by Gayle Wilson
“What kind of name is that? Jace.”
“He was J.C. as a kid. Some kind of family thing. It got shortened to Jace.” Lindsey shrugged again.
“He tell you all that?”
“I asked about his name.”
“Polite conversation 101.”
“Something like that.”
“Anything else interesting?”
“We talked about the fires.”
“He tell you who it is they suspect?”
“I told you. My kids. I swear, Shannon, I’ve thought about everybody in my program since he told me that, and I just don’t see it. I can’t see any of them being involved in setting fire to those churches. Most of them grew up attending ones very much like those. Burning any church would be an act of blasphemy to them. And they’re too smart, for another thing. They have too much at stake to risk it all on something so mindlessly stupid, for another.
“My juniors and seniors have worked hard to raise their test scores. The seniors are already filling out college applications and applying for scholarships. They’ve taken every AP class we offer. Why would they take a chance on blowing all that to burn a couple of tiny black churches? These kids didn’t grow up during the Jim Crow years.”
“That doesn’t mean they don’t know about them. Or that they couldn’t be racist.”
It didn’t, of course. There was still the occasional undercurrent of black/white tension in the school, despite forty years of integration.
“Do you think that’s why those churches were burned?” Lindsey asked. “Race? You think they were hate crimes?”
Although most of the staff would have jumped to deny the possibility, Shannon seemed to be thinking about the question.
Finally she shook her head. “I don’t. I didn’t from the beginning. I don’t think it has one thing to do with those congregations being black. Except maybe they knew the act would get more attention.”
“More bang for the buck.”
“I hadn’t thought about it that way, but…Yeah. More exposure. More distress.”
“More danger,” Lindsey said, remembering Jace’s comment about thrill seekers.
“More danger?”
“A higher-profile crime. More people want them caught and are willing to work to bring that about. It ups the odds they will be caught. If they’d vandalized a car or burned a vacant house, do you think someone like Jace Nolan would have been assigned to the case?”
“Do you?”
Lindsey shook her head. “He thinks he’s put a stop to that particular brand of mischief.”
She hesitated, unsure she wanted to articulate the conclusion she’d come to some time in the middle of a nearly sleepless Friday night. But this was Shannon. And there were few secrets between them.
Like how attracted you are to Jace Nolan?
“He says they’re going to find something else to do,” she went on. “Something that will give them that same rush. That scares me.”
“Because you think he may be right?” Shannon asked. “About it being your kids, I mean.”
“It terrifies me that he might be. He seems so damn certain.”
“Then in all likelihood, he knows something he hasn’t told you.”
“Like what?”
“Something that brought him straight to you.”
“I’ve thought about this for almost a week. I still can’t fathom any of them being involved.”
“None of them?”
“What does that mean?”
Shannon shrugged. “I guess I just don’t believe they’re all as lily-white and innocent as you do.”
“Pun intended?” Lindsey’s sarcasm didn’t faze her friend.
“Maybe.”
“Who? If you’ve decided it’s possible, then you have to have thought about who might be involved.”
Shannon shook her head.
“Oh, for God’s sake, Shannon, you can’t say something like that and then clam up. Who do you believe would be capable of doing that?”
“If I tell you, you’ll never think about that person again without remembering my suspicion. That’s like accusing them. I don’t have any reason to do that. It’s just…” She shook her head again. “I don’t know. Gut reaction.”
“Female intuition,” Lindsey mocked.
“Maybe. Whatever I’m feeling is academic. I know what’s at stake. So I’m not going to tell you. Or Nolan. Or anybody else. As your friend, I’ll just tell you that you shouldn’t completely discount what he’s told you.”
“Has Dave talked to you?” That seemed to be the only explanation for Shannon’s willingness to embrace the detective’s theory. That she knew more than Lindsey.
“Dave? No. What made you think that?” There was the slightest bit of defensiveness in Shannon’s answer.
“I thought maybe the two of you had discussed possible suspects.”
“The only person I’ve talked to about this is you. And you’re the only one I will talk to about it.”
“Unless the police ask your opinion.”
“Even if they did, I’ve told you how I feel. I would never want to accuse someone—especially a kid—based on a hunch that he might be capable of doing something.”
“So it is a he?” Just as the FBI profile had indicated.
“I would think that’s a given. Arson doesn’t seem like the kind of thing a girl would do.”
It didn’t, Lindsey admitted. “It also doesn’t seem like the kind of thing any of my kids would do.”
Shannon shrugged, her expression saying as clearly as the gesture that she didn’t necessarily agree. For the first time in Lindsey’s memory the silence between them wasn’t relaxed.
“Well,” Shannon said, finally breaking it, “I’ve got a ton of stuff to do to get ready for PTA tomorrow night and the usual flood of parents we won’t see the rest of the year.”
“You’re not complaining about that, I hope.”
It was the kind of remark that would have normally provoked Shannon’s ready laugh. Instead, as the counselor got to her feet, her expression was serious.
“I shouldn’t have to tell you this, but…don’t be too trusting. You see them an hour a day. And some of them are adept at hiding whatever they’re thinking or doing during the other twenty-three.”
“You know, that sounds like a warning.”
“It’s meant to be. You said that Nolan believes they’ll find something else to give them the rush he’s cheated them out of. He’s probably right. And frankly, I don’t even want to imagine what that might be.”
Five
The turnout for the PTA meeting and the Open House following it had been one of the largest Lindsey could remember. The main attraction was the new field house, of course, which brought in people who hadn’t darkened the door of the school as long as their kids had been in attendance.
As usual, most of her tenth grade parents showed up and almost half of the upper class parents as well. Since many were accompanied by their children, she’d found herself thinking about the kinds of homes the kids Nolan was accusing of arson came from. Homes very much like the one where she’d grown up—loving, religious, with intact families. Because of that, she was still having a hard time reconciling the crime with the so-called criminals.
She inserted the key into the lock on her front door and turned it. As the door swung open, the interior of the house appeared totally dark. She would have sworn she’d left the kitchen light burning, but in her hurry to get back to the school, she must have forgotten.
The porch light illuminated almost half of the foyer. She stepped inside, setting her purse beside her tote bag on the hall table. She reached for the switch, but her hand hesitated halfway there. The familiar scent of home had been replaced by something strange. Chemical. Unpleasant.
She breathed through her nostrils, attempting to identify the smell. Something she should recognize, but, perhaps due to its unexpectedness in this environment, didn’t.
Finally
she flicked the switch upward, her eyes narrowing against the resulting influx of light. The hall appeared exactly as she’d left it more than four hours before.
Her gaze swept the adjacent living room, but nothing there seemed different, either. Reassured, she secured the lock and the dead bolt on the front door before she slipped the end of the safety chain into its slot.
When she turned back, she raised her chin, slowly drawing air in through her nose again. The odor seemed less distinct than when she’d opened the door. Either the smell was fading or she was becoming accustomed to it. Still, she hovered in the hall, strangely reluctant to go farther into her own house. That scent, along with the absence of light—
Only with the juxtaposition of the two did she realize what must have happened. She knew from school that when a fluorescent bulb failed, its dying was accompanied by a distinctively unpleasant smell.
Relieved to have arrived at an explanation for both, she crossed the foyer and headed toward the kitchen. Although she didn’t have a replacement bulb on hand, she could at least verify that the old one had gone bad.
When she reached the entrance, she could see moonlight shining through the glass half of the back door. She normally pulled the café curtains across it at night, but that was something else she must have forgotten.
Without bothering to test the fluorescent, which had been her intent in coming here, she walked across the pale tile, her heels echoing with every step, and drew the fabric over the glass. Then, through force of habit, she checked the lock and the dead bolt. Both were secure.
She turned, the burned-out bulb almost forgotten now that her eyes had adjusted to the darkness. The familiarity of the room was reassuring. A little exasperated with her initial unease, she started back across the tile.
Although she’d brought papers home this afternoon, she decided she was too tired to mark them. All she wanted to do was crawl into bed and go to sleep. She’d already taken a shower before she’d dressed for the meeting. She wasn’t going to take another. At least not tonight.
She turned off the light in the front foyer and then, in the darkened house, moved down the hallway to the bathroom doorway. She reached inside the small room, flicking the switch up. She resisted the urge to put away the few items of makeup she’d left out on the counter as she’d gotten ready. Wasted effort since she’d use them again in the morning.
She continued down the hall to her room. Without turning on the overhead, she slipped off her heels and carried them to the closet. The carpet seemed to massage her tired feet.
She’d hung the hangers for her suit and the silk shell she was wearing over the top of the door. She took them down, dropped her shoes inside, and then stripped down to her underwear, carefully re-hanging each item as she took it off.
Finally, she took out a nightgown and carried it with her to the bathroom. As she entered the room, she again caught a whiff of something that didn’t belong.
Whatever it was, it was so faint she forgot about it as she walked over to the counter. She leaned forward, peering into the mirror. Although her skin had always been one of her best features, especially for someone with her coloring, it looked sallow. Tiny lines had begun to form at the corners of her eyes, and the delicate area beneath them was dark.
Too many nighttime hours spent thinking about what Jace Nolan had told her. And a few spent thinking about Jace Nolan himself. Which was sad. And a little desperate.
No wonder Shannon and her students were interested in pairing her up with him. The words “last chance” flickered through her mind before she ruthlessly denied them a place.
She straightened, reaching behind her back to unfasten her bra and lay it on the counter. She took off her panty hose, standing on one foot and then the other, and put them into one basin of the double lavatory. She set the stopper before she turned on the water and added a squirt of shampoo.
Only then did she push her panties down over her hips and thighs, allowing them to fall to the floor. She scooped them up, placing them on top of the discarded bra.
After she’d slipped on her nightgown, she used baby oil and tissues to remove her makeup and then brushed her teeth. As she was turning to go back to the bedroom, the small pile of underwear caught her eye.
She grabbed the panties and bra in one hand, carrying them over to the wicker clothes hamper. More decorative than utilitarian, it held less than a week’s worth of laundry.
Intending to lift the lid with her left hand and toss the clothes she was holding in, she bent over the basket. Again that hint of something unpleasant assailed her nostrils.
Although it was definitely stronger over here, the smell was still faint. Not chemical, she thought, as her fingers grasped the edge of the top. This was something earthy. Slightly rank. Like mushrooms. Or decay.
She had already begun to raise the lid of the hamper when she became aware of the sound inside. A sizzle, like bacon frying or like someone rustling papers—
Rattles. By the time her brain had put it together, it was too late to stop the muscle contraction in her arm, which had continued to lift the lid.
The split second of realization had been enough, however, to cause her to jerk her upper body backward, allowing the top to fall as the body of a snake exploded out of the hamper.
Stumbling backwards, she felt rather than saw it strike. Too quick to be seen by the naked eye, the power of its momentum seemed to literally disturb the air between them.
Despite the lid she’d dropped on top of it, the rattler’s ugly, triangular-shaped head had easily cleared the top of the basket. Before she could think of a way to prevent it, the rest of the squat, powerful body trailed over the rim.
She knew enough about snakes to know this one didn’t have to be coiled to try for her again. And that the range of its strike could be as much as half its length. Despite the panic clawing at her chest, she continued to put distance between the rattlesnake and her bare feet and legs.
By now it had flowed down onto the tile. As Lindsey backpedaled, it began to re-coil. Head now erect, the snake’s cold, black eyes seemed to fasten on its prey. At the same time, the tail lifted and began to tremble, its ominous warning echoing off all the hard surfaces of the bathroom.
Unable to tear her eyes away from the deadly, seductive movement, Lindsey located the edge of the bathroom door with a hand that shook. She stepped out into the hall, pulling the door with her so that it slammed shut before the snake could make another attempt to reach its warm-blooded target.
The episode had occupied only seconds. One of those “life flashing before your eyes” moments, when you knew with absolute certainty you were going to die.
Despite the seeming safety of the wooden barrier between her and the snake, Lindsey’s breath sawed in and out through her open mouth. Somehow she had managed to escape. And, as incredible as it seemed, without being bitten.
Before she had time to fully relish what a miracle that was, her eyes focused on the crack of light beneath the door. A gap big enough for the rattler to slither under?
She had no idea how wide that would need to be. But she couldn’t take a chance.
The only thing worse than knowing there was a venomous snake inside her house was knowing that and not knowing where it was. If she followed her instincts to put more distance and more doors between them, and the rattler got out of the bathroom, they might never find it.
And she would never again spend another night here.
Realizing she still held the wadded underwear in her hand, she bent and began gingerly to stuff them into the crack under the door. It quickly became apparent that was not enough fabric to fill its length. Even if it had been, those wisps of nylon didn’t seem substantial enough to create a strong enough obstruction if the snake tried to push through.
There was nothing else close enough that she could reach it without taking her eyes off the ribbon of light at the bottom of the door. She fought a renewed sense of panic as she tried to figure out what s
he could use to keep the rattler trapped in the bathroom.
The comforter on her bed would be both large enough and heavy enough to block the opening. To get it, she’d have to leave the hallway. Could the snake get out in the few seconds it would take to retrieve the spread and bring it back here?
That was a risk she would have to take. Otherwise, she might still be out here in the dark hall when she discovered that there was room enough for him to work his way through that crack. That possibility was enough to end her paralysis.
She bolted for the bedroom, throwing the light switch at the end of the hall as well as the one in her room. She grabbed the comforter and sprinted back, her eyes searching the gleaming hardwood floor in front of her as she ran, looking for a darker streak than those revealed by the grain of the wood. One that moved.
When she reached the bathroom door, she threw the spread down in front of it. Then, on her hands and knees, she crammed the thick, quilted material into the crack.
Even when she’d blocked the last bit of light escaping from the bathroom, she wasn’t convinced she’d created a sturdy enough barrier to keep the snake confined. Once more she made the trip to her bedroom.
As her bare feet made contact with the carpet, she had a flashback to the first time she’d entered this room tonight. Her feet had been bare then, too, except for her hose. And she hadn’t turned on the overhead light.
What if the snake had been in here, rather than in the hamper? What if she’d stepped on it in the darkness? Even as she looked for something to reinforce her makeshift barricade, she shivered at the thought.
And then she froze at the next one. Her rational mind had, in the last few minutes, given way to the far more primitive part of her brain, the one that viewed the creature in her bathroom with the same primordial fear her ancestors had.
Admittedly, this was snake country. One Alabama city held a rattlesnake roundup each year, capturing hundreds from among the scrub. It was certainly not unheard of for snakes to get inside a house. But inside a closed hamper?
There could be only one explanation for that. One she didn’t want to think about.