No Defense

by Rangeley Wallace

  “But that’s not true.”

  “What if you got a call and some crazed stranger said that your father had killed someone fifteen years ago and you were certain that it wasn’t true and that following up on it would cause only pain and misery?”

  “That’s not a fair comparison, LuAnn!” He stood up and paced around his room, hitting his hands together, trying to contain his anger. “But the answer is that I would pursue that, and I will pursue this. That’s the only way to find out what really happened.”

  “But it could take so long. What will everybody think about you if you start asking questions about the murders and Daddy and Mr. Waddy, even though it will turn out all right someday? And what about us? You couldn’t even come in the Steak House if you start on this.”

  Ben stopped walking and stood in front of me. “You want to play this game? Okay. Let me ask you something then: What if you were Leon Johnson’s mother, or Jimmy Turnbow’s? How would you feel? Wouldn’t you want someone to pursue every lead possible? No matter what anyone said? This is exactly what you’ve wanted ever since we met. You’re the one who pushed me to pursue this. You asked me to do it for their families. I told my editor to move the appeal on the redacted documents along quickly, that there were people here who cared, and I was talking about you. You know damn well that if the documents hadn’t named your father you’d still be pushing me full steam ahead.”

  I knew he was right, but I didn’t want to think about those lies I’d read another minute. I ran from the house. Ben followed, calling after me. I kept running toward my parents’ house. Ben yelled again, but as my distance from him increased his voice faded.

  I slowed to a walk along the lakefront and started picking up flat stones almost the size of my palm-a habit from my childhood, when we’d spent summer days skimming stones across the lake. Standing at the bottom of the trail, I stared through the trees at my parents’ modem glass-and-wood house. Each fist gripped a handful of smooth, damp stones.

  I walked up the path to the house, slowly opening my fists and dropping the stones one by one onto the ground. Neither of their cars was parked in the driveway. I peered through the picture window across the back of the house and tried the door. It was locked. I knocked. No answer. I went around to the front of the house. No answer there. I turned and walked away.

  Taking the trail just to the right of the house, I walked toward Mother’s chapel. I was surprised to find that once inside the chapel I was comforted, whether by the chapel as a sacred place or by the physical refuge it offered me at this particular moment when I had nowhere to go, I didn’t know.

  I sat on the bench and tried to catch my breath. Suddenly I was on my knees in front of the altar, hands clasped together, head bowed. I was so bewildered by what Dean Reese had said fifteen years ago, by my father’s reaction to it, by Ben’s refusal to accommodate him, and by unarticulated fears about what it all might come to that I would do almost anything, even pray.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  I went to work the next day, hoping that I could lose myself in the restaurant’s demands. Wishful thinking. Every time the Steak House door opened, I looked up. Every time the phone rang, I flinched, my anxiety exacerbated because I didn’t know who or what I was waiting for.

  For the first time in weeks, Ben didn’t call or come by the Steak House for breakfast or coffee. I hoped that he was meeting with my father and faring better with him than I had, but I had the feeling this was not going to be resolved so easily. Otherwise wouldn’t Daddy have dealt differently with the accusations when I called him? Wouldn’t he have set the matter straight then and there?

  In the late morning, my mother phoned me at the restaurant. Annoyed that she would interrupt my vigil, I trudged up the stairs to my office to take the call anyway.

  “Your friend Ben was just here,” she said.

  “What?” Since seeing the FBI memos, I had imagined any number of different scenarios, from good (the author of the documents revealed they were a hoax) to bad (my father was accused publicly of murder), but I had not considered the possibility that Ben might involve Mother.

  “He asked me some questions about your father.”

  “You’re kidding!’ I said, annoyed. “What did he want to know?”

  “Whether your father had been a suspect in the murders. He told me you saw the FBI memos that he showed me.”

  “It’s a mistake, Mother. Some horrible mistake. I begged Ben to ignore it and get on with his book, but he won’t.”

  “He also talked to Berta Waddy this morning.”

  “He told you that?” I swiveled back and forth in my desk chair as feelings of helplessness and dread mushroomed inside me.

  “No, Berta called me.”

  “Why would she call you?”

  “Because your father’s name came up when Ben talked to her. She called here to speak with Newell, but he’s at the club playing golf, so she told me. And-”

  “Wait! What did you tell Ben?” I interrupted.

  “I told him I thought I should talk to you first.”

  “Why? I don’t know anything about any of this!” I must have yelled, because I saw Estelle, who was in the front dining room, look up at me, curious. I closed my office door.

  “Maybe you should come over here,” Mother said. “You sound upset.”

  “And you sound fine for some reason. Does Daddy know Ben’s talking to half the world about this, spreading lies everywhere?”

  “I don’t think so. Not yet, anyway. It won’t be long now; you know Berta.”

  “Can you stop a reporter from investigating? There must be something we can do. We can’t allow him to-”

  “LuAnn, your father was questioned by the FBI,” Mother interrupted me, in an urgent burst of words. “He was a suspect.”

  “You have finally gone too far, Mother. Are you crazy?” I turned my chair around until I faced the empty back dining room so that the customers in the front dining room couldn’t see my undoubtedly distraught face. “Why would you say such a horrible thing?” I asked, then I hung up the phone.

  I dialed Ben’s number. He was the one causing all this pain. He was to blame. His line was busy. I tried again. Busy again. Every time I heard a busy signal, I dialed again. My breath accelerated with each attempt, as if the physical action of turning the dial was more than I could bear. Finally, his phone rang.

  “How dare you talk to my mother!” I demanded when he said hello. My voice was shaking.

  “What’s the matter, LuAnn?” he asked.

  “You have to stop this, now, before it spreads any further. Talking to Berta Waddy, you might as well be talking to Channel Six.”

  “I won’t be able to see you again, you know.”

  “I think you could if you wanted to. I haven’t done anything unreasonable. You, however, are not behaving rationally.”

  “Everything you’re doing is unreasonable!”

  “I tried to reach your father, but I haven’t been able to, so I talked to two other people, LuAnn. Only two. It’s not exactly on the television news.”

  “Yet! Do you even care about what I say, Ben? Do you care at all? Or have I been just a distraction for you, someone to fill up your time while you were away from home?”

  “You know that’s not true. I care very much about you, too much probably, but I have to go ahead with this. The paper just called. They’ve assigned someone in Washington to pursue the leads on that end. If your dad would just cooperate, I’m sure we could resolve this right away.”

  “Since you believe that, why not stop the whole thing right now?”

  “Don’t be so mad at me, LuAnn. This is not something I have any control over. You know this has nothing to do with you and me.”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “I miss you already,” he said, gently.

  “Get used to it,” I said, and I slammed down the phone.

  Without thinking, I picked up the Tallagumsa phone book. On the front was a photog
raph of a large sailboat gliding across Clark Lake. I turned to C and ran my finger down the page to “Cox, Barbara.”

  After Mother and Jane saw Eddie and Barbara in her car together, raising the possibility of a relationship between them, the idea had slowly worried its way into my consciousness. Although I didn’t want to admit I was interested, I suddenly needed to know whether Eddie was staying there. I didn’t think ahead to what I would do if he were. I didn’t think at all. I simply needed to know that minute. I dialed Barbara Cox’s number from my office.

  The phone rang four times, then it was answered.

  “Hello,” Eddie said.

  I hung up, crying.

  Less than twenty-four hours earlier, I had been on top of the world. Now my world was spinning out of control at an unbelievable rate of speed, leaving me confused and shaken. I fumbled around and got my things together. The only place where I might be able to find some respite was at home. There I could rock the twins, hold them tight, and try to lose myself in their warmth and sweetness. Or I could cry my heart out with them and they’d never have a clue. Although I would have to pretend all was well with Jessie, who was having enough problems adjusting to her father’s absence without seeing me fall apart, taking a walk or playing with her and seeing her original child’s response to the world couldn’t help but jolt me out of my misery.

  I was on my way down my office steps when Jane came marching through the front doors of the Steak House and up the hall toward me. Even before she spoke I knew something was wrong. Jane never came into town in pants, but here she was wearing orange cotton pants, a maternity top smudged with dirt, and loafers without stockings. We met at the bottom of the steps.

  “Mother’s at home crying her heart out because of the way you talked to her, LuAnn,” Jane said sternly. “You treat her like a distant cousin. She’s your mother!”

  “She shouldn’t say those things about Daddy,” I said.

  “Would you just listen to me for one minute, LuAnn? Daddy was questioned by the FBI. Don’t look at me like that! Someone told the FBI he was involved, and two FBI agents came to our house and questioned him. I was at home. I saw them.” She made her accusations quietly, almost in a whisper.

  I looked at her in amazement. Why would she lie about this? “Let’s go upstairs,” I said.

  I led Jane up the stairs, then down the hall to the last dining room. Nothing was scheduled for the upstairs dining rooms all afternoon or evening, so they were dark and empty. I flicked on one of the light switches but left the other three switches off Jane sat in a chair while I paced.

  “But why didn’t I know?” I demanded. “Why didn’t I know anything about any of this?” I was frantic. Although the Steak House wasn’t cold, a chill gripped me, and I wrapped my arms tightly around my chest.

  “You were twelve years old, a child,” Jane said. “There was no reason to upset you if the investigation didn’t go any further. That was a very unhappy time in our lives. Lucky for you, you had no idea what all was going on. Then the excitement died down and it was like nothing ever happened.”

  “But something horrible did happen. Two people were killed and Daddy was questioned. I can’t believe this. Didn’t people think it was a little strange when I organized the memorial for Jimmy and Leon? I’m surprised someone in town didn’t point out that the daughter of a suspect had some nerve raising money for a memorial,” I said.

  “No one else knew about any of it, LuAnn,” Jane said.

  “How could no one know?” I asked.

  Jane scowled, sat on the floor, pushed her loafers off, and leaned against the wall. “I can’t get comfortable,” she said, shifting her weight, trying different positions. “I don’t see how you could ever sit down, pregnant with twins.”

  “Lie down on your left side,” I suggested.

  She did, resting her head on her left hand.

  I sat down on the floor a few feet in front of her. “It’s impossible to keep a secret in this town,” I said.

  “Everyone has secrets, even here,” she said. “No one knew the FBI was in town except a few people. It was all hush-hush.”

  “What did Daddy tell the FBI?”

  “I wasn’t in the room when they talked, but he told me afterward that he’d said he wasn’t involved.”

  “That’s it?”

  “That’s it. Oh, and I heard him laugh when they came to the door. They said something, and then he laughed, sort of a nervous laugh.”

  “Why? Why would he laugh?”

  “He didn’t ever explain it to me.”

  “And you never found out? Didn’t you ask him? You must have wanted to know,” I insisted.

  “Yes, I asked him.”

  “And what did he say?”

  “That there was nothing to worry about.” Sitting up, she reached her left hand behind her neck and massaged the area.

  “That’s all?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you ask him what the FBI said to him? And what he said? What it was all about?”

  “Yes, yes, yes. He acted exasperated, you know how he does, and he said, ‘I told you. Everything’s fine. Don’t worry.’”

  “You should have made him explain everything to you.”

  “That’s real easy for you to say, LuAnn. You’ve never had to ask him to do anything he didn’t already want to do. He’s a very stubborn, selfish man. It’s not worth it, making demands on him, believe me.”

  “I don’t agree with you, but ... you don’t think he was involved, do you?”

  “We weren’t ever close the way the two of you are, but no, I don’t think he killed anyone. Back then, though, I hated him enough to hope he was the murderer, to wish they’d lock him up forever and throw away the key.”

  “Jane! How can you talk like that?”

  “I was very angry at him.”

  “But why?”

  “My life hasn’t been the fairy tale yours has been, LuAnn, especially when I was a teenager. You always had everything you wanted: You were blessed with beauty and brains, you were head cheerleader and homecoming queen, you had Junior. And Daddy adored you. He still adores you. I didn’t have any of that. We had a lot of problems; you can’t even imagine some of them.” Jane’s eyes teared up.

  “Like what?” I asked.

  “That’s all over and done with.” She sighed and looked past i me into the dark end of the dining room. “It’s Buck I’m worried about now, not me. If all this gets out it’s going to kill him. He’s devoted his career, his life, to Daddy. He worships him.”

  “You haven’t told Buck yet?”

  “I’m hoping Ben will stop his investigation, that the whole thing will disappear,” Jane said. “It did once.”

  “Me too,” I said. “God, I hope it does.”

  That afternoon, after a brief visit home and a few much needed hugs from the kids, I watched from my office as my father came in and joined his friends for coffee. His shirtsleeves were rolled up and his tie was loosened a bit, concessions to the heat. I was relieved to see him, happy to hear his voice. There was just no way I could connect what the FBI documents said about him with the man I and so many others knew and loved.

  When he stood up to leave the Steak House after twenty-five minutes with the Coffee Club, I rushed down out of my office and met him at the table. “Are you okay, Daddy?” I asked.

  “Never felt better,” he said.

  “Where are you going?”

  “I’ve got to run a few errands,” he said. “Then get back to the office.”

  “Can I tag along with you? I need a break.”

  “Sure, but don’t you have work to do?” He took one last swig of his coffee and set some change on the table.

  “Not much.” I linked my arm through his. We left the Steak House and began walking down the street. “Where to?” I asked.

  “Harold’s Gun Shop and Jerry’s Barber Shop.”

  “What do you need at Harold’s?” I asked.

  “S
ome shells. I’m going to kill me a reporter.”

  “Daddy!”

  “A little joke,” he said. But he didn’t laugh.

  “Maybe you shouldn’t go in the gun shop.”

  “And just why not?”

  “It might make things look worse.”

  “Things! You call what your harebrained friend is running around saying ‘things’! Your choice in men sure leaves a lot to be desired.”

  He gave me a withering look. I had seen the look before, but never directed toward me. All the kindness I was used to seeing had been snatched out of his eyes, and I turned away, feeling as though he’d hit me.

  “I’m sorry,” I said.

  “It’s not your fault,” he said, softening a little, “even though I know you’d be the first to point the finger if it weren’t your old dad we were talking about. Right?”

  “But it is you.”

  “Did you even try to stop Ben, like I told you?” he asked. “Did you, LuAnn?”

  “Yes, I did. I swear. He just can’t.”

  “You mean he won’t. Nosy bastard.”

  “He’s not. It’s his job, Daddy.”

  “He gets paid to be a nosy bastard then.”

  A few blocks from the Steak House he stopped in front of the portable plastic sign outside Harold’s Gun Shop. Christmas colored bulbs decorated the perimeter of the sign, which advertised “Handguns, Rifles, Shotguns, Black Powder, Hunting Apparel, and Knives.”

  “Are you coming inside with me?” he asked.

  “I’ve never been in there,” I said. “Maybe you shouldn’t go either. What if Ben sees?”

  He shook his head, disgusted. “Don’t start telling me what to do, LuAnn!”

  He walked in. I followed.

  Harold was behind a glass-counter case full of handguns. Behind him, rifles lined the wall. “Afternoon, Mayor, LuAnn,” he said.

  I wanted to tell Daddy not to smile at Harold, not to shake his hand, that it might look like there was something suspicious between them. Just being in the gun shop made me feel dirty. Why wasn’t my father more sensitive? I stood off to the side, by camouflage clothes.