“Yes, sir,” Pete answered. Judd said nothing.
“Judd, why don’t you describe the events as you remember them,” Tate said.
“Well—uh—” Judd stammered.
“Judd has nothing to explain!” Whit Highland thundered. “As I told you on the phone, he was on his way to his car when he encountered that boy and made an innocent joke about some silly girl, and that one turned on him like a common thug.”
Ned clenched his jaw but somehow managed to say nothing. He would let Tate handle school affairs as he saw fit.
“Pete turned on Judd for no reason?” Tate asked.
“That is a fact,” Highland said.
“Mm-hmm. Pete, why don’t you tell me your side of the story?”
“For the last time, he doesn’t have a side,” Celeste Highland interrupted.
“Mr. and Mrs. Highland, I mean to hear both of these boys out,” Tate said. “If you don’t want to stay for it, that’s fine with me. You can wait outside. But I mean to hear what Pete has to say. Are you staying or going?”
Ned took one look at Whit Highland and saw exactly where Judd got his sulking, selfish ways. They were both slumped in their chairs like a couple of pouty kids. Celeste, though—she was something else altogether. Right now she was glaring at Tate like she might take a gun out of her purse and shoot him at his desk. She bullied most of the women in town—but not his Geneva. Nobody bullied her.
Ned wished Geneva were here with him right now. It would be the next best thing to having Virginia at his side again. His oldest daughter had inherited her mother’s fire. That wouldn’t have been fair to Lila, though. She might hate ugly confrontations like this, but she would still be very hurt if she found out he had asked Geneva to accompany him instead of her. And somehow, he knew, Lila would find out. By coming alone to the school, where he often had business to attend to, he might be able to spare her this episode altogether.
“Pete?” Tate prompted.
“Well, sir, I was on my way to my truck when Judd came up behind me,” Pete began. “We’d just taken our fitness test and he was raggin’ on me about how I just got lucky on the bench press and how I didn’t know anything about sports and wouldn’t ever make the football team.”
“And what did you do?” Tate asked.
Pete shrugged. “Just kept walkin’. But then he started in on Dovey. He said I must like my women dumb since I went to the backwoods to find one. That’s when I stopped and turned around. I told him to take it back, but it just got worse. He said maybe she could bring some moonshine and squirrel brains to the next August singing. I told him to shut up. And then he said I didn’t really need to lift weights because he’d heard backwoods girls were easy and I’d likely get my workout pushing a baby stroller pretty soon. And that’s when I hit him. I hit him as hard as I could, and he didn’t get up. And if he ever says anything like that about Dovey again, I’ll hit him again.”
“There, you see,” Highland said. “He admits it.”
“Yes, he does,” Tate said. “He admits defending the honor of a young girl whom your boy attacked just to salve his own pride.”
The Highlands looked shocked.
“Boys,” Tate said to the witnesses lined against the wall, “I understand that at least twelve students saw what happened yesterday, either from the parking lot with you all or out the school windows, and I’ve already spoken with six of them. Now I want you to tell me which version of this incident sounds the most like what you saw.” He looked straight at Burl and Ted. “Keep in mind that if the majority says one thing and one or two of you says another, why, I might be inclined to think you’re lying to me.”
The tall colored boy and the freshman vouched for Pete. Burl and Ted said there had been so much noise in the parking lot that they couldn’t rightly hear what Judd said.
Tate dismissed the four back to class. Whit Highland was livid, not because he actually believed his boy had been abused, Ned suspected, but because Judd had put him in this awful position and now he had no alternative but to keep fighting a lost cause.
“I don’t care what those two think they heard,” he said, his voice rising by the minute. “That thug hit my boy, and if you don’t expel him right now, I’ll sue!”
Ned would be silent no more. He spoke calmly and evenly, looking straight at Judd’s father. “Highland, you call my grandson a thug one more time, and you and me are stepping outside.”
Highland turned pale. He was a loud man. He was a rich man. But he was a small man. And Ned was a very big man.
With the Highlands at last stunned into silence, Tate continued. “You can sue alright. But you can’t sue Mr. Ballard here because he wasn’t involved. I guess you could sue Pete if you really want his pickup, but his granddaddy would just buy him a new one. As for the school and the county, they don’t have much that’s worth suing for, but you can try. Might get enough to cover your court costs if you win.”
Before Highland could collect himself enough to answer, Coach Thrash came barreling into the room with Jewel chasing after him. “I’m sorry, Mr. Harwell,” she said.
“Not your fault, Jewel.”
“Now, Principal,” Coach Thrash said, as if he meant to take this situation in hand, “’scuse me for busting in, but I heard what happened, and I can settle this. I’m sure that if Pete could see his way clear to sign on for next season, why, I could persuade my most valued boosters here—”
“Coach Thrash,” Tate said, “this is a private meeting, but as long as you’re here you can stay, because there’s a part of this that I do need your help with. You wanna stand right over there?”
Coach Thrash looked a little crestfallen, but everybody on the faculty knew better than to push Tate. Thrash was the kind of coach who thought his football boosters should run the school, and Ned had always admired Tate for having none of that.
“Pete,” Tate was saying, “you did a bad thing, but you had a good reason. Do it again, though, and I’ll have to suspend you during final exams, and you’ll be spending your summer here with me instead of in the cotton fields.”
“Yes, sir,” Pete said.
“Judd, you tried to sully the good name of an innocent girl knowingly and intentionally. Do it again and I’ll suspend you.”
Judd said nothing.
“I would just like to remind you,” Celeste spoke up, “that my husband bought and paid for football uniforms for the entire team, as well as a whole weight room full of expensive equipment.”
Ned could just imagine what Virginia would’ve said to that: How gracious of you, dear, to leave the price tag on your gift.
“Yes, ma’am, I’m aware you bought the uniforms and gym equipment,” Tate said. “How long have you all lived here—five or six years?”
“What does that have to do with anything?” she snapped.
“Well, seeing as how y’all are newcomers, I don’t fault you for being a little in the dark.”
Ned knew what was coming and shifted a little in his chair. It made him uncomfortable to talk about his own money. It felt like bragging, a trait he despised in other people and never intended to be guilty of himself.
“The county was near about broke when we built this school,” Tate said. “Mr. Ballard here, he owns all the surrounding land, which the county couldn’t afford to buy. But when he heard some of the boys at his church talking about how much they wished they could have a ball team, he told the school he’d let them use his land free of charge, which he has done for the past twenty-two years. So whenever your boy runs down that football field, he’s running on Mr. Ballard’s property. Same situation with the baseball diamond. And if the board of trustees weren’t such blabbermouths, wouldn’t nobody in town know any of that because Mr. Ballard never tells a soul what all he gives to this community. So if I were you, I’d go on down to the Tomahawk and have myself a nice family breakfast and forget this ever happened. Otherwise you might find Judd and the other players looking for a cow pasture to do t
heir spring training in.
“And Coach Thrash,” Tate went on, “I want you to tell your players in no uncertain terms that I mean to see no retaliation against anybody involved here today. If even one player—one player—on your football team casts so much as a hostile glance at Pete or any of my student witnesses or Dovey Pickett—most especially Dovey Pickett—I’ll suspend the whole team for the first three games of next season.”
The coach tried to protest. “Principal, I think that’s a little—”
“I don’t care what you or anybody else thinks,” Tate said. “I know how ball players can be when they gang up on somebody. They go anywhere near these students—on or off school property—and they’ll be sorry. And if they’re thinking they can’t touch Lenny but can take it out on the other colored boys and girls, think again. They’re covered too. Don’t think I haven’t heard about some o’ your players thrill-riding down in the hollow on Saturday nights—call themselves ghost-hunting for that Reynolds man. They can chase all the ghosts they want to, but if they go anywhere near Dovey Pickett, it’s all over. I mean what I say. This ends right here and right now, or I’ll suspend the whole lot of ’em for three games, so help me God. Now, everybody, get on back to your business.”
The Highlands slipped out of the office like three ghosts themselves, followed by Coach Thrash.
Ned gave Pete a pat on the back and shook Tate’s hand as he got up to leave. “So you really had twelve witnesses, Tate?”
“You know, now that I think about it, mighta been closer to four. Never been all that good with numbers.” Tate stopped Pete at the door and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Son, I meant what I said. You ever hit that boy on my school grounds again, and I’ll have to suspend you. I won’t have any choice.”
“Yes, sir, I understand,” Pete said.
“You tell Dovey I said the choir sounds a hundred percent better with her up there,” Tate said on his way back to his desk. “I wish to goodness she’d take over the solos and put Thelma out to pasture.”
“I’ll tell her,” Pete said. “And Mr. Harwell?”
“Yes, son?”
“Thank you.”
“We still having breakfast at the Tomahawk on Saturday, Ned?” Tate asked.
“Wouldn’t miss it. See you at seven like always.”
Ned asked his grandson to walk him to his car. “Pete, I’m mighty proud of the way you handled yourself in there.”
“Thank you, but I didn’t do much—just told Mr. Harwell the truth.”
“Son, the older you get, the more you’re gonna realize there’s a whole lotta people out there who don’t have the courage to take responsibility for their actions. I’ll never have to worry about that where you’re concerned.”
Pete smiled. “Sure am glad you were with me. I don’t know if I coulda done it without you.”
“You’re gonna be fine, Pete.”
“What about Mama?”
“Well, now, that’s a tough one. My plan was to keep this between you and me. But the more I think about it, maybe you should tell her. No point in lettin’ a secret get between you two. I’ll come with you if you want me to.”
Pete thought it over. “No, sir, I can do it. And I think I prob’ly need to.”
Ned said his goodbyes and drove away. Never in a million years did he think that, at his age, he would be helping to raise a teenager. But Pete had gotten off to a good start. Jack was a good man. All Ned could do now was help steer the boy as best he could.
Stopping at his mailbox on the way home, he took out a black spiral binder. He was supposed to have met with his investigator this morning, but when he got the call about Pete, he had canceled and asked that the report be left in his box. He carried it to the barn to read it.
Hattie had finally admitted that it made her a nervous wreck to see him with those reports. She just couldn’t stand the suspense and the wondering and the hoping that it might actually all come to an end someday soon. Sometimes, she confessed, the very sight of one of those binders upset her so much that she had to take a BC powder and go lie down on the chaise lounge in the backyard. So whenever Hattie was working in his house, Ned read the reports in the barn.
He sat down on a hay bale and opened the binder. The detective had finally found Frank Wheeler, the car salesman from Huntsville who had seen Isaac the night he disappeared. For months it was as if Wheeler had dropped off the face of the earth. But just as the detective was about to give up, he stumbled onto Myra Perkins, the office manager of a dealership where Wheeler had worked ten years ago. Wheeler and Myra had become friends and kept in touch. He had written her when his wife became ill—not just sick but dying—and said he was taking her to Florida to spend her last days by the gulf, which she had always loved. Myra went to the funeral and made Frank promise to write her from Mississippi. He had decided to go back home to Clarksdale and open up a garage. That was where the detective found him—rebuilding a transmission in the Mississippi Delta.
Frank Wheeler remembered everything about that night in Glory. Not only that, but he had written down the make and model of the vehicles. He had a feeling his phone call to the sheriff had gone nowhere because he never heard a word about the case, not after that first report. And somehow he knew that what he had seen was important. But not long after he made that call, he had gotten distracted by his wife’s illness and didn’t have time to chase after a lazy sheriff.
Still, Wheeler was more than willing to help the private detective. The car he had seen was a 1956 Chevy Bel Air four-door hardtop with a two-toned paint job—red and white—and the wedge-shaped trim you’d expect on a Bel Air. There was a noticeable dent in the rear quarter panel on the driver’s side.
At last, something useful to give the FBI in Birmingham. If they could find the car, they could find a witness, and that witness just might know what had happened to Isaac.
Ned closed the report and left it on the hay bale where he had been sitting. He would call the FBI from Lila’s house so that Hattie wouldn’t get her hopes up. That was for the best. But first he would make sure Pete knew they were finally making some progress.
Nineteen
APRIL 22, 1967
“Pipe down, you idiot!” Judd laughed. “You’re gonna wake up every lunatic in this hollow!”
“Sorry, sir!” Burl giggled. “Lemme lob a grenade to flush out the enemy!” He crushed an empty beer can and hurled it into the woods.
“Hand me a cold one while you’re at it,” Judd said in a hushed voice. Burl pulled a can out of a small cooler he was carrying and pitched it to Judd.
“You know what else would be good right now?” Ted whispered.
“What?” Judd whispered back.
“Another beer!” Ted yelled. Burl tossed him one from the cooler.
All three of them tried to stifle their laughter as they hiked through the trees, clumsily navigating by the light of a full moon and peppering their conversation with the kind of profanity that teenage boys use when they’re trying to convince themselves that they’re men.
“Which way?” Judd asked as the trail forked around a big oak tree.
“Highland, how long you been livin’ here and you still can’t find your way around?” Ted laughed.
“Excuse me for spending my childhood in civilization,” Judd shot back as Ted took the lead. “There’s such a thing as paved roads and street signs, you know.”
Just before they made it to the deserted sawmill, Burl and Judd stumbled into a briar patch, yelping and swearing as they struggled to free themselves from the thorns.
“Ted, where are you?”
“Get us outta this, man!”
Ted managed to untangle them, but not before all three had ripped their T-shirts and taken briar scratches from head to toe. They made their way to the mill and sat in a circle on the ground, keeping away from the old wells. They might be tipsy, but they weren’t drunk enough to do something that stupid.
“Won’t your old man miss the
se brews from his stash?” Burl asked, fishing around in the cooler.
“Nah,” Judd said. “Whit won’t notice. He’ll just figure Celeste tossed ’em back.”
“Is there some reason why we couldn’t bring a flashlight?” Ted asked.
“Because some of those backwoods freaks might spot us, and we’d never be heard from again. You’ve gotta give ’em a little credit, though—if they hadn’t knocked off that colored guy, we wouldn’t have a ghost to chase, and we’d have to find some other excuse to get gassed in this crummy little town.”
“You really think they killed him?” Burl asked.
“Aw, yeah,” Judd said.
“Coulda been some of his cronies—heard he gambled,” Ted offered.
“Nah. One of them woulda spilled it already,” Judd insisted. “I’m telling you, that Pickett clan is nuts. Old man Harwell might shut me up at school, but that won’t change a thing. And to think I had to defend myself against that loser McLean and his little hick girlfriend—makes me wanna puke. Wouldn’t neither one of ’em last five minutes in Birmingham.”
“How come y’all moved way out here anyway?” Ted asked.
Judd shrugged. “Beats me.”
“Well, there musta been some reason—”
“Look!” Judd cut Ted off before he could press for answers. “If you wanna know why Whit and Celeste do anything, ask them. I got no idea.”
“Sheesh, cool it,” Ted said. “All I said was—”
“Shhhh! Did you hear that?”
“Hear what?” Burl asked.
“Thought I heard something,” Judd said.
“Did it sound like a dead man lookin’ for his truck keys?” Ted asked with a straight face.
“Maybe the Picketts are on the prowl,” Burl said, adding a ghostly, “Wooooo! WOOOOO!”
“Shut up, crazy,” Judd said. “Tell you one thing. Any of those loonies get near the T-bird, and they’ll be in a world o’ hurt. They don’t know who they’re dealing with.”
Just then, all three boys heard it. Through their beer-induced buzz, through the chirping of the crickets and the occasional call of a night owl, they heard the unmistakable chook-chook of a shotgun being cocked. It had come from the shadows somewhere behind the wells.
Missing Isaac Page 14