Family Issue

by Nat Burns

  Patty, the diligent mother, tucked a strand of hair behind Kissy’s ear. “We’re doing okay, Miss Denni,” she said in a breathy voice. “We’re going to be just fine.”

  “Patty, we need to talk,” I said. “You got a minute?”

  “Sure. What’s up?” Patty placed the toys she’d been retrieving from the floor onto the shelves in one corner of Kissy’s ultrafeminine pink and lavender bedroom. “I guess this was a pretty sucky first day of vacation for you, wasn’t it?” she added.

  “It’s okay. Just glad everything turned out all right. Let’s sit over here.” I guided Patty to the table and pulled out one of the tiny chairs for her.

  “Have you noticed anything unusual about John Clyde lately?” I asked as soon as we were seated.

  “You mean other than worrying his ulcer into acting up? No, nothing really. Just the drinking.” She watched me closely. I averted my gaze. I couldn’t explain to her why my spidey-sense was acting up concerning her brother. I couldn’t explain it to myself.

  “Think hard, hon. This could be important. Anything different since your mama died?”

  “Well, there was one instance that pops into my mind. The week after Mama passed was horrible and John Clyde used to go into her room and just kind of sit there. I couldn’t bear to do that because it just hurt me too much.”

  “But he would? Just sit there? For how long?”

  Patty nodded and continued, “Hours, like when it was raining. One day I went to call him for supper and he was crying. Sitting in Mama’s wicker rocker and crying. Just tore my heart up.”

  “That seems pretty natural, Patty. You know you did your share of crying too.”

  “Right. But what was strange was that when I went to hug him, he hid something, slid it under his leg so I wouldn’t see,” she explained.

  “What was it? Could you tell?”

  “No, and it’s been working on my mind ever since, like an otter after a crawdad.” She sat back and sighed.

  “And you have no idea what it could have been?” I asked.

  “Nope. And it’s so unlike John Clyde to hide anything from me. We’re so close…were so close. I just couldn’t ask him about it, not then when he was so sad.”

  “Strange.” I rubbed my eyes with both hands and leaned forward to rest my elbows on my knees.

  “Yes, it is. And I don’t even know if it’s important. With all this insanity that’s been going on, he’s just not been himself at all.”

  “How do you mean? Can you be more specific?”

  “It’s hard to pin down, Denni. He’s been distracted, angry.”

  “Angry?” I looked over at her. “Like at Yolanda.”

  “Well, yeah, and he’s angry Mama died, like the rest of us. Mine’s gone away some, finally. I’m not so sure his has.”

  “How do you mean?”

  Patty drew fingers through her dark hair. “You are so aggravating! I can’t explain it. Why do you ask so many blasted questions?”

  I eyed Patty with disbelief, and we began laughing together. Years rolled away, and it was like it used to be. Like we were still together. I sighed.

  “I know, that’s your job,” Patty chortled.

  “And just what do you mean by that?” I countered and the comment set us laughing again.

  Patty sobered first and I could see the pain in her face.

  “It’ll be okay, Patty,” I said, wanting very badly to reach for her hand but realizing it would be a bad move for both of us at this moment. “No one will hurt Kissy—or any of you, for that matter. Not while I’m here.”

  “I know. But just for my own peace of mind, I’ve emailed Erica and asked her to come get Kissy. They have such a good time together and Kissy needs that right now. And I need to know she’s safely removed from whatever is going on here,” Patty said.

  “Erica?”

  “You remember. Mom’s best friend—since they were little girls. A real sweetheart. You’ve met her.”

  “Is that the one Megs had all those pictures of?”

  Patty’s face brightened. “Right! That’s her. Mama was just crazy about her. She lives over in Jackson with her husband, Clayton.”

  “Does Kissy know she’s going over there? Is she okay about it?”

  “Lord, yes, she adores Erica. You might not mention it to John Clyde, though.”

  “John Clyde? Why?”

  “He’s been a little strange about her too since Mama died. I have no idea what that’s all about.”

  I screwed my face into a mask of confusion. “Did he like her before?”

  Patty thought a minute, bending over, fingers picking at loose threads in the soft center rug. “Well, he could always take her or leave her, you know how teenaged boys are. Erica’s the sweetest, most inoffensive person we know, though. It’s just totally irrational that he’s bad-mouthing her all of a sudden.”

  I nodded. “Very. John Clyde doesn’t bad-mouth much of anybody, usually.”

  Patty sighed. “I guess Mama’s death just did a number on all of us. Thank goodness me and John Clyde aren’t arguing over the business like other families do. I couldn’t bear that, not after losing Mama.”

  “I never would have imagined you would. You’ve always been able to work stuff out,” I said reassuringly.

  Kissy had wandered over, and now she inserted herself into the circle of Patty’s arms. Her thumb found her mouth again as she pressed back into her mother. I reached over and patted her protruding stomach. “Where’s your MomLanda?” I asked her.

  Her thumb slid from her mouth for a quick moment. “Ice cream cake.” The thumb slotted back in.

  I lifted a questioning eyebrow to Patty. “Ice cream cake?”

  Patty laughed. “For a bedtime snack. To make Little Bit here feel better.”

  “Ahhh,” I said, nodding. “Sounds like one heck of a great idea. Can I have some too?”

  Kissy nodded and smiled at me. She really was an adorable child.

  “Hey, Patty, when are you going into Brethren next?”

  “Tomorrow, why? I have a meeting with the bank board and planned to pick up a few household things. Do you need a ride in?”

  “Yes, that would be great. I can do what I need to do, then hang out til you’re done, if that’s okay with you.”

  “Can I go, Mommy?” Kissy asked sweetly. Patty grimaced at her.

  “I’m sorry, babykins. MomLanda is off and she wanted to do some stuff with you.”

  Kissy nodded and, sweeping up one of the Barbie dolls from the table, she flopped onto a pile of floor cushions and started cooing to the doll.

  I smiled at Patty. “She’s easy.”

  “Ha!” she barked. “You don’t know her very well.”

  We laughed and went downstairs together to see if Landa had returned.

  DAY THREE

  Chapter Eleven

  A warm rain was falling when we arrived in downtown Brethren the next morning. Not that there was a downtown in Brethren per se; it was more like a main street with a string of faded shops and a square of flag-flying government buildings. The survivors that had outlasted the storms. It was all much the same as when I’d left, filled with tall, weathered, wood-sided buildings no doubt listed on a historical register somewhere. Even the retired or disabled old men who wallpapered the front benches of the storefronts appeared the same.

  “So you’ll be okay?” Patty asked as she pulled her blue Taurus close to the curb in front of the drug store.

  “Yep, just going over to Little John’s to see the mausoleum, then get a feel for what’s going on here in town,” I said.

  I hadn’t told her about the length of wood Alejandro had found. I needed more information before broaching that subject. I had it with me, though, barely squeezing it into my backpack, because I planned to drop it off with the Brethren Police Department.

  “So are you sure five’s not too late to pick you up?”

  “You know me.” I grinned at her. “I’ll start running m
y mouth and will probably be late meeting you. Enjoy your day.”

  I shut the door, and Patty, with a short wave of acknowledgment, moved into the light Main Street traffic.

  I stood and looked along the major artery of Main Street, which branched off Highway 82. It was lined with even more ancient businesses that had received grant monies at some point to polish themselves up, as if to prove that the economy of Brethren really was thriving.

  Patty had dropped me off on the sidewalk in front of the Rexall Drug Store, now run by Heywood Lyon. At least it had been four years ago. I studied the faded window offerings for a moment but decided not to go inside. Daylight was burning and I really did need to get to the bottom of some things. I only had a week to solve this mystery, and I’d be damned if I was gonna slink away without knowing—and dealing with—the full truth.

  Main Street stretched west to Sabine Lake, where I could see the dusky blue waters and the skeletal outlines of the dock cranes, and then east to hook up with the Sabine National Wildlife Refuge, which was mainly bayou country. Patty had told me on the drive in that the wildlife refuge, where we had often hiked and picnicked, had been forever changed by the storm of 2008. Parts of it had even been closed for more than a year, undergoing repair work.

  I thought back to the years I’d spent in Louisiana. I chuckled as I remembered the time we’d been driving my Jeep over to the NWR and had encountered an eight-foot alligator sunning himself in the middle of a wide back road. We had laughed and picnicked on the tailgate of the Jeep, waiting patiently for animal control to come out and move the big lug off the tarmac. That had been a fun, if frightening, day. I had been fascinated by the huge, bump-covered creature with its two-inch-long yellow teeth. It had been my first encounter with one but would not be my last.

  I pushed memory aside and moved east along Main Street. The Brethren City Police Force office was a small building that fronted on Cleveland Street, one of Highway 82’s many side streets. Inside, the air smelled of unwashed underarms and cigarette smoke. A very large woman of color was manning the front desk, her gaze fixed on a computer screen. I stepped up to the desk.

  “Excuse me.” I swung my backpack off my shoulder and rested it on the pocked wooden floor.

  The receptionist turned to me, her dark eyes curious, the brown irises resting in yellowed sclera. Then she smiled and I felt myself responding to her gap-toothed grin with a smile of my own.

  “Hey, sugah, what can I do for you?” she asked, her voice a deep and pleasant alto.

  “Hello, my name is Denni Hope, from Virginia. I’m here staying with my friends over at the Price farm outside town and was wondering if I could talk to…” I checked my notebook for the name Ammie had given me. “Captain Armbruster Seychelles. It shouldn’t take long.”

  The receptionist leaned forward and clasped two sausage-fingered hands on the desktop. The fingers bore several heavy gold rings and were topped with inch-long, bright red fingernails. “He’s in the back, hon. You want me to go fetch him for you?”

  “Oh no, I can find him. What’s he look like?”

  “Well, I think Buster’s just the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen,” she exclaimed avidly. “He’s real tall, black but with big old green eyes from his mama’s side of the family. You can’t miss him. Just go on back and take the last left.”

  “Good looking, huh?” I said chuckling.

  “Oh, sister, I’m telling you the truth…” She burst into peals of low laughter.

  I waved at her, lifted my backpack and headed back. I was bemoaning the BPD’s lack of security. I sure hoped the police in this bucolic little town got their act together before they welcomed a killer with an automatic assault weapon in a backpack instead of a blood-stained board.

  I passed through a mostly deserted room with a handful of desks in it, then into a narrow hallway lined by open and closed office doors. The end of the hallway appeared to be a lunchroom, judging by the long table and chairs and other kitchen-like elements.

  I paused outside the last door on the left. Sure enough, Captain Armbruster Seychelles was handsome. His long legs were resting on his desk as he leaned back in his office chair reading a paperback novel. He was wearing the dark blue BPD uniform, short sleeved, and several bars and pins decorated the collars and front panel. I tapped gently on the doorjamb, and he turned those magnificent green eyes on me. They were mesmerizing, especially when taken as part of his dark, African American features.

  He lowered his legs and sat up as I quickly introduced myself and explained that I was helping Patty and John Clyde find out who was behind the harmful incidents at Fortune Farm.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said, his voice deep and slow. “I’ve been working on that case, but we’re having the devil’s own time finding out anything. Seems like this perpetrator is a ghost, he’s in and out of there so fast.”

  “Well, I hope you won’t feel as though I’m stepping on toes. I just want to help out my friends and who knows, maybe I’ll get lucky.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he agreed. “I guess you want to see the filed reports?”

  “If you wouldn’t mind.” I pulled my backpack up and rested it on the chair in front of his desk. “I happened upon one of the farmhands by the name of Alejandro the other day. He was wrapping something in burlap, sorta down by the Sabine. When I called him on it, he showed me this.”

  I placed the burlap-wrapped board on the desk before him. Impressing me, he opened a side drawer and took out vinyl gloves and slipped them on before unwrapping the bundle.

  “It’s a board,” he said, glancing at me. He looked more closely at the end. “Ah, I see. This must be the one that hit the child over the head.”

  “Yes, sir, that’s what I thought as well.”

  He fixed discerning eyes upon me, and I suddenly realized I’d hate to be the bad guy apprehended by this man. “So why was this Alejandro trying to hide it? Do you think he’s involved?”

  “I did at first,” I answered, removing my backpack and claiming the seat. “I’m suspicious by nature anyway.”

  He chuckled and pulled the wrapping more tightly around the board, as if to protect it.

  “But after I spoke with him a while, I’ve come to believe him when he said he was trying to spare Patty and Yolanda from having to see it. The board appears to have been thrown out right on the side of the road after the perpetrator hit Kissy with it.”

  “So, gut level, you believe he wasn’t the one.” It was a statement that begged for corroboration.

  “Yes, sir. He also took me to where Kissy said she’d been hit, and there were more boards there with similar markings. It’s my opinion that the perpetrator drove a truck along Ruddy Bayou and waited for the child to come along. He then used wood that he had on the back of his truck, and when he went to drive off, he got stuck on an incline and dropped a portion of the load off the back of his truck. You can see the skid marks of his tires and also the pile of rough cut lumber.”

  “Lucky he got out at all,” Seychelles said. “He must not be from around here because anyone from the bayou knows how foolish it is to drive a heavy vehicle close to the water.”

  He sat back and laced his long brown fingers across his abdomen. “You know, two patrolmen searched that area where she said she was hit.”

  I shrugged and frowned. “It was early in the game. Your men may not have put two and two together without the board Alejandro found. It was in the weeds beside the road, sorta up near the house.”

  He nodded and sighed. “That’s true. But maybe I’ll mosey over and snoop around now.”

  “I always say two heads are better than one,” I told him, grinning. “Look on the east bank where the lake meets Ruddy, just where that big clump of cyprus knees hides the other side.”

  “Thank you. I’ll do that. So, you do insurance investigation.” His eyes lit with interest. “What’s that like?”

  “Boring for the most part,” I replied truthfully. “Lots of following people a
round and slogging through Internet sites. You wouldn’t believe the things so-called ‘injured’ people post on their Facebook sites.”

  Seychelles laughed heartily. “Oh, I can imagine.”

  I stood, needing to get to the mausoleum. “I’ll leave that with you?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said, nodding and rising to his feet. He was imposing, a couple inches taller than six feet. He dug around on his desk and found a business card. He scribbled on the front of it. “Here’s my cell. Don’t hesitate to call me if you need anything from us or find out anything else.”

  I took the card and pocketed it. “Sure, thank you. Will you please let me know what you find out from the forensics on the board? And when I can drop by and pick up the copies of those case files?”

  I pulled out one of my business cards from my wallet and handed it to him. “My cell’s at the bottom and you can also call Fortune Farm. I’ll be staying there until Saturday.”

  He stood thoughtfully. “You mean you’re gonna try to find out who did this in just a week’s time?”

  I smiled ruefully. “Yes, sir. I never did say I was smart now, did I?”

  We laughed and he ushered me into the front room. Several uniformed officers had returned to their desks and they watched us curiously as we passed.

  “I see you found him,” the receptionist said, spying us. She was standing at a filing cabinet, her heavy body attractively encased in a long, dark blue skirt and a loose red blouse.

  “I did and everything you said was true,” I said, lifting my eyebrows suggestively.

  She snickered but composed herself when Seychelles spoke to her. “Cleo, I need you to get Dr. Flores and his team on the horn. Tell him I’ve got some new evidence on the Price case. Find that folder for me too, will you? And make copies of everything for Miss Hope here, while you’re at it.”

  Cleo watched him with dreamy eyes, and I could just imagine all the carnal frolicking that was going on in her imagination. “Yes, sir. I will see to that right away, sir.”

  I handed her another of my cards. “You can give me a call when you get them copied. Better yet, if they’re electronic you can email them to me.”