by Chris Fabry
I didn’t know what the Herd was, but I figured it was important to him to mention it.
“What’s he doing now?”
“Sells insurance over in Columbus. He messed up his knee his first year. Still can’t walk right. Hobbles around worse than our old man. I never played ball, but at least I can walk, you know?”
Dad looked out the window like he was reliving something. Any time I go to places I’ve been before, I think about the last time I was there and all the stuff that happened to me, so I figured he might have been doing the same thing.
“You grow up around here?” Bill said.
Dad nodded. “I was a kid when the plane went down. I’ll never forget that.”
“Yeah, that cut the heart out of this place; that’s for sure. But the team came back. National championships and all that.”
“Never brought back those people,” Dad said.
“You got a point there,” Bill said.
We passed under a big bridge and Dad pointed to the right. “When I was a kid, there used to be a drive-in theater there.”
“What’s a drive-in theater?” I said.
Dad explained that it was a place you watch a movie in your car. It sounded like a fun way to watch a movie.
“I never got to go, but I remember driving by and looking back at the screen,” Dad said. “These big images flickering out over the parking lot.”
“Why didn’t you ever go?” I said.
He shrugged. “I guess there was nobody to go with.”
We drove on with the sun up high. There’s no exit for Dogwood, so we got off at the one before the town, and Dad told Bill to find a place where he wanted to eat. Bill chose a Wendy’s and parked in a vacant lot. Dad and I walked over and came back with burgers and fries and a big Frosty. Dad handed Bill several twenties and thanked him for his kindness. I didn’t think kindness was the right word necessarily, because it seemed he was just doing this to get Big Mac off his back.
He stuffed the money in his shirt pocket and frowned. “I think you can afford a little more than that.”
“I gave you about all I had.”
Bill nodded toward the radio. “All I got to do is hop on this radio and have somebody give the local constable a call. You want them looking for a weird guy with a little girl?”
I knew if Dad had a do-over, he wouldn’t have shown his money, but I guess he was just scared of the police for some reason. I wanted to tell him not to give him more, that the guy could still call the “local constable,” whatever that meant.
Dad reached into his wallet and pulled out more money and handed it over. Bill took a look, then glanced at Dad’s wallet where I could see only one more twenty, and the man tipped his dirty hat toward us.
“Hope everything turns out all right for you two,” he said. Then he fired up the truck and took off.
I guess if you had passed us right then on that vacant lot with the weeds grown up and the sun beating down with not much money and just the clothes on our backs, you would have felt sorry for us. You would have seen two drifters making their way where there wasn’t one.
But part of me was so excited because I felt we were both closer to home than we’d ever been. And the music that washed around in my head could have filled the hills around us. I held my dad’s calloused hand and couldn’t help skipping in the dirt. For some reason I felt like there was real hope for both of us to find what we were looking for.
“Come on. Let’s get out of the sun,” Dad said.
Instead of walking to Wendy’s, we hiked to Dairy Queen. It was cool inside, and I sat down at a booth while he got us a couple of Mr. Misties. He got me a lime-flavored one, and it was so cold I wanted to go back outside to get warm.
“What are we going to do now?” I said.
He took a long swig of his drink and when he talked I could see his tongue was green and that started me to laughing. He shook his head at me and smiled, and I knew then that we were going to be okay, even if we didn’t have money or the RV. My dad once said that if you have somebody who loves you in the world, you don’t need a whole lot more.
“We need to find us some wheels and head out to the reservoir,” he said.
“How are we going to do that? We don’t have any money.”
“I’ve got an idea, but it might mean taking a hike. You up for that?”
“Mountain climbing? Sure!”
“Not mountain climbing. Just a long walk.” He checked his wallet again.
“We got enough money?” I said.
“We’ll be all right,” he said. “Let’s go.”
23
Sheriff Hadley Preston filled a Styrofoam cup from the coffeepot and glanced at the news trucks. The vultures were still there, but he knew they only circled so long before they pounced. They had reported about the missing suspect but hadn’t heard about the incident the night before, and he hoped they wouldn’t for a while. He was trying to work out the sequence of events from long ago, but the more he thought about it, and the more he looked at the pictures of the car they’d pulled from the reservoir, the less sense he made of the situation. The whole thing reminded him of a spent candle that just leaves a smoke trail that circles up and up and then disappears into the air. Maybe there was something to this lady in Colorado. Maybe Dana had been telling the truth.
Mindy put a report on his desk. “This is about that license plate you had me run. And that reporter fellow from the Herald-Dispatch is on the phone.”
“You know I don’t want to talk to—”
“I wouldn’t have bothered you if he hadn’t said he had some information. I think you ought to talk with him.”
“Information about what?”
“He said he knows about Gray Walker.”
Preston cursed.
“I swear, I didn’t tell him a thing,” Mindy said.
“No, he probably got to Mike and promised him a box of chocolate-covered cherries or a six-pack of Coors.”
Mindy smiled. “He’d sell his soul for a Budweiser.”
“All right. Close the door for me.” Preston picked up the phone and put on his reading glasses.
“Sheriff, it’s Todd Bentley from the Herald-Dispatch. I’m in your neck of the woods. Okay if I come by?”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Mr. Bentley. You know how territorial reporters get. Stick one microphone in front of me and they start having babies right in front of your eyes.”
Bentley chuckled. “Well, I think you’ll be interested in what I have to tell you. It’s about Graham Walker.”
“You know, not everything you drag out of one of my deputies is the gospel.”
“I didn’t get this from Mike. Though I do know about the shooting.”
Sheriff Preston sighed and rolled his eyes. This guy was good. A real go-getter. He probably saw this story as a way to move up to some other paper. Maybe Cincinnati or Lexington. Anything to get him out of the hills.
Preston pulled the report Mindy had given him closer. It always helped keep his emotions in check when he was focused on more than one thing. The West Virginia license plate the lady from Colorado had given him had been inactive for years.
“What makes you think there was a shooting?”
“Because he told me,” Bentley said.
“My deputy told you?”
“No, Graham Walker told me your man broke through the back door of the shack where he was staying.”
Sheriff Preston nearly dropped the phone. “Is that so?”
“Fired his birdshot over the deputy’s head, which made the deputy—how should I say this? Lose control? Do I have that correct?”
Preston remained silent.
Bentley continued. “Walker said he didn’t know who it was, and he reacted on impulse. You evidently had him engaged in conversation out front, and that’s why he was startled. He said he believed you when you told him you were alone.”
Preston had never said he was alone. Bentley was trying to corne
r him for information, but the reporter also had clearly spoken with Walker. “Mr. Bentley, you know you could be accused of interfering with an ongoing investigation.”
“I’m not here to interfere. Walker called me. What was I supposed to do, refuse?”
“You should have told him to turn himself in.”
“I did. And that’s what he wants to do.”
“He told you that?”
“Yes. He wants to come in, but he wants assurance that he won’t be held responsible for your mistake.”
Preston flipped to the second page. It listed an incident report in Kentucky where state police had recovered several pounds of cocaine from an RV with West Virginia plates. Two suspects were apprehended at the scene. They were implicated in a shooting that had left three men dead at a warehouse several miles away. They also found several hundred thousand dollars in the RV. The vehicle had been wrecked and the two suspects were unconscious when police arrived. The vehicle had been impounded in Kentucky.
“My mistake?” Preston said. “And I suppose you want to be there when Walker gives himself up, with somebody taking pictures. Not to get the story, of course, just to make sure your fellow human being is treated fairly. Is that right?”
The occupants of the RV claimed the drugs and money weren’t theirs. They claimed a man had used a young girl to gain their trust and then held them at gunpoint. The man fled on foot when the RV went off the road and wrecked. There was no word about the whereabouts of the girl.
“I just want to get to the bottom of what happened,” Bentley said. “There are a lot of people who have a huge hole in their hearts regarding this Edwards child, and if this man can help tie up those loose ends, I want to be there.” There was an edge of sincerity in his voice.
“That’s a pretty convincing speech, Mr. Bentley. How long you been working on it?”
“Ever since I got off the phone with Walker,” Bentley said. “But seriously, the one I keep coming back to is the grandmother, Mae. You can see the pain every time she talks about her granddaughter.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“I’ve also talked with the mother, though she didn’t know I was a reporter.”
“Dana? What did she tell you?”
“She was high at the time and made a pass at me.”
“Are you saying she wouldn’t have if she’d been sober?”
Bentley went on. “Most of what she said didn’t make sense. She told me all about the loves she’s had and lost, and it sounded like it was quite a list. How does a sweet old woman like Mae Edwards have an offspring like that?”
“You think Mae is sweet?”
Bentley laughed. “Well, she’s a little territorial, but I’m sure she’s good at heart. She just wants to see her granddaughter again.”
“Did Dana talk about her own daughter?”
“Not on her own. I threw a couple of lines out there to see if she’d take them, but it was buried deep. I don’t know if she’s just shut it out or if there’s guilt. I finally said something like, ‘Have you ever lost something that you wish you could get back?’ And she made a joke about her virginity. Then I steered her toward kids, and she said she once had a daughter but that she was gone.”
“When was this?” Preston asked.
“After they pulled the car out of the reservoir,” Bentley said. “Took me a while to find her.”
“How come you didn’t do a story on her?”
“You’d be surprised how much you have to know before you write something true, Sheriff. Probably a lot like your job. You know more than you let on when you’re talking to someone. Like this Walker character. You must have some pretty good suspicions about him to go after him that late.”
“Yeah, with me and Mike. A whole posse.”
“Do you think he knows something?”
“I think he knows a lot.”
“I mean about the Edwards case.”
“You’re the one who talked with him. Did he say anything to you?”
“Unfortunately he wasn’t in the talking mood, other than to ask my help coming in.”
Sheriff Preston pushed the report away on his desk and leaned back in his chair. The air conditioner made a rattle anytime it was turned on high, so he kept it on medium, where the hum dulled the senses and cut the heat to about eighty-five. Sweat trickled down his neck, and he could feel the stains spreading under his arms.
“Mr. Bentley, I can tell I was wrong about you. There is a caring bone in your body. You’re not in this just for the story.”
“What are you getting at?”
“Help me bring this boy in. Tell me where he called you from and I’ll find him.”
“That’s what he’s afraid of, Sheriff. He thinks you’re going to come in with guns blazing because he shot at an officer.”
“I gotta tell you, it doesn’t make me too happy that he pulled a gun on my deputy, but I can assure you I’m not going after him with guns blazing.”
“Well, that’s why he called me. I’m just telling you what he said. And if you want my help, I need to be part of him coming in.”
Mindy stuck her head into the office. “I’ve got one of the troopers from the Kentucky State Police on the line if you want to talk to him.”
Sheriff Preston nodded. “All right, Bentley. How did you leave it with him?”
“He said he’d call me and set up a meeting place and I’ll call you.”
“Let me give you my cell number. But don’t be surprised if you don’t hear from him.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“He might change his mind. That’s been my experience. He’ll either turn tail and run or do the job himself.”
“Meaning suicide?”
“If he doesn’t see a way out and the liquor talks to him, yeah.”
“I’ll let you know what I hear,” Bentley said.
24
We headed out toward a little town. The streets were torn up with potholes, but it seemed like a nice place. There was a funeral home, a post office, and a shoe store, but a lot of the places looked like they had gone out of business.
With my hand in his I got this tingle in my belly that something good was about to happen, and I thought maybe he was taking me to see my mama. Maybe she was sitting in a house waiting for me, praying I would come back.
We turned down an alley and walked and walked until we passed a big brick church. I haven’t been in many of them, but from the open windows I could smell that old wood and those pews and something inside sparked a memory.
“Is this Dogwood?” I said.
“No, Dogwood’s down the road ten miles or so. Why?”
“Because I think I remember this place. That church smell.”
We walked over the freshly mowed grass with a few dandelions trying to come up and some crabgrass growing near the building. It was shady in that area, the big cross above us blocking the sun. He stopped and lifted me to one of the stained glass windows that was open, and that’s when it came back to me like a flood. An older woman smiling at me and holding me up. I closed my eyes and saw a blurry vision.
“What is it, June Bug?”
“The strangest thing. I remember this woman holding me up. It smelled just like this. And she called me a name.”
“Natalie?” Dad said.
He held me up so I could keep smelling and looking, though I had my eyes closed trying to see that old woman’s face. When I couldn’t bring it back, I looked in and there were all these pews sitting empty in the sunlight. “No, it was something else. She held me up and laughed.”
I glanced at the big organ over on the other side of the church and the piano on this side and wondered what it sounded like in there with all that music going and people singing. People in choir robes swaying, that’s how I pictured it.
“What are you thinking?” Dad said.
I rested my chin against the cool concrete windowsill. “I know living out of an RV is fun and you get to see lots of places, but
wouldn’t it be nice to live in a house and go to a church like this? have our own yard? maybe a playground with a little swing set? and a dog? a little puppy I could train to sit and chase a ball and fetch your paper in the morning?”
Dad’s face lit up a little bit, but at the same time he looked sad. Like he knew what I was saying wasn’t ever going to happen. “I suppose it would,” he said.
“Can I help you?” someone said behind us. Sometimes people can say that to you in a store and what they mean is “Get away from there.” But this voice sounded like the man actually meant it. He had on nice clothes and looked a little older than my dad.
Dad put me on the ground, and I tugged my shirt down in the back.
“Just looking inside,” Dad said. “You have a nice church here.”
The man came over and said he was the pastor. I wanted to ask him all kinds of questions, but Dad told him we were taking a walk.
“I hope you’ll visit us this Sunday,” the man said.
“We’re just passing through,” Dad said.
The man stared at us like he knew there was something wrong. He looked Dad square in the eyes and said, “Are you two okay?” He said it like somebody told him to ask it. I don’t know how God works with people and if he does that anymore. There’s all sorts of stories in the Bible about him talking to people from bushes and such. I suppose if you want to hear God talking to you he’ll do it in a way that you can hear eventually.
“Yeah, we’re fine,” Dad said.
My heart went pitter-patter when the man turned around. I thought that was the worst answer Dad could’ve given, so I couldn’t help saying, “Except that our RV got wrecked and this truck driver took all our money.”
Dad poked me on the shoulder, but the man turned and looked us up and down. “You poor things.”
“I’ve got relations that live here in town, Pastor,” Dad said, putting his arm out and pushing me behind him. “That’s where we were headed. We just made a little detour to look at your church.”
“What’s the name?” the pastor said. “Your relations.”