Waiting for the knock on the door. Waiting for Carter.
Before long, a very familiar sound came. Velma hurried to the door. She whispered to Carter, "We haven't said a word to Delia. A young girl can't keep a secret."
Carter nodded in agreement. His costume was even more effective now that he was shivering with cold, tired and worn out looking.
Delia cried out in surprise when she saw Carter's disguise. "What in the world? You look terrible!"
Lamont laughed at Delia, as did Carter. It cheered the room, although Velma was unmoved by Delia's outburst or the comical reaction it elicited.
Chuckling, Carter said, "I promise it won't take more than a few minutes to make myself look more respectable again."
After the laughter waned, Lamont looked at Carter for any sign that he might have breaking news to share with them. He was eager for the latest information, but Carter was not volunteering any tidbits at this time.
They soon had coffee together, which was pleasant enough, but there was in the air a sense of uncertainty, discomfort and restraint amongst the small party in the front room.
Lamont felt slightly nervous that he couldn't ask questions of Carter. He had never felt that way before, but something had him on edge. Well, not just something... *some things*. The suspense was palpable in the center of Lamont's stomach, eating at him, nibbling at his insides.
Now more than ever, he wanted to know what the latest was. He wanted to know if they were any closer to apprehending this horrible Hangman. Soon, coffee was over at Carter rose from his seat, preparing to put on his heavy coat.
Lamont rose quickly, setting his mostly finished coffee down on the table, to escort his young friend to the front door. Now was the moment, if there was to be any moment this evening to learn about the latest of the Hangman's machinations.
"So where did this one happen?" Lamont asked clumsily as he opened the door for Carter. "Can you at least tell me that?"
"Primrose Mount," Carter said quietly. "It'll be in the last edition of the evening paper, so you can read all about it then. I'm sorry, Lamont. I'm exhausted and at the end of my rope, no pun intended, with this Hangman business."
"So no arrest then?" Lamont asked. Carter shook his head, weary. "No. I think we've been going about this all wrong. But we're doing our best. I don't know if Velma shared it with you, but I questioned a barmaid about a man who showed up in her bar before closing time, not far from where the latest murder occurred. She gave me all she knew, but it's clear to me that the guy she's talking about is a harmless nutcase. Apparently, he gave her five dollars to tell him that he was a teetotaler." Carter shook his head dismissively.
Lamont cocked his head to the side. "That is odd." Carter tipped his hat. "Good night, Lamont. See you tomorrow?" Lamont nodded and closed the door as Carter made his way down the front steps.
When Lamont returned to the sitting room, Delia had gone. "Where'd she go?" Lamont asked Velma.
"She took the tray into the kitchen," Velma said absently.
Lamont called out sharply, "Delia? Hurry back in here when you put that tray up."
"Yes, Daddy," she said in reply, eager and happy.
"Don't stick around in that freezing kitchen for too long."
Lamont turned back to Velma. "Is the tenant upstairs? I haven't heard him moving around up there lately."
"Why?"
"Look, I'm going to say this only once: I don't want Delia anywhere near him."
"He's not feeling well today," Velma said. "Besides, I wouldn't let Delia anywhere near him because she's no business tending to him. That's my job."
Velma was a little surprised and a little annoyed by Lamont's tone. She wondered what prompted him to say such a thing, but in a way, she felt relief that she wasn't alone in the sentiment of keeping Delia as far away from Mr. Lockhart as possible. No matter the reason. She figured Lamont was tired from his previous evening, but she wondered... had he begun to suspect their tenant of something... less than upstanding?
For so long, Velma had worried about the thought of the police raiding her home to rouse Mr. Lockhart from his abode and sending him to the gallows. The scandal of it! But she believed this was only her secret and that any suspicions on her part regarding Lamont sussing out anything about Mr. Lockhart seemed beyond possibility.
Delia picked up on her father's change as she entered the room and noticed him sitting by the fire, lost in thought. "Daddy, you feeling okay?" she asked.
Lamont looked up and gave her a faint smile, warmed by her sight more than the fire. "Sure, baby girl. I'm just cold is all. I ain't felt this cold ever, I think."
At a quarter to eight, they heard the all-too-familiar cries and shouts from outside. The evening edition. "The Hangman strikes again!" "Another horrific crime!" "Extra special evening edition!" The shouts reverberated through the front room.
Lamont and Velma remained quiet, but Delia's face became more and more flushed and her eyes sparkled with anticipation. "Daddy, Velma, do you all hear that?"
"Delia, not now, honey," Lamont said, frowning. He stood up and stretched. "I think I've about reached my limit with these terrible things going on in Charleston. Makes me want to pack up and leave -- if only I could!"
"Up to Aunt Margaux's?" Delia asked with a knowing smile. "Daddy, are you going to get the paper?"
"Guess I will," Lamont said.
He took his time leaving the room, hesitating in the hall before putting on his coat and hat. He opened the front door and walked down to the iron gate and opened it, then to the sidewalk. He looked both ways and crossed the street to where the newsboys stood shouting.
He bought a paper from the nearest of them. He suspected that it probably wouldn't give him any more news than what he had from the afternoon paper, but he would read it nevertheless.
Lamont stood under the nearest lamppost to read the paper. It was bitterly cold; his hands shook slightly as he held the paper. To his surprise, the paper was full of new information about the Hangman.
The headline splashed across the page that the Hangman had claimed his ninth victim in a new area: the quiet stretch behind Primrose Gardens.
Lamont read from the article: "The authorities have kept their answers to the press very limited, more than ever before, specifically concerning the circumstances that led to the discovery of the Hangman's latest crime. This paper believes the police have several highly important clues, based on anonymous sources in the police office. One clue centers around the imprint of a partially worn rubber shoe sole (see page 3 for a sketch)."
Lamont flipped to the next page and saw the sketch of what was supposed to be the imprint of the Hangman's shoe. He'd seen it before in an earlier edition.
He stared at the sketch, the crudely drawn outline and the scribbled notations that indicated wear on the sole. A sinking feeling came over Lamont, as if he were about to drown right there under the street lamp, yet the pure frisson of the moment drove him to read more.
It seemed time after time criminals were caught because of tracks they'd made at the scenes of their crimes.
Lamont cleaned the shoes and boots in his house; in fact, it was really the only menial labor he did in his own home. The image of the shoes in his house, lined up in a row, and how each morning he would start with his wife's shoes, then Delia's, then his own... then Mr. Lockhart's.
Folding the paper and placing it under his arm, Lamont returned to the iron gate in front of his house. The thought of returning inside, hearing Velma's voice, addressing Delia's question after question, filled him with dread. He paused outside the gate, taking in several deep breaths before walking slowly toward the front porch.
As Lamont walked up the narrow pavement to his front step, he heard a strange shuffling noise. It came from the side of the house.
Typically, Lamont would have stormed over and fussed at whoever or whatever was making the noise to drive them away. Last year, Lamont and Velma had trouble with drunk neighbors who were so
intoxicated they couldn't tell Lamont and Velma's house from their own. They would wind up either trying to enter through a window or side entrance, or in some cases, simply stumble over themselves as they tried to orient themselves to their surroundings.
But now, Lamont stood icily still, listening, the growing fear in his stomach driving him sick.
Was their house under surveillance? Lamont dismissed the thought. Surely Carter would have said something.
The source of the sound soon made itself visible: it was Mr. Lockhart who emerged from the shadows and into the dim light cast from the front window.
Mr. Lockhart had been stooped down, his tall, thin frame obscured until he appeared from behind the side of the house. He had a package wrapped in brown paper tucked under his right arm. As he stepped toward the walkway, Lamont could see the gleam of new boots on the tenant's feet. The leather creaked as he walked and the soles clicked against the cobblestone.
Lamont stood still in the darkness, obscured by shadows and the tree that grew in his front yard. It was clear Mr. Lockhart had gone and bought himself a new pair of shoes, gone to the side of the house to put them on and wrapped the old ones in brown paper.
Lamont waited for what seemed like an eternity until Mr. Lockhart had gone inside the house. He waited even longer until he was certain the tenant was upstairs in his room.
He walked up on the front porch and entered. He took his time hanging up his hat and coat. Velma called out to him and he responded with a "Yes." He walked into the front room and tossed the paper onto the table. "There. Not much to report. Nothing new." He shuffled over to the fire and sat down heavily in his chair.
Velma look at her husband with concern. "What's wrong? Are you feeling sick? I hope you didn't catch cold from that walk last night."
"I'm just cold. That wind outside bites you to the core. I've no idea how Carter can stand working in this kind of weather." Lamont rubbed his hands together in front of the orange glow. He could feel the cold that shrouded him slowly evaporating.
"If you felt so bad, what did it take you so long to get back, Lamont? I thought you went for another walk. You just went for the paper?" Velma looked suspicious.
"I took a moment to look at the paper over by the street lamp across the street," Lamont muttered.
"Lamont Barnes, what a ridiculous thing to do!"
"I know, I know."
Delia picked up the paper and looked it over. "They sure don't have anything new to say. Maybe Carter will be here soon and can tell us more."
"A young lady like yourself shouldn't want to be all consumed with such gruesome stories, Delia," Velma said. "Regardless of his line of work, I suspect Carter would find your constant questioning about such things tiresome. Do yourself a favor, girl: Don't saying nothing if he does come by. If he wants to tell us something, he can do it on his own without any prompting from either of you. Besides, maybe he doesn't want to tell you everything about this Hangman nonsense."
Lamont turned from the fire to look at his wife. Delia looked at Velma as well, biting at her lip. "What do you mean, Velma?" Delia asked, sounding grown up all of a sudden.
"Carter came by this morning. He knew the latest, but he asked me not to say anything about it."
"No, he didn't," Delia said, half believing her stepmother.
"Ask your daddy if you don't believe me."
"There ain't no need to be talking about this stuff right now, Velma," Lamont said.
"If I was Carter," Velma said. "I probably wouldn't want to talk about the horrible work I see every day when I come to visit friends. But as soon as that nice young man walks in this house, the two of you pounce on him like a couple of wild cats. You ask him this and that and this and that. You wonder why I don't pester him with questions? Because I respect the young man and think maybe he wants to get away from the horribleness of his work when he comes here and just see a friendly face."
When Carter did come by the house later that evening, not much was asked or said about the Hangman or his latest crime. Lamont refrained from questions and Delia simply asked Carter how his day had been. For Carter, he seemed relaxed and pleased. Delia asked him about his plans for the holidays while Lamont and Velma remained quiet for the most part.
Delia shared stories about her stay with Aunt Margaux. Mostly it was about the long, boring hours and strange jobs her aunt saddled Delia with performing. She described how Margaux carefully dried each fine china piece in the house while wearing flannel gloves.
As the pleasant talk, peppered with occasional laughter, turned toward a discussion of dinner, Mr. Lockhart's bell rang.
Velma rose and went upstairs without saying a word.
"I'm sorry to bother the festivities downstairs, Velma," Mr. Lockhart said in a quiet, weak voice. "I just wanted to let you know that I don't need any dinner tonight. If I could just have a glass of milk, that would be most welcome." He looked worn and frail in the dim light of the room. Velma offered to add more firewood to the fireplace, but Mr. Lockhart nodded no. He reached for a newspaper on the table and handed it to Velma. "Please tell your husband I said thank you for borrowing his paper."
Velma found herself feeling sorry for her tenant. She shook her head at Mr. Lockhart. "Lamont doesn't need it. He's already read it." Then a dark thought played across her mind and she added, "Besides, he has the evening edition now. I'm sure you heard the shouting outside? Would you like to see that paper, sir?"
Now Mr. Lockhart looked sick. "No. I find the newspaper disturbing, especially when I feel so unwell. I stopped reading newspapers before I began traveling around the world. I found it to be a useless expense. I regret I broke that habit today."
Mr. Lockhart rose from his chair and went to the fireplace, turning his back on Velma. He stoked the fire so that the flames rose higher, filling the space with more light.
Velma went down and several minutes later returned with the glass of milk. Mr. Lockhart had turned up his lamp and sat at his table, reading the Bible. He didn't say a word to her; he merely nodded and she left the room again without a word on her part.
Downstairs, the idle conversation between Delia and Carter had resumed. Lamont sat in his chair still, transfixed by the fire in the room.
"Is everything all right up there, with the tenant?" Delia asked as Velma entered the room.
"Of course there is. Why wouldn't there be?" Velma said, irritated.
"It must be awfully boring sitting up there by himself all the time. Lonely," Delia said.
Velma said nothing more.
"What does he do up there all day?" Delia pressed.
"He reads the Bible," Velma said simply. Delia and Carter chuckled at this.
"What's so funny about that? I'd be ashamed of laughing at anything having to do with the Bible."
Carter's face softened. "I'm sorry, Velma. You're right. It's just--"
"The way you said it, Velma," Delia finished.
"And I get the impression your tenant is a strange bird," Carter said.
"He's no stranger than any dozen men I could point at on the street," Velma said quickly, leaving the room.
Chapter 24
Lamont felt nothing but aching dread every hour of the days that followed, even though the time of year was a generally festive one.
Unhappy, Lamont agonized over what he should do, fluctuating between different plans of action as much as his state of mind and mood shifted moment by moment.
He kept coming back to the uneasy truth that he simply wasn't sure of the situation, Mr. Lockhart or himself. If he could just be certain, he'd know what to do with finality.
But he knew that he was merely deceiving himself. No matter what scenario he painted for the circumstances at hand, he knew that he was paralyzed by fear and worry. From Lamont's perspective, any alternative to the reality he faced was preferred to what any reasonable landlord would do: namely, call the police.
But there was one unshakable truth involved here; Lamont, like many other bla
ck men in the South, had an uneasy fear and distrust of the law. Not only that, for a black man to have potentially harbored a criminal... well, forget the public ruin involved for him and Velma. There was a good chance he would wind up behind bars himself. There was a good chance they would lose everything: their money, their house... each other.
Sugar in Her Bowl Page 24