Missing Isaac

by Valerie Fraser Luesse

  “And did you happen to get a look at the car?”

  “I did.” Dolores beamed. She clearly liked being part of the FBI. “Onced I could hear they was headed off, I peeked up outta that ditch. They was already in the dark part of the road, but the car was a-followin’ the truck, and I seen the taillights—three in a row on each side. Had to be a Impala—ain’t nothin’ else got taillights like that.”

  “You’re very knowledgeable about cars, Dolores.”

  “You put up with a car nut like Red long enough, you pick up a few things, whether you want to or not.”

  “So after the Impala drove away, is that when you left?”

  “I was shakin’ all over when I climbed up outta that ditch. I wished I’d had the FBI lookin’ after me that night, I tell you what. Anyways, I was just so scared on accounta that woman and the . . .” She stopped talking and looked down at the table in front of her.

  “And the what, Dolores?”

  “And the blood in the highway. Tell you the truth, I was glad to hear a hard rain later that night and know that awful blood was gettin’ warshed away.”

  “I see. I’m so sorry you had to go through that. What did you do after you saw the blood?”

  “Well, you don’t know me well enough to realize this, Agent Davenport, but I can be a little thick in the head sometimes. I jumped in my car and turnt the key, and I reckon it had charged up enough from that colored boy’s jumper cables that it fired up. And I was so scared that woman would come back there—you know, to clean up the mess in the highway or something—that I just hit the gas with the hood still up and the jumper cables still on. Near ’bout blowed the hood off the car. I tell you what, it’s a good thing I’d witnessed a killin’, or Red woulda killed me. Warped that hood so bad he had to buy another one.”

  “Now, Dolores, is there anything else you can remember about that night?”

  “No, not that I can think of.”

  “Alright then. I want to thank you for all your help. You’ve done excellent work here today. Officer Blalock will show you back to your cell.” He turned off the tape recorder, then stood up and knocked on the two-way mirror to signal the officer.

  Dolores looked dismayed. “You mean I can’t go home? I thought I could go home after I told you what I know.”

  “Not just yet,” Agent Davenport said. “What you did—leaving the scene of a crime and interfering with an investigation by withholding information—that’s against the law, Dolores, so I’m bound to keep you here for now. But I’ll speak on your behalf and tell the DA how helpful you’ve been. Would you like for me to arrange for you and your husband to have some time to visit in one of our conference rooms?”

  “No thank you,” she said. “But will you come and see me so’s I don’t get scared in that cell?”

  “I will. And we’ll do everything we can to keep you comfortable till we can get this thing settled.”

  Officer Blalock came into the interrogation room. “No need for handcuffs,” Agent Davenport said.

  Officer Blalock put the handcuffs away and politely escorted Dolores back to her cell as Agent Davenport went to the observation room.

  “Those names mean anything to you, Mr. Ballard?” Agent Davenport asked him.

  “I’m afraid they do,” he said, still stunned from what he had heard. “Harv Akers is an insurance salesman from Childersburg, and she—Celeste Highland—is the president of our PTA.”

  “You look disturbed. Are they friends of yours?”

  “No. But I know them—well, I know the Highlands. I know of Akers. It’s just the very idea that people in our own community . . .”

  “I understand. I see this every day, Mr. Ballard, so I guess I’m a little jaded. But I can see how you’d be upset.”

  “So what happens now? Do y’all arrest Celeste and that salesman?”

  “No, not yet,” Agent Davenport said. “What Dolores gave us was golden, but any good defense attorney could make mincemeat out of her on the witness stand. We need to gather more evidence, which is why I’m holding the Bobos. I don’t want them to have any way of tipping anybody off till we’re ready. So I’m going to have to ask you, on your word, not to tell anybody—not even Isaac’s mother or your own family—what you heard today. Do I have your word?”

  “You do. What will happen to the Bobos, do you think?”

  “Well, Dolores is in the most hot water, but I think the DA will take one look at her and see why she did what she did. Pretty sure I can help get her off with probation. Got a feeling that husband of hers has been rough on her, so I’ll take this opportunity to put the fear of God into ole Red. Should make life easier for her when she goes home.”

  Ned smiled. “Doin’ a little social work on the side?”

  The FBI man shook his head. “Always tell myself I won’t get roped in, but you know how it is.”

  “I do.”

  “Listen, we’ve been getting reports of real bad weather out around Glory. You be careful going home.”

  “I will—and thank you. Thank you for everything.”

  “If you keep doin’ that, I’m gonna fall sound asleep,” Pete said.

  “That’s the idea,” Dovey said. She and Pete had spread a quilt beside a secluded little waterfall at Pine Bluff. After their picnic, dense clouds had covered the hot sun, and a cool breeze was blowing across the water. It would probably rain soon. Dovey had leaned against the tree and coaxed Pete into stretching out with his head in her lap. She was running her fingers through his hair, trying to get him to doze off and get some rest.

  “If I sleep through the only time I’ve had with you all week, I’m gonna hurl myself into that lake,” he said.

  “I’ll make you a deal. If you happen to sleep through this one afternoon, I’ll promise you . . . twelve more in place of it.”

  “Twelve, huh?”

  “Yep. Twelve for one. Can’t beat that with a stick.”

  “No deal. Can’t give up one I’ve got for twelve I’d have to wait for.” He closed his eyes and they listened to the wind in the trees.

  “You’re not foolin’ me one bit,” she said. “You’re not even tryin’ to go to sleep.”

  “I’m dreamin’ while I’m awake.” He smiled, still keeping his eyes closed.

  “Oh yeah?” she said. “What about?”

  Pete gave a dreamy sigh. “May the 18th.”

  “What happens May the 18th?” Dovey wanted to know.

  Pete’s eyes flew open.

  “Pete—what happens May the 18th?” she persisted.

  He sat up to face her but didn’t say anything. Instead, he silently traced the lines of her face with his fingertip.

  “I’ll tell you after I give you your birthday present,” he finally said, reaching into the sack he had insisted on picking up at his house on their way to the park. He had told her it was full of tea cakes, which she knew was a lie, but she played along. He handed her a package a little smaller than a shirt box, wrapped in white paper with a silver satin ribbon around it.

  She smiled. “You know good and well my birthday’s not in March.”

  “Dang it, you’re right,” he said. “Well . . . happy spring.”

  She carefully slipped the ribbon off the box so she could save it, just as she had saved every ribbon and bow from every present he had given her. When she opened the package, it was stuffed almost completely with tissue paper, except for a very small blue velvet box right in the center. Something about that box made it hard for Dovey to breathe.

  “Open it, Dovey,” Pete said.

  She lifted the velvet box and opened it. Inside was a diamond ring unlike anything she had ever seen. The setting looked very old, lacy almost. The diamond was delicate too—not small, but delicate—and sparkly in the overcast light. She couldn’t bring herself to touch it. Pete took it out of the box and slipped it onto her finger.

  “Ma Ballard left this ring to Mama, and Mama wanted me to have it—for you. So then, Miss Dovey Pickett, I
graduate from high school on Wednesday, May the 15th, and I was hopin’ you might marry me on Saturday, May the 18th. Will you, Dovey? Will you marry me?”

  Dovey couldn’t answer. She was holding her hands over her mouth.

  “Is that a yes?” Pete asked. “Because I’d hate to think it was a no after I spent a whole month workin’ up my nerve to ask Mama and your daddy.”

  All she could do was nod and throw her arms around his neck. “Yes,” she finally managed to say. “Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes!”

  Twenty-six

  SAME DAY

  Time had gotten away from Lila and John. It was close to two o’clock when he came down the stairs and she started to unpack the lunch she had brought, only to realize there were no chairs on the ground floor.

  “Well, aren’t we something?” she said, looking around. “A furniture company with nothing to sit on.”

  “Got plenty of chairs upstairs,” he said, carrying the picnic basket and cooler for her. In his shop, they moved two chairs and an end table to a window so they could look out. Lila covered the tabletop with napkins from the picnic basket, then poured his coffee and opened a Coke from the cooler. The clouds were beginning to move faster across the sky. A storm must be coming.

  “I don’t think they’re ever gonna play ‘Wichita Lineman,’” Lila said. She had brought two radios to the store—one for downstairs and one for the shop. When it came to music, she liked a little bit of everything and always manned the truck radio when she was with John. Most of the songs she had introduced him to were pretty good. He was surprised to find that he loved what they called the blues because the music had a way of seeping through your skin and landing somewhere deep down inside. You could feel the meaning, with no need to swirl the words around in your head. That could be such a relief sometimes. Lila’s favorites were Peter, Paul & Mary, Stevie Wonder, and Glen Campbell. All day long she had been hoping for “Wichita Lineman.”

  “Looks like that Campbell fella could find something better to sing about than voltage,” John said. He pretended not to know anything about “Wichita Lineman,” but he had actually heard it on the way to her house that morning. He didn’t much care for the strings at the beginning, but other than that, Lila was right. It was a great song.

  She laughed. “For the last time, that song is not about the power company!”

  “Just goin’ by the title.” He took a sip of coffee.

  “How on earth do you drink so much of that in this hot weather?” she asked.

  He shrugged. “Always have. Long as you brought up the heat, I couldn’t help noticin’ that the air conditioners in this building look a lot newer than everything else. Reckon why that is?”

  “Don’t know.” She suddenly got very busy rummaging through the picnic basket.

  “It’s mighty curious, don’t you think? This building’s been empty for years, but I’m pretty sure those air conditioners are brand-spankin’ new. The two up here could cool the fairgrounds. And that’s what’s so peculiar—as big as they are, I don’t remember seein’ ’em that first day you showed me inside.”

  “Well, they had to have been here, John. Want some chicken? Here, have some chicken.” She handed him a drumstick.

  “This is really . . . not terrible,” he said after he took a bite.

  “It’s good and you know it,” she said with a smile. “I told you I had learned to cook.”

  “So you did. Now back to the air-conditioning . . .”

  Lila gave up. “Okay, I did it. But you couldn’t work up here with just a fan. You’d die of a heatstroke. Besides, Birmingham women don’t like to sweat while they shop. So I called Sears and they brought them out while you were in the field, and I was hoping you wouldn’t notice, which was stupid because you notice everything. I should have told you ahead of time, but I didn’t because I knew you’d say you could do without them, and I didn’t want you to do without them, so I just up and bought them.” She paused for a minute to catch her breath and then asked him, “Are you mad at me?”

  “No,” he said. “I tried to be, though. You ought to know I tried.”

  She gave him a big smile. “Wonder what else I could get away with?”

  He just shook his head, knowing he had been outdone by her again. Truthfully, though, he didn’t mind.

  “Seriously, you know I’m only free with my money, right?” she asked, and he could tell she was genuinely worried. “I’d never spend the store’s money without asking you.”

  “I know.”

  You could hardly call Lila a spendthrift, especially for somebody with as much money as she had. John had been with her enough to see that. And when she did buy something, it was usually for somebody else. Every time Lila and her sister went to Birmingham, Dovey’s closet got a little tighter. John had objected at first, but it was hard to argue with Lila when she said, “Do you have any idea how much fun it is to buy girl clothes for a change? Please don’t take that away from me.” He had given in, which was what he usually did where Lila was concerned, because he found it impossible to deny her anything that made her smile. He wasn’t sure whether that made him generous or selfish, because he sure did like looking at that smile.

  Lila was even thoughtful in the way she helped other people. She had packed Dovey’s closet with “date clothes,” as she called them, but she knew that John’s sister took great pride in making Dovey’s church dresses. So she never bought those in Birmingham. Instead, she would take Dovey to the city to pick out patterns and fabric, which they would take to Lydia. “No store-bought dress can match your beautiful work,” Lila had told her. Lydia, of course, would never let on how much that pleased her. And Lila had sense enough not to try to pay her to sew for Dovey—for family—which would’ve been an insult.

  However, once Lila told the church ladies where Dovey’s finely tailored dresses came from, Lydia found herself with more sewing work than she had ever dreamed of—the kind she had no problem taking money for—which John knew was Lila’s intention all along. People underestimated her, he had decided. She was kind and easy to be with and so pretty, but she was smart as a whip too. A lot of people missed that about Lila.

  “You ever buy anything for yourself?” he asked her now.

  “I have my selfish moments.”

  “Kinda doubt that.”

  The two of them sat silently for a while, listening to the radio and watching the sky darken to purple as the clouds gathered up.

  “Easy quiet is so nice,” she said, leaning back in her chair and closing her eyes.

  John thought about that for a while but eventually had to ask, “What exactly is ‘easy quiet’?” She was forever coming out with some curious observation that made him think.

  She smiled but kept her eyes closed. “This. This is easy quiet.”

  Like Lila, he leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, listening to the thunder outside. He could hear her breathing, slow and relaxed, right next to him. “If this is easy quiet, I think I like it.”

  She caught him looking at her when she opened her eyes. “Easy quiet means I don’t have to think of anything to say, and you don’t have to think of anything to say, and if we don’t have anything to say, we don’t have to say anything. That’s easy quiet. You’re really good at it, by the way.” She stared out the window for a moment. “You think he’s asked her yet?”

  “Have a feeling we’ll hear from ’em pretty quick, once he does,” John said. “Thought I’d be ready for it when the time came. But when Pete asked me if he could give her that ring . . .”

  “I know. At least we don’t have to actually watch them walk down the aisle till May. That gives me time to stock up on Kleenex.”

  “How’s it gonna be for you when Pete leaves the house?”

  “Lonesome as all get-out,” she said. “You?”

  He closed his eyes, trying to shut out the image of his lonely house, empty of Dovey. “Can’t think about it.” He glanced over at Lila, who looked a little forlorn, de
spite her best efforts to be happy for their children. And he suddenly remembered something he had made for the sole purpose of hearing her laugh. He reached into his pocket and took out a smoothly sanded wooden disk about the size of a half-dollar, slightly hollowed out in the center like a plate from a doll’s house.

  “This is for you,” he said as he handed it to her. “Worked real hard on it. Hope you like it.”

  She turned it over and over in her hand. “What is it?”

  “It’s a dill pickle plate. Now you’ve got someplace to put ’em when Carlile’s forgets to serve ’em on the side. Mighty tired o’ listenin’ to you complain about that pickle juice in your fries.” He still hadn’t cracked a smile.

  Lila thought it over for a minute, then frowned and said, “Well, thank you, John. How very . . . odd of you.”

  They were laughing together when lightning flashed in the distance. The trees outside were starting to dance in the breeze as the thunder came rumbling in. Since morning, the sky had turned from clear blue to vibrant purple, and the leaves on the trees looked chartreuse against the darkening sky, as if they had been plugged in and lit up.

  John and Lila saw another flash of lightning and waited for the thunder.

  “What’s that old saying about the lightning and the thunder?” she asked. “You start counting ‘one-Mississippi, two-Mississippi’ when the lightning flashes, and then you stop when you hear the thunder . . .”

  “You divide the seconds by five, and that’s supposed to tell you how many miles away the storm is.”

  “Why five?”

  He thought for a minute. “Can’t remember.”

  “Bet that wind feels great.”

  “You a storm girl?” he asked, surprised.

  “Absolutely.”

  “Wouldn’a figured that. Geneva, maybe.”

  Lila laughed. “Neva is the storm—I just like to watch them. I love that cool wind on a hot day and the deep colors the sky turns and the low roll of the thunder. Don’t get me wrong—got a healthy respect for lightning and hail and all, but I love a good thunderstorm.”