by Nora Deloach
Rose’s eyes brimmed with tears. “Cricket was brazen and did things she ought not have done, but she didn’t deserve to die like that,” she told Mama.
“Do you have any idea who could have attacked her?” Mama asked.
“No.” Rose’s voice was so low and faint we almost didn’t hear her.
But Mama nodded thoughtfully. And once again she changed the subject. “I’ve never noticed that cemetery. Tell me about it.”
“It’s been there almost twenty-one years,” Rose answered, almost too quickly.
I could see that Rose’s reaction had an effect on Mama’s thoughts.
“Everyone who’s buried in that cemetery is a child, a baby,” I pointed out, thinking that this was the way Mama wanted the conversation to proceed.
Rose nodded. “My grandmother delivered all those babies herself.”
“It’s odd that they’re buried in her cemetery and not with their own families.”
Rose looked away. “I suppose …” she said. There was a slight tremor in her voice.
Mama smiled compassionately. “Is there a story behind that cemetery, Rose?” she asked in a tone I knew was meant to get Rose to feel close enough to share something that might be personal.
Rose didn’t answer. She sat as if mistrusting, now glaring at us. I couldn’t help but think that this young woman was smart. She’d quickly figured out that Sarah Jenkins, Annie Mae Gregory, and Carrie Smalls were looking for information from her about her sister’s murder for distribution throughout the county. Now, she was trying to decide whether Mama and I had the same motive.
Mama leaned forward. She touched Rose’s clasped hands. “If there is a story behind your cemetery, I’d like to hear it,” she said, her voice low and gentle.
When Rose didn’t speak, I knew Mama’s next strategy. She’d want us to sit quietly and allow a feeling of trust to grow in the room without words. Rose’s body tightened like she was feeling something terrible. A painful look swept across her face. Finally, her shoulders relaxed a fraction and she said edgily, “My grandmother, Lucy Bell Childs, was a midwife. That’s all there is to that cemetery.”
I believe Mama and I reached the same conclusion at about the same time: Rose Childs wasn’t going to tell us any more.
But Mama gave Rose a long, serious look. “Rose, I’ve got to ask you this and I want you to be honest with me.”
Rose’s lips thinned.
Mama waited for a moment before she continued. “Does anybody in your family have little Morgan hidden away?” she asked frankly.
Rose didn’t blink. But she spoke in a confused voice, as if she couldn’t believe Mama’s question. “No! Nobody in my family knows what has happened to Morgan. But—” She stopped.
Mama pressed, “But what, Rose?”
Rose sighed. The sound seemed to come from somewhere deep inside of her little body. “Our whole family is praying for that baby—day and night, we’re praying that the Lord will keep that child safe.”
Mama frowned. When she did, it confirmed my own thoughts—something in Rose’s voice betrayed that she was scared. Did she suspect her family’s prayers wouldn’t be answered? Or did she know it?
Mama touched Rose’s hand again. “You sound like you know something more than you’re saying,” she said softly.
But again Rose stubbornly remained silent.
A slight look of exasperation crossed Mama’s face, but it was brief—I really don’t think Rose saw it. “Rose,” Mama said, “I want to help you. I really want to help you.”
Rose’s hands trembled, but the rest of her body became rigid. It was as though if she moved, she feared she’d break. “There are wicked people in this world, Miss Candi,” she whispered. “People who do evil things to innocent little children.”
“You know those kinds of people?” Mama asked.
Rose didn’t answer.
“I want to find Morgan,” Mama said. “If you don’t have her, perhaps you can help me find her.”
Rose still didn’t say anything.
“I’m thinking,” Mama now said, “that Timber might have taken Morgan to stay with one of his other girlfriends. Did Cricket ever mention that she suspected Timber of messing with anybody else?”
Rose’s body loosened. “What?” she asked, as if she was coming out of a trance.
“Did Cricket ever tell you that she suspected that Timber might steal Morgan and give her to another one of his girlfriends?”
Rose shook her head. “Cricket never thought—” Rose’s voice trailed away. Then she sat fixed again, like she was determined that she wasn’t going to talk freely.
Compassion was clear in Mama’s face. I suspected since she was having her own pain, it was easier for her to identify with Rose’s. “I don’t think little Morgan is dead,” she said gently. “Somebody in Otis has kidnapped Morgan and is hiding her. And Timber knows that she’s here. It’s the only reasonable explanation for him to be still hanging around Otis if he did in fact kill Cricket.”
“Timber loved his baby, all right,” Rose whispered.
“We’ve got to find Morgan before it’s too late, before whoever has her takes her away from Otis,” Mama continued. “If you know anything that can help me, anything at all—”
Rose looked like a little girl, scared of a particular villain. “Miss Candi,” she said through choked tears, “I don’t know where Morgan is at.” She sounded confused, like she didn’t understand the connection between Cricket’s terrible murder and poor Morgan’s kidnapping.
Mama decided not to push for more information. She gestured for Rose to join her on the sofa. But instead, Rose kneeled on the floor beside her. She threw her arms around Mama and began sobbing uncontrollably. “Don’t you worry yourself none,” Mama whispered, holding Rose gently in her arms. “We’ll find Morgan, I promise—we won’t stop until we find her!”
CHAPTER
TEN
Mama had to spend all day Thursday in bed—her poor feet were very sore and swollen. A complete day of total bedrest was absolutely necessary.
As Mama ate the breakfast I’d brought her the next morning, the look on her face was distant, like she’d spread pieces of some puzzle in front of her mind’s eye. The last thing she’d said before I left her to take her tray to the kitchen was, “Where is Morgan Childs?”
I shrugged and didn’t answer. I knew the creep who’d tried to scare me on Cypress Creek road had Morgan and I knew that his motives weren’t fatherly.
I cleared the table and stacked the dishwasher. The smell of Irish cream coffee, the second pot of the morning, filled the sunny room. It was peaceful and I felt glad to be home, glad to be with Mama when she needed me. I jumped when I heard the doorbell ring. It was a long siren like somebody’s finger had gotten stuck on the bell. Once before I’d heard that kind of a desperate ring: That incident ended with Mama almost being killed. That memory made me swear to myself and peek through the door’s peephole before I swung it open.
He was standing on our doorstep. Thirty-five, woolly hair, long over his ears, combed back. Lips uneven, the top long and thin, the bottom fat and pulled down by a scraggly beard. His complexion was leathery like he’d spent a lot of time outdoors. He wore a pair of faded jeans, a dingy white T-shirt, and a pair of old Reebok sneakers. I didn’t need to see more. I remembered this creep’s every detail, especially his unblinking, cold stare. Out on the Cypress Creek road, it had almost scared me to death. I stiffened when he pressed the doorbell again.
This had an odd feel to it; it was like fate had given me a second chance to cop the creep. You must be tripping if you think you’re going to get to this black woman, I thought. I turned away from the peephole and headed for the kitchen. The instructor of a rape defense class I’d once attended told us that anything sprayed in an attacker’s eyes would stop him cold. I was looking for a can of aerosol spray. These were one pair of nasty eyes I wanted closed.
The bell rang a third time. I pushed cans arou
nd in the cupboard. Finally, I spotted the oven spray. This will end that cold stare, I thought as I headed back for the door.
But when I got there, the creep wasn’t on our porch anymore. I cracked the front door wide enough to see him walking toward the blue Ford that was parked in our driveway.
Midnight came tearing up the driveway. The man stopped and stared at the attacking animal. Midnight barked and leaped at him. The big black dog threw himself on the man, rearing up with his forepaws on his chest. The creep patted Midnight’s head. The dog barked and wiggled and licked his face.
I stood with my can of oven spray in hand, speechless.
“Good to see you, boy,” the man said. I was shocked; his voice was actually gentle. He began walking toward his car, Midnight following close at his heels. The stranger patted the dog again. Midnight wriggled with joy. Moments later, the blue Ford had pulled out of our driveway into the street.
I memorized his license number. But not before I noted that the infant carrier was no longer in the backseat.
“Simone,” Mama hollered. “Who was at the door?”
I didn’t answer her; I was thinking that it’d never crossed my mind that I’d see this scab at my own house.
Mama called again. “Simone, who was at the door?”
I hurried into her bedroom. “You won’t believe this. You remember I told you about the guy who threatened me on the Cypress Creek road?”
Mama nodded.
“The creep who had Morgan in the backseat of his car,” I added enthusiastically.
“Yes, Simone,” Mama said patiently.
“He just rang our doorbell.”
“Are you sure?” Mama asked.
“He was driving the same car—This time,” I said proudly, “I’ve got his license number. Call Abe, Mama. Get him to check it out for us.” I lifted up the receiver and dialed the sheriff’s number, then handed Mama the telephone.
A cloud passed over Mama’s face. Without speaking, she put the phone down on its receiver.
“You don’t believe me?”
“Simone,” she said, her tone gentle, practical. “Give yourself a minute to calm down. Then we’ll talk about what just happened.”
I slumped down in the chair next to Mama’s bed. My heart raced; I was so pissed I felt a little dizzy. A ripple ran across the bedroom window, a breeze from the vent of the air conditioner.
Mama’s voice was soft. “Tell me again, what happened on the Cypress Creek road?”
I recounted the incident.
“And the same man came to our house a few minutes ago?”
“It was the same creep,” I insisted. “And Midnight actually liked him.”
Mama smiled. “Maybe, just maybe, the man wasn’t trying to threaten you on the Cypress Creek road.”
“He was, too!” I snapped.
“Why would he come to our house to hurt you?”
“I don’t know,” I conceded. “I just know he rang our doorbell and,” I showed Mama the oven spray can I was still clutching, “I was going to put his lights out for good.”
“You might have blinded an innocent man.”
“Yeah, right,” I said, sarcastically.
“Simone, your father knows plenty of guys from all over Otis County. Some of them are his close buddies, others are acquaintances. This so-called ‘creep,’ as you call him, could have been coming to talk to James. Before we jump to any conclusions, let’s ask James about this guy, okay?”
“That creep can’t be one of Daddy’s cronies,” I protested.
“Young lady, the only thing you can get when you hurry is trouble. Let’s wait and talk to your father. He’ll help us get to the bottom of what that feller has on his mind.”
“That man could very well be the same creep who was with Timber when Abe and Rick went chasing after him—”
Mama cut in. “We won’t know until we’ve asked James, will we?” she asked, with a certain kind of emotion. I understood her tone. Despite the fact that at times my father drinks too much, Mama was convinced that he was quite capable of taking care of her and me.
I opened my mouth to argue with her. Reading my mind, she fastened her eyes on me. “James will find this young man, learn his intentions.”
“You win,” I said. “We’ll wait until Daddy gets home.” I looked down at the can of spray, then back into Mama’s eyes. She smiled. I giggled. We both started laughing. Mama tried to stop laughing by putting her hand over her mouth, but she laughed again. I held up the can of oven spray and kept laughing. Tears streaked our faces and the laughter kept coming. I’d think I had gained control, then I’d look at Mama and be off again. I guess I didn’t look like the fiercest protection Mama had ever had. Still laughing, I finally got up and put the can into the kitchen cupboard where it belonged.
We were eating lunch when Mama said, “At least that little incident this morning was worth a good laugh.”
“I’d rather go to a comedy club,” I said.
“You’re not still upset?” she asked.
“No,” I said, resignedly. “I admit it—I overreacted again.”
Mama smiled. “You feel all right about taking me to see Abe?”
Her smile was contagious. “As long as I’ve got my oven cleaner handy,” I joked.
“You sure you don’t mind going into town?”
“I’m back to myself again. Besides, I think you’re right. Daddy can handle that creep.”
“I keep thinking,” Mama said, “about how you said Midnight liked the young man.”
“That crazy dog acted like he was a long-lost relative.”
Mama looked concerned, but she didn’t say any more about it.
Before we left the house, I made a phone call. “May I speak to Yasmine,” I said, once I’d gotten the Atlanta number I’d dialed.
“Just a minute,” a woman on the other end of the line said.
A few seconds later, Yasmine was on the phone. “Yasmine,” I said.
“Simone, are you back in Atlanta?”
“No. I’m still in Otis.”
Yasmine’s voice dropped. “Oh.”
“Listen, girlfriend,” I said, trying to keep my voice controlled. “I’ve been thinking about our last talk and … well, to be honest, I don’t believe either of us said all that we need to say to each other.”
“Simone, you’ve decided not to go with me, haven’t you?” she asked.
“I haven’t made up my mind,” I lied.
There was silence.
“I want you to come to Otis,” I told Yasmine. “Come Sunday night, spend Monday here with me.”
“What good will that do?”
“We could talk. I promise that before you leave, I will make a decision.”
“You’re not going with me.”
“Three more days is all I’m asking,” I told her. “Monday is your day off. Spend it with me here in Otis. After that, well—”
“You’re not going to change your mind. I can tell from the sound of your voice, Simone.”
“Please,” I pleaded.
“Okay,” Yasmine reluctantly agreed. “I’ll come down on Sunday night.”
I took a deep breath, then let it out loud enough for her to hear.
“Simone,” she said, “you don’t know what this thing is doing to me!”
“Hang in there,” I told her, then said a quick good-bye and hung up. The truth is I still didn’t know what I was going to say to Yasmine when she arrived in Otis. I only knew that we had to talk. We had to say things that would help our friendship through this crisis.
CHAPTER
ELEVEN
The sheriff rubbed his eyes. He looked tired, like he’d missed a couple of nights’ sleep. As usual, his office stank of cigarette smoke, but he didn’t light up while we were there. “I’ve caught up with Joe Blake and Sonny Clay,” he told Mama after she had been seated. “They both can account for themselves. But Les Demps left town the day after we found Cricket’s body. It seems th
at Cricket had a thing going whereby she’d get these guys in some kind of situation that they didn’t want people to know about. She’d somehow take their pictures. She guaranteed herself steady money by promising to keep the pictures to herself.”
“I figured that,” Mama said, with a nod. “I know a few other people in this town who’re into that kind of thing. Fact is, though, if the men they mess with would stay away from them there wouldn’t be any secrets to keep.”
“Now, Candi,” Abe said. “You and I both know that ain’t likely to happen no time soon. Anyway,” he continued, “I found out that Cricket and Les spent all day Monday in Savannah.”
“And Clarence Young found Cricket’s body in his apartment early Tuesday morning,” Mama said.
Abe nodded.
“Did you check out Clarence’s alibi?” Mama asked.
“I’m having trouble reaching the guy he was suppose to be working with. Right now, I ain’t ruling Clarence Young out as a suspect either. By the way, Timber has been spotted again.”
Mama leaned forward.
“He was in another car but with the same feller. They were on that stretch of road to Darien,” Abe said. “A farmer called me, but by the time I got there, those two were long gone. Seems like that rascal is playing hide-and-seek with me.”
“I think Timber is hanging around ’cause Morgan is still somewhere here in town,” Mama said. “Rose told me that he was crazy about that child. And it might be that Timber didn’t kill Cricket,” Mama added.
“Then why won’t he come in and talk to me?” Abe asked. “I done let it be known around the county that I’m not looking to arrest him, that I just want to talk to him about Cricket, that’s all.”
Mama shrugged. “He’s probably scared.”
“Can’t be too scared,” Abe insisted. “Seeing he don’t mind being seen driving in and about the county in broad daylight.”
“Abe,” Mama said, “I’m thinking that Timber had another girlfriend. Somebody who might be keeping Morgan for him.”