Southern Gentlemen: John Rip PetersonBilly Ray Wainwright

by Jennifer Blake

  Outside in the lot, he waited until Fran got into her own car before he got into his. Safety was rarely a problem in Moss Bend, but like anywhere else, there were occasional car thefts and muggings. With all the other businesses on the street closed for the night, the block was eerily empty. He waved her on, then turned to his own car. Fran dawdled in the lot, and he realized she was waiting for him to get in and drive away.

  He laughed, gave her a mock salute and got behind the wheel of his Taurus. Only then did she head for home.

  A thunderstorm had come through the county that afternoon, and now, with the sun setting and the temperature cooling, the earth smelled fresh and new. He elected to roll down his windows, even though Joel had temporarily resurrected his air conditioner, and he drove that way nearly as far as Maggie’s house before a new idea struck him.

  That morning he had promised Kitten that she could repair something when he finished changing the oil filter, but the incident with the judge had chased everything else from both their minds. Not until they got back to his office had the little girl expressed her disappointment. The whole day had gone sour for her, and that had bothered Billy Ray ever since.

  Joel always had extra tools lying around the garage, along with old auto parts he saved for that one-in-a-million chance he might need them. Billy Ray could easily put together a few things for Kitten to play auto repair with. He would clean out a box and load it. When Kitten tired of the game, he would return the tools, and if she didn’t, he would replace them with new ones.

  He called Joel on his cell phone, just to be sure he didn’t object. Joel didn’t. In fact, he told Billy Ray where to find a brand new red toolbox one of his distributors had sent as a sample. “Fill it up, I don’t care,” Joel said. “That’s a cute little gal.”

  Billy Ray kept a key to the garage on his chain, a talisman against the day when he would find his grandfather slumped peacefully between cars, a vacuum gauge in one hand and a hydrometer in the other. Joel had already put in an order for his epitaph: “If Joel couldn’t fix it, it hadn’t been built.”

  No one was around when he parked behind the garage and got out to unlock the door. Joel usually closed right at five on Fridays, and today had been no exception. A security light burned inside, but all was quiet. Billy Ray found the toolbox exactly where Joel had promised it would be; then he went out to the bays and flicked on the lights to find what he needed.

  For company he flipped on the radio Grady and Jimmy always played at top volume and listened to Dwight Yoakam and Clint Black as he gathered tools.

  The first blow caught him completely by surprise. One moment he was bending over to examine an old set of spark plugs, the next he was sprawled on the concrete floor. Before he could recover, something or someone landed on his back.

  He kicked out, squirming and fighting to get to his knees, but the man on top grabbed him in a fierce bear hug. Before Billy Ray could dislodge him, something rough and foul-smelling slid over his head and the world went suddenly black. He hadn’t had time to see anything except the scuffed toe of a boot. Now he couldn’t see anything at all.

  He struggled, trying desperately to free his hands, but whoever had attacked him had already prevented that. As he struggled, he felt rope twisting around his wrists, and when he tried to slam his bound hands into his attacker’s stomach, he felt the scuffed boot connect with his leg.

  “You’re gonnagit beat. And you’re gonnagit beat harder if you fight!”

  Some part of his mind tried to put a face to the gravelly voice and failed. His feet were the only weapons left, and Billy Ray twisted hard, landing on his back and kicking out again and again, once contacting a soft body part with a satisfying thud.

  “Jay-zus! Get him, you idiot! Get his feet!”

  This was a different voice, affirming his foggy conviction that at least two men had teamed up to beat him. He continued to writhe and kick, but with his hands tied and his head covered, it was only a matter of time until his feet, too, were immobilized.

  He quickly lost track of what the men were using to beat him. Feet, fists. Once, from a distance, he thought one of them had picked up something from the shop to use as a weapon. Before he could decide what it might be, the world went black.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to eat something, Carolina? There’ll be plenty of chicken left for Billy Ray when he gets here.”

  Carolina smiled her thanks at Maggie, but she shook her head. “I hate to eat without him, in case he hasn’t had supper. But you’re a sweetie to be worried.”

  “Then I’m just going to clean up a little. You sit and finish your tea.”

  Carolina had wondered how living with Maggie would work out, but after a few days she already knew things were going to be fine. Better than fine. The Blue Bayou took most of Maggie’s time, but when she was home she was giving and friendly without being pushy. She genuinely enjoyed the children, and they responded to her with an open warmth that was sadly different from the guarded good manners with which they treated Gloria Grayson and Carolina’s own mother.

  “You know, I could try Joel.” Maggie dried her hands on a dish towel. “Billy Ray might have decided to go there first. I could tell him we’re holding dinner, if Billy Ray wants some.”

  Carolina considered. She had already tried Billy at the office and gotten a recording. “Maybe that’s a good idea. Otherwise he might stop for fast food on the way over.”

  “I won’t be a minute.”

  Carolina went to the sink and rinsed out her glass. Maggie had made iced tea with extra slices of lemon and fresh mint sprigs. After years at the Blue Bayou she was the consummate hostess.

  Maggie bustled back in. “Okay. I got Joel. He says Billy Ray was going over to the garage before coming here. But that was about an hour ago, about the time Fran called you, so I called his house. Nobody’s there.”

  “Did he say why Billy was going over there?” Carolina listened as Maggie explained about the toolbox. “But the garage is only five minutes away. I wonder what happened?”

  “Maybe it took him a while to find things.”

  Carolina wanted to believe that was the case, but nothing really added up. If Billy had made a side trip to the garage, he must have expected it to be a short one. Otherwise, he would have called her to explain he was going to be late.

  She tried to reassure Maggie. “Well, I didn’t say anything about dinner when we talked this afternoon. He probably stopped somewhere.” But that didn’t seem to be enough of an explanation. Even if he’d been starving, Billy still wouldn’t have kept her waiting this long without a phone call.

  Maggie wasn’t reassured. Her attractive face was screwed up in a frown. “We could call the garage, but I doubt he’d answer. I’m sure their machine is on.”

  “You know what? I think I’ll just go over there. It’ll only take a few minutes. Will you keep an eye on the kids?” At the moment, Chris and Kitten, who’d had their supper and bedtime baths hours ago, were visible through the doorway watching a television special about African elephants.

  “Sure. I’d just as soon you’d find out what’s happening.”

  Outside, Carolina climbed into the BMW and started toward the center of town, veering at the first traffic light toward Joel’s Garage. She supposed her concern for Billy Ray stemmed from her own situation. Anyone who lived with as much uncertainty as she did often saw problems where none existed. Billy had probably gotten into a conversation with someone and forgotten about the time.

  But Billy wasn’t Champ Grayson. He wasn’t the kind of man who would easily forget his obligations.

  The garage was dark except for a security light inside and one in the drop-off area. She circled the lot, looking for Billy’s car, but even so, she nearly missed it. Billy had parked beside the back door, in a narrow slot between two larger cars that had blocked her view.

  Her heart began to beat faster. Billy’s car was here, but there were no regular lights on inside the garage. She wished
there was someone she could call, but the law in River County was joined at the hip to Whittier Grayson. And without proof that something was wrong at Joel’s, no one would listen to her.

  Carolina parked behind Billy’s car and got out. She rattled the back door, calling his name. To her surprise, it opened in her hand.

  She entered the dark garage. “Billy? Are you here?”

  The garage was silent. After a lot of fumbling she found a light switch and flicked it on. She was in the reception area, which was awash in scattered papers. The furniture was overturned; a lamp was smashed, but as far as she could tell, she was alone.

  Carolina put her hand over her mouth. Someone had been here, someone with no scruples. And Billy’s car was still parked in the lot.

  Was the intruder still here? Was he lurking close by in the shadows? For a moment she wanted to run, but the thought of Billy lying somewhere in the building stopped her. She stood without breathing and listened. The garage was silent.

  She knew better than to continue on without something to protect herself. Whoever had been here had emptied the reception desk drawers on the floor before flipping the desk on its back like a beached turtle. Scissors glinted in a corner, and she bent and snatched them from the floor, grasping them with the point out, the way she had cautioned Kitten never to carry them.

  The building sprawled out on both sides of her. She tried to remember the layout. To her left was the divided area where the repairs were carried out. To her right were storerooms, or maybe offices, she thought. Which direction would Billy have gone?

  “Billy?” This time she shouted, but still no one answered.

  She chose the repair area first, creeping on trembling legs down a narrow unlit corridor to the swinging door at the end. She pushed it open, and the repair area stretched out in front of her, divided into sections so that multiple repairs could be carried out at once.

  “Billy?”

  The security light shone dimly in the corner, illuminating only a minimal area surrounding it. She couldn’t make out much. Heavy equipment, lifts, a car parked on a ramp. She placed her hand against the wall and began to feel for a light switch. She moved farther left, groping unsteadily, until at last a switch materialized under her fingers. She flipped it, and the room lit up.

  Billy Ray lay trussed and unmoving on the floor in the second cubicle.

  In Maggie’s extra bedroom, Garth cleaned a cut on the side of Billy Ray’s face and taped it. “You could have been killed.”

  “Nobody intended to kill me. Just to put the fear of God in—” He looked up and saw Carolina watching him. She could see him visibly repress whatever he had been about to say.

  Carolina wanted to weep. She had managed to cut the ropes binding his hands and feet and revive him. Then, somehow, she had gotten him out to her car for the trip back to Maggie’s. The burlap sack the intruders had fastened over his head had afforded his face a little protection, but he was still a mass of bruises and abrasions. He had refused to go to the emergency room, but he had allowed Maggie to call Garth.

  “You’re going to report this, aren’t you?” Garth demanded.

  “Joel’s at the garage reporting the break-in to the sheriff right now,” Carolina said.

  Garth wasn’t satisfied. “What about the attack?”

  “Tomorrow I’m going to track down Doug Fletcher and have a little talk with him.” Billy Ray winced as Garth probed his shoulder.

  “I don’t think anything’s broken, but I can’t be sure about this shoulder without X rays. You come in tomorrow. No excuses.”

  “Yeah. Thanks.”

  “Carolina?” Garth looked to her for support.

  “He’ll be there, if I have to tie him back up again and drag him in.”

  “I’m going to leave him in your care. Wake him up every couple of hours through the night and check his pupils.” He explained how to be certain the concussion Billy Ray had suffered wasn’t more serious than it seemed. “Call me if there’s any change.” Garth turned back to Billy Ray. “You’re going to need to take it easy while you heal. You’ll be sore for a long time. Whoever did this was thorough.”

  Maggie had been putting together ice packs. Now she came into the room with one in each hand. “I don’t even know which bruise to start with,” she said. “Billy Ray, you look like you just barely survived the worst fight in the history of the Bayou.”

  “At least there…I could have seen who I was punching.”

  Garth took Maggie aside to give her more instructions.

  Carolina lifted Billy Ray’s hand to her lips and kissed it. “We both know who did this. You didn’t have to see.”

  “I didn’t see anybody. I didn’t recognize the voices.”

  “This was my father-in-law’s doing. They aren’t going to find anything much missing at Joel’s. Those bastards the judge hired trailed you there, then set out to beat you senseless.”

  Maggie joined her at his side. “I’m going to put these on his shoulder first. And Garth told me what to give him for the pain.”

  Carolina stood. “I’m going to check on the kids.” She lowered her voice. “Then I’m going out for a little while.”

  “The kids are sleeping. I checked before I got the ice packs. I’m glad I got them to bed before you and Billy Ray showed up.” Then, as if Carolina’s words had finally sunk in, she frowned. “Did you say you were going out?”

  Carolina put her finger to her lips. Both women went to stand in the doorway. “I have an errand.”

  “Carolina, don’t…” Maggie seemed to balance her words. “Oh, darn it girl, don’t do anything stupid. Okay?”

  Carolina hugged her hard. “Don’t worry. I’m just going to do something I should have done a long time ago.”

  Outside, the moon was up, and the sky was dotted with stars. She climbed into her car and backed down Maggie’s drive at full throttle, screeching tires as she turned on to the road.

  She reached the Grayson house in a matter of minutes. Her in-laws had never moved to the fashionable suburb on the west side of town, where young professionals built replicas of Tara on quarter-acre lots. Their own Greek Revival plantation house stood in the town’s oldest neighborhood, surrounded by similar stately homes and century-old plantings. Carolina’s childhood home had been in this neighborhood, too.

  On the trip over, she had realized what night it was. The Graysons participated in a bridge group with five other couples from the country club. The group met on the third Friday of every month, and Carolina knew that Gloria and Whittier were hosting tonight. She remembered that when she had still been living with them, Gloria had warned her that the children would need to be particularly well behaved this night. As if Kitten and Chris could possibly be quieter or more subdued without being drugged.

  She didn’t care if her in-laws had company. She was so angry that she didn’t care about much of anything except speaking her piece. If she spoke it in front of half the town, so much the better. She had been silent much too long.

  She was wearing a blue chambray shirt, striped shorts and sandals. Everyone inside would be dressed in casual party clothes. No one was going to mistake her for a guest, even if her mother-in-law tried to introduce her that way.

  The woman who opened the door was the real reason that Gloria’s parties received such acclaim. Tonight Inez was wearing a black uniform with a crisp white collar and her most solemn expression. Carolina knew that when Inez had finished greeting guests she would go back to the kitchen to make certain the dinner buffet was perfect.

  “Miss Carolina?” Inez looked her up and down. “We’ve got a party going on tonight….”

  “I can see that.” Carolina stepped inside, pushing past Inez. She could see that the party hadn’t progressed to the dining room. The guests were mingling and drinking cocktails at the end of the large hallway, in the room Gloria liked to call the “family” room. But there had never been a place in this house for family. Everything here was designed for sho
w. The crystal chandelier hanging in sparkling tiers from the high ceiling, the carefully selected French antiques, the exotically beautiful Persian carpets.

  “Wait here. I’ll get Mrs. Grayson,” Inez said.

  “Don’t bother. I’ll find her.” Carolina started down the hallway.

  “Miss Carolina, I don’t think—”

  “Inez, please don’t think. This has nothing to do with you.”

  Carolina could hear Inez’s disapproving murmurs as she stalked into the family room. The guests were gathered in small knots throughout, all with drinks in their hands, all with tight, polite smiles. One by one the conversational knots untied, and the room grew silent. Carolina ignored her mother-in-law, who started toward her from a far corner. Instead she wound her way through the partygoers, who moved aside to give her a wide berth, and headed straight for the judge.

  He was among the last to stop speaking. He was immersed in what looked like a heated debate with a man whom she recognized as the new president of her family’s savings and loan. The appropriateness of that wasn’t lost on her. Her family and what they had accomplished in Moss Bend were still an important part of the town history and society structure. She hoped these people would remember that and give her the benefit of the doubt.

  As she drew nearer, the judge seemed to realize that the room had grown quiet. He turned, and without a change of expression, he watched her approach.

  “I would like to talk to you, sir.”

  He lifted one brow. “I’m afraid your timing isn’t the best, Carolina.” His tone made it perfectly clear that he thought that was too often the case.

  She advanced on him until they were only a foot apart. “As a matter of fact, my timing is perfect. Because I’d like these good people, friends of my family as well as yours, to hear what I have to say.”

  “Haven’t you made enough scenes in this community without adding another to your repertoire?”

  “I don’t believe anyone here has witnessed those so-called scenes. I believe they’ve only heard about them from you and Mrs. Grayson, who have every reason to paint me as unstable.”