They were not having much luck tracking the five thousand dollar check Gladys had recently deposited. The Central Bank of Memphis would not release the information before the subpoena was served, which seemed to be long in coming. The lack of progress was frustrating and it seemed their leads were vanishing. Gladys had been dead for almost a week and Hick feared they’d wasted too much time.
He picked up another letter and looked up as the station door opened and Wayne Murphy walked in.
Hick’s lip twitched, but Murphy was not his usual cocky self. He crossed the room without saying a word and then stood in front of the desk and looked down. “Sorry to hear about the Delaney boy.” Wayne lowered himself into the little arm chair beside the desk and studied the toe of his shoe.
“What do you want, Murphy?”
“I don’t know … assurance, maybe. That I didn’t have something to do with it.”
Hick continued to stare at the letters in his hand and did not bother to look up. “Culpability is a funny thing, Wayne. Legally you bear no fault, so you got nothing to worry about. Go on and print your little paper and sell your stories … I can’t stop you.”
Wayne frowned. “You must think I’m a real heartless son of a bitch.”
Hick didn’t answer.
“I didn’t mean for anybody to get hurt. Especially not a boy … a hungry kid.”
“Funny how when you get people riled it’s always the innocent ones who end up paying the price. The ones who seem to get in the way of all the madness.”
“I didn’t think—”
“That’s right,” Hick interrupted slamming the letter in his hand onto the desk. “You didn’t think. You tried the Delaney brothers and convicted them in your paper with no evidence, no motive, nothing but a strong desire to make a little money. And the best way to make that money was to prey upon the fear and prejudice of folks. You made ’em feel like every shadow and every creak of the floor board was a Delaney comin’ to kill ’em in their sleep. You whipped ’em into a frenzy and then you come in here askin’ me for assurance?”
“I just—”
“Job Delaney was thirteen years old. He’d never gone to sleep one night when his stomach wasn’t rumblin’ with hunger. He never knew his father, his mother was an invalid, and his brothers were never around except at meal times when they would show up with the little they’d scrounged up to eat. He was easy pickins’ for your fear mongerin’ and hate. I got no assurances for you, Murphy. The outcome was just what you should have expected.”
Wayne shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “I was just tryin’ to keep everyone’s interest. You know how short the time is before everyone stops carin’ and then forgets.”
“That’s right,” Hick said hoarsely. “They forget, you forget, but Jed and Eben, they won’t forget. They’ve had a father locked up and executed and a brother killed. They’ll never trust another soul and why should they? No one ever gave them a chance. Not you, not Wheeler … nobody. Yeah, your life will go on the same as always and tomorrow you’ll be printing a story about someone’s family reunion in West Memphis. But those boys’ lives have been changed forever and they’ll learn to hate everyone because of what people like you did to their family.”
“That’s not fair.”
Hick sat back in his chair and crossed his arms. “Wayne Murphy you are about the last man on earth to talk about playing fair. I’ve watched you drive otherwise peaceful citizens to the brink of murder with your lies and manipulation. I’ve let you call me inept and incompetent over and over again and never said a word against you and you want to know why? Because life ain’t fair and you’re a fool if you think it is. I’d like to say I’m sorry if I hurt your feelin’s, but I’m not.”
“Okay, Blackburn, I read you. I didn’t expect to come in here and leave your best buddy anyhow. And you still don’t think them boys killed Gladys Kestrel?”
“The last time they were spotted they were pickin’ strawberries, in plain sight, earning money to send home to their mama who they don’t know is dead. Not typical criminal behavior to my way of thinking.”
Wayne still appeared skeptical. “We’ll see. I hope not pickin’ them up right away isn’t something you’ll regret.”
“I regret a lot of things, but givin’ my fellow man the benefit of the doubt and showing a little kindness are things I’ll never regret.”
Wayne shrugged. “I learned years ago kindness is a luxury those of us in the news business can’t afford.” He rose from the chair and hesitated, then said, “Well, I’m off. Slow day for me. Maybe I’ll have a stroke of virtue and write something nice about that Delaney boy.”
“I won’t hold my breath,” Hick said, looking back down at the stacks of papers on his desk. He didn’t look up as Murphy left the station.
Running his hand through his hair, Hick reached for a cigarette. Regret. The word echoed through his mind. Where had he heard it lately? He lit the cigarette and picked up the letters from Susie to Gladys looking through them again. I know you’re right and I would have regretted it. This phrase had been lurking somewhere in the back of his mind, haunting him. After his conversation with Murphy the nagging thought returned. What would Susie have regretted? Was she going to expose George? Tell Elizabeth Shelley? Is this what Gladys was trying to keep Susie from doing? The cigarette burned between his fingers as he mulled this over. Something about it just didn’t ring right. While it was true that Gladys worshiped the faculty and staff of the Cherokee Crossing High School and would have done anything to protect them, Hick didn’t believe Gladys knew anything at all about George Shelley’s involvement with Susie. Her strict sense of right and wrong would not have allowed her to keep the secret all these years and she certainly couldn’t have worked for George with the same dogged loyalty. But what else might Susie regret?
Susie Wheeler could not have duped any other boy into believing he was the father of her baby and marrying her. It seemed George was the only man in her life. She was planning on running away to Memphis to have the baby and put it up for adoption. So where would regret have come in? What did she tell Gladys she was planning on doing? Whatever it was, Gladys was strictly against it.
A light went on somewhere in the back of Hick’s mind and he caught his breath. The cigarette burned down to his finger and he dropped it onto the desk, quickly scooping it into the ashtray. He suddenly realized that Abner Delaney was not at the wrong place at the wrong time. He was there, in the woods by Jenny Slough, for a reason. “Holy Christ,” he gasped as he jumped from his desk and grabbed his hat.
The open windows of the squad car provided little relief from the heat as Hick drove through town. In the short amount of time it took to reach Dr. Prescott’s home, Hick’s back was drenched in sweat and the sun was directly overhead. “I recognize that look,” Jake Prescott said as Hick climbed the steps to the porch. Jake was smoking a cigar on his porch swing and Hick sat beside him, lighting a cigarette.
“What look?”
“Oh, I don’t know, that ponderin’, pensive face you get when you’re mulling something over. It was the one your daddy always pointed out to me. He would say, ‘If that boy put as much time thinkin’ over his homework as he did all of life’s perplexities, he’d be a straight A student’.” Jake blew a smoke ring and watched it float off into the distance. “He’d say it with so much pride. He knew you were destined for bigger things.”
“Bigger things,” Hick repeated. “Why do ‘bigger things’ always have to be so unpleasant?”
“Come inside.” Jake stopped the swing and stood. “Let’s have a drink.”
Hick flicked the half-smoked cigarette onto the front lawn and followed Jake into the house. Dr. Prescott’s home was his office and was impeccably clean for a bachelor’s residence. This was due to Liddy Baker, the woman he hired that acted as nurse, secretary, receptionist, and housekeeper. Pushing through a set of saloon doors, the two men went through the kitchen and into the study, the only room of the h
ouse that Liddy Baker didn’t touch. The ash tray on his desk was running over with cigar ashes and Jake squashed the fat cigar into the heap. There were papers strewn about and diplomas on the wall. The room appeared the same as the others in the house, the same paint color, architecture and much of the same type of furniture and yet it somehow reeked of masculinity. It was Jake Prescott’s refuge from the daily grind of keeping the citizens of Cherokee Crossing in somewhat decent health.
Decanters of amber colored liquids covered the credenza behind his desk. Indicating them Jake asked, “What will you have? Bourbon? Scotch?”
Since Hick’s last drinking adventure with Tobe Hill, he could not smell whiskey without his stomach turning. “How about Scotch,” he ventured. “With a lot of soda.”
Jake nodded and prepared the watered down drink before pouring himself a tall glass of straight bourbon. After taking a long swig he held up the glass and said, “God bless Tennessee.” He and Hick sat in two worn leather arm chairs and Jake asked, “So tell me, son. What’s on your mind?”
Hick took a drink and felt the liquid go down his throat. “Doc, are there any kind of tonics or potions a woman can drink to make her lose a baby?”
“Oh sure,” Jake said sinking back into the chair. “Since the early days there have been ways for a woman to end a pregnancy. Most of them didn’t really work. Just made her sick for a few days and then things progressed normally from there. On the other hand, some were lethal and still others were surprisingly effective. Why do you ask?”
“Do you think … what about Pearl Delaney? Would she have known any of these?”
“I wouldn’t be surprised. Many are made with simple ingredients. Teas made from marjoram or lavender. Parsley, thyme, all things she could have gotten fairly easily.”
Hick took a drink and leaned forward. “Just suppose that Abner Delaney was in the woods the day Susie Wheeler died, not for some murderous reason and not by chance. Let’s say he was there to deliver a tonic made by Pearl to Susie. A tonic to make her lose her baby … to make it all just go away. Isn’t that more likely than just being at the wrong place at the wrong time?”
Jake drained his glass and rose to re-fill it. “It certainly seems plausible. Why do you think Susie would consider such a step?”
“Because in a letter she seems to indicate that she had at least thought about it. She tells Gladys she knows if she had followed through with some plan she would have regretted it. I can’t think of anything she might have regretted more.”
Jake sat back down and Hick went on. “The more I think of it, it just seems to make the most sense. When I told Pearl about her boys finding Gladys she said the words, ‘God’s judgment.’ I didn’t know what she was talking about at the time, but it could be she knew she’d done wrong in sending the tonic. It would also explain why Abner wouldn’t file an appeal. He wouldn’t want his pregnant wife convicted of distributing such a tonic. Considering whatever she whipped up was probably worthless, it’s unlikely she would have even been charged. The sad truth is, Abner couldn’t have known that.”
“If that’s true,” Jake said, shaking his head, “then Abner Delaney died to protect his wife.”
“And that’s just what I think happened. But it still leaves the big questions unanswered. Who killed Susie Wheeler that day and what does any of this have to do with Gladys Kestrel?”
“Susie led such a sheltered life.” Jake took a long drink of bourbon. “I wonder how she would have ever thought of Pearl Delaney. I reckon the boy, Ronnie Pringle, didn’t want to marry her? He would have known about Pearl since he lived out on a farm near the slough. You think he put the idea into her head?”
“Ronnie Pringle never knew anything about that baby.”
Jake lifted his eyebrows. “Oh?”
“That baby belonged to George Shelley.”
“Ah.” Jake looked at his glass meditatively. “Seems I remember your daddy worryin’ about those two.”
“If he was worried, shouldn’t he have done something? Told someone?”
“Told them what?” Jake asked. “That he had a young teacher and a young woman that seemed to be attracted to each other. Your daddy worked in a school that was predominately female. I’m here to tell you there were times he found himself attracted to some of them. But to your daddy touching another woman would be tantamount to beating the one he had. He would have never done it, and I reckon he thought the same of George. Good ones always have a hard time believing bad of others.”
“And Susie Wheeler went to the grave with all her secrets of infidelity and illegitimacy intact, and George moved on with his spotless record. It makes you wonder.”
Jake sighed. “This town is the same as every other town on the map. It’s filled with good and bad, but mostly ambiguities. Behind every door is a story that is never told unless there is immense tragedy, or joy. But folks mainly live quietly, without fanfare, lives that are never wholly one thing or the other.” He pulled a new cigar from his shirt pocket and ran it lovingly beneath his nose before he lit it. He took a puff and sat back. “Every dot on the map is pretty much like another.”
“And all the roads on the map seem to lead back to the Delaney brothers,” Hick replied.
“How so?”
“Well, if their daddy died to keep their mama out of prison, it stands to reason the sons would be willing to do almost anything to protect her as well. If they thought Gladys had figured out what their daddy was doing out there in the woods they would want to keep the whole thing quiet. The shape their mama was in when they left … they knew she wouldn’t have lasted a week in prison.”
“Perhaps,” Jake said, “but it’s one thing to give your own life for someone like Abner did. It’s quite another to take one. That’s a rather large jump. They wouldn’t have really known Gladys, and I’m not sure how they could have known what she was thinking. And it doesn’t explain what happened to Susie Wheeler.”
“All that’s true,” Hick admitted. “But the reason I’ve never considered them as suspects is I couldn’t think of a reason on God’s earth they would have to hurt Gladys. As far flung as it is, I now have a reason.” He shook his head.
“As crazy as it seems, all this does give the Delaney boys a possible motive and that’s the one thing they didn’t have until now.”
17
Hick hardly remembered the drive home from Doc Prescott’s house. His mind was pre-occupied with the possible reason for Abner Delaney’s silent defense and the senselessness of his death. If Pearl had manufactured a tonic for Susie, it was highly unlikely she would have faced prosecution for a concoction of herbs that may or may not have caused an abortion. The fact remained that Abner would not have known this and would have done whatever necessary to keep his pregnant wife out of prison. If Abner believed Pearl could face prosecution, then his boys would also believe it. The question was, if Pearl Delaney had broken the law, would her boys have known it and how far would they go to protect her? In a case with few leads, this idea had transformed the involvement of the Delaney brothers from material witnesses to persons of interest.
“Damn,” Hick muttered to himself. “Why do all the clues keep leading back to those boys?” Slamming the car door in frustration, he climbed the steps and opened the door and was astounded to find Eben and Jed Delaney seated in his kitchen, eating beans and cornbread and Mourning Delaney sitting in a rocker holding his son. As he glanced around the room, cold terror crept slowly up his spine.
“Hey, boys.” Hick forced his voice to stay steady. “Any of ya’ll seen my wife?”
The kitchen seemed small and cramped with the amount of space occupied by the Delaneys. There had always been a kind of wildness about them that was markedly noticeable when they were indoors. They seemed too large for their environment and out of place like caught fish tossed into a bucket. Their hands were dirty, not because they hadn’t washed, but because the dirt had sunk into their pores years ago, making them seem as if they were a part of
the earth itself.
Eben Delaney didn’t look up from the beans he was shoveling into his mouth, but between bites mumbled, “Yer wife went to Doc Prescott’s.” He glanced up from his plate. “Ya’ll ain’t got no phone.”
Hick felt a little weak in the knees. “But I just came from Doc’s and didn’t see her.”
Jed’s hard eyes met Hick’s. “I reckon you missed her.”
A forced, strained laugh escaped Hick. “I wonder how that happened. Who’s sick?”
“It’s yer boy,” Mourning said from the rocking chair across the room. She looked down into the face of Hick’s son and said, “I reckon he’s got the croup.” As if on cue, the baby barked a harsh cough that filled the room. And then another. Rough tearing sounds that came from deep within Jimmy’s chest.
Jed’s hard eyes remained on Hick’s face. “Iffen ma were still livin’, she could fix that up right smart. But ma’s dead now … so’s Job.”
The room began to spin and Hick felt himself growing sick. The baby coughed again, a sharp, hacking sound and Mourning rose wordlessly and went into the bathroom closing the door behind her. Hick heard the sound of water running and a nauseating wave of helpless confusion washed over him.
“Don’t worry. She’s good with that sort of thing,” Eben said letting his fork drop onto the plate with a clank. “Just like ma used to be.” He picked it back up and continued eating.
Hick lowered himself into a kitchen chair across from Eben and Jed. His mind reeled, like he was awake inside a nightmare. The setting was uncanny: he was in his own home with two potential murder suspects, his wife was missing, and his son was hacking behind a closed door. He fought to keep his voice under control. “How long ago did my wife leave?”
“Not long,” Jed answered vaguely.
“Strange I didn’t see her,” he repeated, but there was no answer.
The sounds of forks clanking against plates filled the kitchen. “When’d ya’ll get back in town?” Hick made himself ask.
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