluff, and Jonesboro and the area north of West Memphis.
"I went by the newspaper and also picked up a little gossip. Last year, there was a murder of a young girl in Arkadelphia. An ear was removed. There was also a killing in Jonesboro. The paper did not mention ears but it did state that the body was mutilated in the same fashion as those in some murders in Indiana and Ohio two years ago.” Aunt Margaret looked up. “Two years ago, Mr. Winston's sales territory included south Indiana, Cincinnati, and some parts of Kentucky. This is a somewhat more lucrative territory than Arkansas but Mr. Winston was transferred from it. I don't know why."
Pud said, “He sounds like an irregular kind of employee. Probably broke some rules."
"Probably. I didn't get the impression that he was the sort of man who cared about rules."
We all digested that. Then Aunt Margaret said, “He is due back in this area in another week or ten days."
Shiflett said, “Strother, have your people keep an eye out at the Strand. Let us know when he comes back.” The Strand was the hotel for traveling salesmen.
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