by R. Jean Reid
“That’s right, give away everything we got to the general public.”
“There’s no mention in the story of how Rayburn was probably killed, Sheriff Hickson,” Jacko said. “We didn’t even have that information.”
“Can’t you at least run these sorts of stories by me before they come out?” the sheriff demanded.
“No,” Nell said bluntly.
He stared at her for a moment before finally saying, “No? You don’t want accurate stories.”
Nell flared, “I run accurate stories! I don’t want censored stories. If I let you read the articles before they come out, then I’m going to have to let Chief Shaun read them, and if the mayor wants in on it, then I can’t very well deny him. And we might as well have a paper run by the aldermen of the town.”
“Well, I got to disagree with you here. Murder is a hard word to hear in this town and I think you need to be real careful about where you say it.”
“I will be careful. I will also tell the truth. We didn’t pull the word murder out of thin air. Chief Shaun has labeled it murder. The evidence from the coroner’s office clearly indicates murder.”
“I just think it’s a little early to be saying that in public.”
“I run a newspaper, Sheriff. It’s my job to say things in public.”
“Well, you want cooperation with my office”—and he gave a pointed look at Jacko—“I like to get a little cooperation in return.”
“I’ll gladly provide cooperation, Sheriff. I just won’t allow censorship,” Nell said, as politically as she could.
He stared to her, weighing how much he could use good press coverage versus how heavy a hand he could play—just as Nell was doing. She didn’t want to totally alienate him and lose all access to what was going on at the sheriff’s department, but nor was she willing to be the nice little southern girl who kowtowed to the powerful men.
After a moment more of consideration, he said, “Okay, Miz McGraw, you win this one. I have to admit I didn’t mind your coverage of those drunken yacht club drivers. And I guess a better paper doesn’t take any one side all the time. And if I don’t cooperate with you, then only Chief Shaun’s side gets in, and you and I both know I wouldn’t be pleased by that.”
It was probably as close as the sheriff would ever get to perestroika with her. “I won’t make promises to please everyone, or even anyone, but I will try to make the stories as fair and accurate as possible,” Nell said.
“I s’pose that’ll do, Miz McGraw.” He tipped his hat and left.
Nell waited until the door was firmly closed behind him before turning to Jacko and saying, “And on the eighth day, God turned the sheriff into a reasonable man.”
“I guess he doesn’t like the idea of young boys being murdered here,” Jacko said. “Can’t come around to saying the word.”
“Maybe,” Nell replied. “But don’t make assumptions. It’s always a good idea to look into the stories behind the story. Why are the police chief and the sheriff so reluctant to cooperate? Is it just stupid macho rivalry? Or is there something else going on? And why is the sheriff so set against calling this murder? A murder investigation could expose a number of things that an accidental death wouldn’t.”
“So you think that there’s something suspicious about how the sheriff is acting?” Jacko asked quickly.
The soul of a reporter, Nell thought as she saw that glint of excitement in his eyes. Jacko enjoyed the hunt, the searching, the knowing. As she did. And as Thom had. She remembered the times she and Thom had tossed around possibilities, pondering everything, from what were the essential questions to far-fetched “what ifs.” That was one of the things she liked about Jacko—he was energized by her pushing him, by making him look at things differently. Carrie would just sigh and see it as more work.
“My best guess is that Sheriff Hickson sees this as out of his league and something that Chief Shaun can handle much better—which he has to find galling—and also doesn’t want to say the word murder, because saying it makes it true in his mind. Probably nothing more than that. But it can’t hurt to dig a little.”
“Have shovel, will report,” Jacko answered with a mock salute. He started to turn away, but stopped. “It doesn’t feel right to have this much fun over … over some poor kid being killed.”
Nell had faced the same dilemma, feeling her adrenaline run when word of another disaster struck. And she’d finally come to her answer: “We’re just telling the story, not causing the tragedy.”
Jacko nodded and went back to his desk.
sixteen
He had barely glanced at the Pelican Bay Crier when he was at work. It wouldn’t do for him to be seen poring over the local paper. But now he was home, and he could stare at the front page. He read the story, barely three paragraphs long, about Rayburn Gautier’s murder. “Possible murder.” He read it again, then gently set the paper down on the table. He noticed his hands shaking and that made him even angrier.
It was almost as if she knew how to enrage him, was throwing a gauntlet in his face. No headline, below the fold, the same size typeface as the hokey story about some old lady spotting a log and deciding it was an alligator. Only three paragraphs, “possible murder” according to the Chief of Police. No murders in this town for close to three years, and the ones before that had mostly been drunken brawls where the men killed were the kind only missed by drinking buddies, and even then it only took a few beers for the memory to fade to a worn story: “Guy that used to sit at that stool got killed in a fight, can’t remember his name.”
Rayburn Gautier was different, very different. He wanted it noticed.
He suddenly snatched up the paper and savagely ripped it in half. Then threw the torn pieces to the floor and walked over them, as if his feet were striking back at the sin of ignoring him.
“What does it take to get your attention, Nell McGraw?” he demanded out loud as he crossed again over the newsprint. “Next paper I want the top of the front page.”
What would be impossible for her to ignore? He stopped his pacing and retrieved the paper from the floor. His anger was passing and the untidiness of it bothered him. Holding the two pieces together, he again glanced at the front page, skimming over the other stories.
And then he knew how he would get her attention.
seventeen
It seemed so quiet and peaceful here, Nell thought. Perhaps it’s just the illusion of not having children home. This Saturday had taken Lizzie off to the mall with several of her friends. She would stay there for hours and come home with nothing more than a pair of socks. Nell knew it all had to do with teenage bonding, although she wished her daughter was involved in something like biking or science fairs, as Josh was. Admit it, Nell told herself: Lizzie should choose something her mom could see a point to, instead of aimlessly wandering around a shopping mall. Although she supposed it was probably better for Lizzie to be indoctrinated by crass commercialism than drugs and alcohol.
Josh was engaged in a more mother-approved activity. His article about places to ride had inspired the bicycle maintenance class to take their well-oiled bikes out on a trail featured in the story.
Nell was using her quiet time to putter around the house, catch up on some letter-writing, actually clean the kitchen, and think about cooking and what to eat in place of the weekday hastily thrown-together meals. She was standing at the sink, washing grapes, watching sunshine in the green leaves of the oak tree next door.
Boyce Jenkins seemed to indeed have cleared out of town. And if he hadn’t, he was avoiding her. There had been no phone calls in the night, no phone calls where no one talked; none of those things that would make her wonder if there was a threat behind it. Were they connected? Jenkins’s leaving and the absence of calls? Although no one had been arrested for the murder of Rayburn Gautier, no one else had been harmed either. Jacko was doggedly following u
p with Chief Shaun, to get more details on his claims that they had a suspect. When Jacko had last talked to him late yesterday afternoon, he’d said, “We had some solid leads and we’re working on them.” Nell hoped that meant an arrest was soon coming and this terror could permanently go away.
The phone rang, but it was a bright afternoon and she had no fear in picking it up.
“Nell? This is Marion Nash.”
“Marion, hi, how are you?” Nell was pleasantly surprised to hear her voice. They’d managed to squeeze in their coffee date yesterday after work. The coffee shop had been crowded with high school kids, so their talk ranged from books to women in the south to town politics. They hadn’t discussed their private lives, so Nell wasn’t able to bring up the topic of Kate, but she felt like they’d had a connected conversation, one that flowed easily and showed promise of going into deeper things.
“I’m good, but my mother isn’t,” Marion replied. “I’m going to have to spend all weekend with her.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Nell said. “That must be hard on you.”
“Southern daughters, remember? We do our duty. Your mother-in-law came over this morning and sat with her while I went and got groceries.”
“I hope you didn’t have to hear too much about what a horrible job I’m doing of raising Thom’s kids.”
“There was a comment about Lizzie wearing makeup, but it was restrained and moderate.”
“Well, she and I can actually agree on that. I wish Lizzie wouldn’t wear makeup either. But I want to save the ‘no’ battles for something more toxic than Hot Tropic Peach lip gloss.”
“At least it’s peach and not lime green or black.”
“That’s probably next week’s battle.” Nell sighed.
“However, I didn’t call to discuss teenage shades of lipstick, but something a bit more serious.”
“Yes?”
“One of the books that Dolly, Rayburn’s sister, turned in had some … drawings in them.”
“What kind of drawings?”
“Something that shouldn’t be in a kid’s book. I can’t really explain right now, not with Mama in the next room.”
“Is it something you should take to the police?”
“Well … I’m not sure,” Marion said slowly. “That’s why I’m involving you. I need another pair of eyes to tell me if what I’m seeing is … is what I’m seeing.”
“Okay, when can we get together? Monday after work?”
“No, can’t do it then. I have to take Monday afternoon off to drive Mama to her doctor in Biloxi. Tuesday?”
“Tuesday … Tuesday I promised Lizzie we’d hit the sale at her favorite shoe shop. Can it wait until later in the week? I’m afraid if I don’t let her get the shoes she wants it’ll be black lipstick for a month.”
“Nothing will bring Rayburn back,” Marion said softly. “I’ll call you next week and we can set something up.”
“Fine,” Nell agreed. She wanted to ask more questions but knew it would have to wait. As she replaced the receiver, she realized she hadn’t even asked if Marion knew for sure that Rayburn had done the drawings. Nell assumed it was the case, but hadn’t she just been warning Jacko about making assumptions?
The phone rang again. Hoping it was Marion with an alternative time to meet, she quickly picked it up.
“Hello, Nell, I’m glad to catch you at home. I know Lizzie is growing into a young woman, but I don’t think she realizes how garish all that makeup looks on her,” said Mrs. Thomas McGraw, Sr.
Nell held silent for a moment, her thoughts running from just how like Mrs. Thomas it was to barge into a conversation with a criticism, to thinking how to defend Lizzie for doing something that she didn’t agree with either.
“Actually, I think Lizzie does realize how garish it looks. It’s called teenage rebellion and finding new ways to annoy the adults in her life.”
“I suppose. I don’t remember Thom ever rebelling like that.”
“I suppose that boys in his generation weren’t likely to use garish makeup to rebel in any case.”
The silence at the other end told Nell that Mrs. Thomas was not amused. Finally, her mother-in-law replied, “I meant that he didn’t act out, like you’re accusing Lizzie of doing.”
“Really? I seem to recall him mentioning things like being arrested and hauled before the judge for leading a toilet-paper rolling of the high school stadium.”
Again there was the censorious pause. “That was one-time high jinks and he was seventeen when he did that, not fourteen like Lizzie is.”
Nell briefly considered rattling off a list of “one-time high jinks” that Thom had admitted to, but by now she knew that a battle over Thom’s memory would only waste her time. Plus, his mother might not have been aware of most of them. There could be a time to tell her, after the freezing over of hell, but this was not it.
“I want to take Lizzie with me to New Orleans next weekend,” Mrs. Thomas continued. “I thought that if she’s going to wear makeup, she should do it right. One of my usual stores, Saks, I think, is offering makeovers and I think Lizzie could use one.”
“I’ll tell Lizzie to call you when she gets back,” Nell said.
“You’ll tell her you think it’s a good idea, won’t you?” Mrs. Thomas asked, her tone clearly indicating that girls Lizzie’s age shouldn’t have free will about things like attending needed makeup classes.
“I’d be more than happy to see my daughter in something more becoming than what she presently chooses to wear, but she may have some band things next weekend, so I’ll have to see.” Nell was reasonably sure that Lizzie had no band practice then, but she wanted to give her an out that didn’t require directly saying no to her grandmother.
After a few more questions about when Lizzie would be home and what was Josh doing, Mrs. Thomas hung up.
So much for a perfectly peaceful Saturday afternoon, Nell thought.
The phone rang again. And this one stole the peace in a way that the others hadn’t been able to.
“Nell? This is Kate. We’re going to be late getting back from the bike trip. Joey, one of the boys, hasn’t come back yet, so we’re going to stay in the park and look for him.”
“Is Josh there?” Nell immediately asked. Then just as immediately chastised herself—that’s right, only worry about your own son.
“He’s right here. Do you want to talk to him?”
“No,” Nell said, deciding to spare Josh the embarrassment of having Mom so visibly worry over him. “But … keep everyone together. Don’t let him play macho little boy and go off looking for his friend.”
“We’re all sticking together. Any searching will be done by adults,” Kate responded. More softly, she added, “I’m going to give him another fifteen minutes to straggle back and then call the sheriff. It’s probably nothing. A wrong turn on the trail and he’s heading east when he should be heading west.”
“I hope you’re right,” Nell answered. “Is there anything I can do? I’ll come out and join you to …” make sure that Josh is safe, she didn’t add.
“Not at this point.” Kate answered her first question. And then her second: “It might help to have you out here. Aaron and Frank, the dads who came with us, are down the trail looking for him, so I’m the only grown-up with the kids.”
“I’m on my way.”
“Okay. Let me get on to calling the other parents.”
Nell returned to the kitchen, the sun still shining brightly through the trees, a golden afternoon that would soon slide into evening. It can’t be, she thought. Not on a perfect day like today. This kind of horror can’t just walk in on such a perfect day.
Nell shook herself. Kate’s probably right; Joey just took the wrong fork and will show up any minute now. She again looked out the window. Bright sunshine produced such dark shadows.
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She locked the kitchen door, usually left open for children to wander in, as if wanting to make sure that any of the horrors out there couldn’t invade her home.
Josh’s okay, and Joey will be okay, she told herself as she drove to the park. He’ll have returned by the time I get there. The worst it can be is that he fell off his bike and broke a leg.
She found herself sliding through stop signs. This is stupid, Nell thought. Speeding won’t help anyone. She took a deep breath and deliberately slowed to a more reasonable speed. Joey will already be back when I arrive.
But he wasn’t.
When Nell pulled in, Kate was still on the phone and the children from the bike class where all sitting at one of the picnic tables near the entrance of the park.
Kate nodded at Nell as she approached, finishing up what appeared to be another conversation with a parent.
“Hi, Nell,” she said. “Thanks for coming.”
“No sign yet?”
“No, not yet. Aaron just called me. They’ve gotten as far as our turn-around place.” Kate, her back to the kids, allowed a worried look to cross her face.
“What do we do now?”
“I’ll call the sheriff and his men. Best to make use of the daylight while we have it.”
Nell glanced at her watch; it was just after four o’clock. Only a few hours of light left.
Kate took a few steps further away from the children to make the call.
As an added distraction, Nell joined them at the picnic table. If Joey was okay, they didn’t need to see the worry—and if he wasn’t, they’d know soon enough. She wondered, what is it that makes us so protective of our children? Makes us want to keep them from pain and fear, as if we can really keep these cares out of their lives? Maybe it’s to delay the blow for as long as possible, to give them time to grow and mature and be ready for the inevitable pain. As if it’s ever possible to be ready, she thought.