Dark River Road

by Virginia Brown

  “So,” Chantry said, “I wonder if Ted Quinton had an accident.”

  Doc’s straw went still. He’d been leaning back in his office chair with his feet up on his desk, relaxed after a long day. Now tension tightened his features.

  “What do you know about Ted Quinton?”

  “Not much. Did you know him?”

  “Yeah. Long time ago. Damn. Near thirty years or more since he left town. Story goes, Ted got mad about Colin getting promoted at Quinton Cotton instead of him. Why’d you bring up Ted?”

  “Because I wonder if he ever really left town.” Chantry let that lie for a moment, saw Doc’s brows furrow, and then said, “No one’s heard from him since he’s supposed to have left town.”

  Doc sat up straight and spit out the straw. He rubbed a hand across his jaw, fixed Chantry with a worried look. “Yeah. I’ve always wondered about that myself. Seems to me, he’d have come back sometime. No one’s heard a word from him in all these years. The old man always preferred Colin to Ted. Think that was because of Ted’s mama.”

  “Ted’s mama? Wasn’t his mama Miss Lucinda, too?”

  Doc shook his head, blew out a short laugh that sounded angry. “No. Bert Quinton remarried a week after Ted’s mama died in childbirth. Colin was born the next year. Ted’s mama was a Stark. “

  Chantry stared at him for a minute. Then the light went on. “Related to Billy Mac Stark?”

  “That’s the one. Her daddy had a shotgun wedding when Jenilee got pregnant with Ted, had old man Quinton in front of the preacher at the end of a double barrel shotgun. Those Starks are mean as hell, but Jenilee was really sweet if a little simple. Too sweet for the likes of Bert Quinton. Jimmy Joe Stark was the last man to get the best of Bert, I’ll say that. I think Quinton knew Jimmy Joe would shoot him without a blink if he didn’t stand up to getting Jenilee pregnant. Bert didn’t waste any tears when she died, but he never had a minute to waste on Ted, either. Once Jenilee was dead, nobody talked about her, especially after Bert married Lucinda and Colin was born. Ted, he just got lost in the shuffle, I guess. It was like he was a distant relation living up in that house with Colin and Cara. You never heard that much about him. Ted was nice enough, quiet, lonely, and always in his younger brother’s shadow. I just figured he’d had enough and took off for a better life finally.” He got quiet, and then said softly, “But in the back of my mind, I always wondered why he left so sudden and no one ever heard from him again.”

  Chantry looked at him, and knew they were both thinking the same thing.

  CHAPTER 39

  Mikey called that afternoon. He had some information about a Ted Quinton, but wasn’t sure it was the right one. There was a birth certificate, but no record of a hospital stay.

  “This is confusing,” Mikey said. “Quinton’s wife’s name was Lucinda, but I can’t find anything for Ted in connection with her, just Colin and Cara.”

  “You didn’t look far enough back. Try Jenilee. His first wife.”

  “Quinton was married twice? Damn. No wonder . . . okay, this makes more sense, then. There’s info about a Jenilee Stark that we managed to find. That the one?”

  “Yeah.” Chantry scribbled on a scrap of paper beside the phone. “Stark was her maiden name.”

  There wasn’t much about Ted’s life, just his school records, a mention in college newspapers, draft registration, but nothing after late 1972. Nothing. No record of military service or employment, no passport issued. No missing persons report. No death certificate. It was almost like he’d never existed. Except for Tansy. And there’d be no way of proving she was his daughter. Just rumor and family legend.

  There was, however, a record of marriage between Bert Quinton and Jenilee Stark that took place in July of 1952. Theodore Roosevelt Quinton was born in February 1953, according to court documents. Jenilee Quinton died the day after he was born. And Ted Quinton would have been eighteen years old when Tansy was born.

  And just eighteen when he disappeared without anyone noticing. Or caring.

  Doc remembered him. Wasn’t there anyone else who did? Who’d cared that he’d up and gone off without a word? Friends, maybe, or even a housekeeper—like Julia. She would have noticed. But she’d married Dempsey that year, and given birth to Tansy a few months later.

  Chantry drove out to Liberty Road late the next afternoon. Dempsey sat out on his front porch in a rocker, a bucket of mosquito repellant smoking next to him.

  “That any help?” Chantry jerked his thumb in the direction of the metal bucket.

  “Some. I’ve got a tough hide, though. This is just for visitors.”

  “So you were expecting me.”

  “Yep. Heard you been asking inconvenient questions.”

  “Are my lines tapped or something?” Chantry sat down on the top step right below Dempsey. “How do people hear these things?”

  “Gets around. Mostly because old man Quinton has been madder’n a stomped-on cat about it. He makes noise when he wants to put folks on edge.”

  “And the advantage of putting folks on edge would be . . . ?”

  “Make ’em careful about what they say and who they talk to.” Dempsey sucked on his pipe. A thin curl of smoke drifted in the hot air. “Son, what’s the point of bringing all this up now? It’s been so long. Tansy’s liable to be the one hurt most by it.”

  Chantry thought about that for a moment. Most people still didn’t know Ted was her biological father. Chris knew. Maybe he’d just found out that Ted was only Colin’s half-brother. Maybe that’s why he’d finally made up his mind about Tansy: that one extra chromosome kept her from being his first cousin. Or maybe he’d just decided none of it mattered, as long as his grandfather didn’t find out until too late that he knew.

  “It’s going to get out one day,” he said finally. The words lay heavy in air scented by honeysuckle vines growing up around the house. “It’s inevitable. Chris will tell it, or even the old man if he can find a vicious enough way to do it without taking any blame.”

  Dempsey rocked back in the old chair so that it squeaked against cypress planks. “Yeah. S’pose you’re right about that. Just hard to do it after all these years, ’specially as how I don’t have proof about where her daddy is. Just where he isn’t.”

  Chantry looked at him. Anguish settled in the older man’s face, in creases around his eyes and mouth. He looked tired. Heartsick.

  “You’ll always be her daddy, Dempsey. The only one she’s ever known or loved. It doesn’t matter who planted the seed. It just matters who nourished the plant. You told me that a long time ago. It’s still true.”

  Chair runners squeaked again, and in the distance a dog barked. The smell of rain was in the air, too, and the feeling of late summer, like everything was getting in a last hurrah before winter. Fields across the road lay fallow this year, dirt furrows sprouting a few weeds but nothing else. He thought of how Julia had named Tansy after a bitter weed, when Dempsey wanted to name her after his mother instead.

  “Tell me about Ted,” Chantry said, and Dempsey cleared his throat.

  “I used to see him up at the house a lot. Tall, lanky boy. Unhappy. Sent off to a military school most of the year, not even allowed home for holidays. Julia used to say it was criminal the way old man Quinton did him. Treated him like a poor relation instead of his own son. Ted graduated and came home for the summer. Lot of arguments ’bout that with the old man. Quinton wanted him to join the service, go off anywhere away from here. Just get out. If it wasn’t for old man Stark, I swear I think Quinton woulda put Ted up for adoption after Jenilee died. Don’t know what Stark had on the old man, but he musta had something good. Jimmy Joe Stark never had to worry about spending money. I don’t think he cared much about it, though. Stayed out there in that old trailer, raised dogs and went huntin’ all the time, or fishin’ out on the river. Rough as they come. Mean as a junkyard dog, too. When Jenilee got pregnant, he took his shotgun and dragged Bert Quinton out to a preacher, made him stand up to
what he’d done. Bert’s daddy, the first Colin, he told him he’d made his bed, he’d have to lie in it. Then Bert Quinton’s daddy died the next year and he took over everything. He’d married Lucinda by then, had Colin. Then Cara. Ted got shoved aside.”

  Dempsey paused, tamped more tobacco in his pipe, relit it. The lighter shut with a snap and he rocked a little bit, thinking. Chantry waited.

  “Lucinda was nice to Ted. She came from Hinds County, right outside Jackson. Good family. Money. Class. She’d got engaged to Bert in college, then he up and got Jenilee pregnant. I don’t know how ole Bert talked Miss Lucinda into marryin’ him so soon after his wife died, but she did. Never blamed Ted for his mama, either, maybe felt sorry for him because she’d died and his daddy didn’t like him. Ted used to bring her flowers he picked when he was a kid, do little things for her. I think when she got the cancer and died, he took it just as hard as her own kids. I’d see him up at the house, moving light as a ghost, like some tragic character in a movie. Guess that’s what Julia saw in him. She always tried to help the underdog. It was just her way. And Ted Quinton needed to be helped.”

  There was no anger in Dempsey’s matter-of-fact telling, just a kind of sadness that permeated his words. Chantry could almost see the handsome, tragic Ted drifting through that big house, never a part of it, an outsider trapped by birth and disdain. He empathized.

  “So Julia and Ted . . .?”

  Dempsey nodded. “I’d see ’em sometimes, sneaking off together, trying not to be noticed. Knew she loved him, could see that he loved her. I never did understand why he’d go off and leave her like he did. He didn’t seem the kind.”

  “I don’t think he went willingly.” Chantry locked his hands together, frowned. “I think Quinton killed him.”

  It went quiet. Dempsey stopped rocking. His fingers tightened around the bowl of the pipe as he took it from his mouth. “His own son?”

  Chantry told him what Laura Quinton had said. Told him what Chris had told him a long time ago, and how he’d gone pale when Chantry asked about Ted.

  “I’m willing to bet Ted’s still at the bottom of the river,” he finished. It got quiet again. Crickets chirped a frantic song. Katydids hummed loudly, and shadows poked long fingers into corners and along the tree line edging the fields.

  “That’s a wicked old man,” Dempsey said finally. “The devil’s own.”

  That was true enough.

  It had stormed that day, a pounding rain that turned fields and gravel roads to mud that clung to car tires in big red globs of clay. Chantry parked outside the carriage house and thought about turning the hose on his car. He’d had to go on some calls with Doc, see to a couple of sick calves out on the highway. Cows never got sick anywhere convenient. Most of the time, it took a four-wheel drive to get to the back pasture to tend them.

  The only good thing was knowing that the deputy who’d followed him had gotten his cruiser stuck in the mud. Chantry hadn’t even slowed down as he passed him, just waved. Probably pissed him off pretty good, but he didn’t appreciate being followed all the time. That had to be Quinton’s doing, of course. Every time he looked up, he saw a damn cop somewhere close by. Just waiting. Watching.

  Not that a cop couldn’t come in handy, it was just damned inconvenient to have them knowing his every move. He’d used his cell phone to call up the two employees at the animal shelter that Lu Emma Lamar thought was selling pit bulls, not wanting to lead the police to their door and scare them away. Johnson had hung up on him, but Frank Coley blurted out that he’d had enough and was leaving town anyway.

  “Them guys out there are crazy. I ain’t stickin’ around to catch the shit for this. And that old man is mean clear through.”

  “You mean Billy Mac, or Beau and Rafe?”

  “All of them.” He went quiet a minute, then he said, “Ain’t no amount of money worth gettin’ your head bashed in. Or losin’ another dog over.”

  He’d hung up then, and Chantry had thought about what he’d said all day long. It was true Billy Mac, Beau, and Rafe were mean, but they weren’t old. Coley had said “old man” like he was scared. Only one old man he knew could summon that kind of fear: Bert Quinton. Was he involved in the dog fighting ring? He had his hand in every other kind of business around, legal or illegal. As long as there was profit in it. It stood to reason he’d have his hand in this, too.

  Chantry was still thinking about that while he fried some bacon, when the door to the carriage house opened with a bang. He jerked around, reflexes making him tense for trouble, then he relaxed a little when he saw Herky.

  Tears streamed down the broad face, and his mouth opened and closed but made only a garbled sound. Like he was having some kind of seizure. Chantry turned off the bacon and went toward him.

  “Hey, Herky, you all right?”

  A wheezing sound came out. Snot ran from his nose and into his open mouth, and Chantry handed Herky a paper towel and told him to use it. “Calm down. Whatever it is that’s got you upset we’ll fix it. Okay?”

  Herky’s head bobbed, but the tears kept pouring from his eyes. He shook all over, big arms trembling with distress.

  “Spot,” he got out finally. “Spot.”

  “Your dog? Is he hurt?”

  Herky shook his head. “Gone.”

  “We’ll find him. It’ll be okay. He’s probably just wandered off, and—”

  “No. Took him.”

  Chantry pushed Herky down to the chair near the doorway because he looked like he was about to fall over. His face was all red from crying. Chantry tried to soothe him.

  “Spot’ll be okay. If he’s lost, we’ll find him.”

  “No,” Herky insisted, this time in a strong voice. “He took him off.”

  “Who took him off?”

  “Billy Mac Stark.”

  Oh shit.

  He called Cinda up at the house because he figured cops were still watching him, and she came down immediately. “We’ll take my car,” she said when Chantry told her what Herky had said and that he wanted to borrow her car, and he shook his head.

  “No. You stay here. I just need to borrow your car. Cops are watching mine.”

  “I go with it. Package deal. You can drive, though.” She tossed him the keys. “If we go across the back lawn up to the house, whoever’s watching won’t be able to see us as well.”

  Herky stood up. “I’m goin’ too. I tole Billy Mac not to take my dog but he just laughed at me. Called me a dummy. A retard. I hate it when folks do that. He got my dog. Said he’s gonna feed him to his dog just for fun. He won’t do that, will he, Chantry?”

  “Where’d you see Billy Mac?”

  “Walkin’ back from the store. Spot went with me. He’s a good dog.”

  They went out the back way, across the patio and over wet grass watered by rain and the automatic sprinklers. Hedges separated the carriage house from the big house, and once they got beyond those, Chantry figured any cop watching his car wouldn’t be able to see them.

  Savona met them in the garage, looking bemused at the trio with wet feet and legs. “Is it still raining, carissima?”

  “Don’t call me that.” Cinda opened her car door. “We’ve got to run to the store. Is there anything you need?”

  “I’ll go with you.”

  “No, that’s all right. Herky likes to browse.”

  Savona regarded the gentle giant’s red, wet face with obvious distaste. “You are too kind-hearted, as always.”

  “My dog’s gone,” Herky offered, and Chantry opened the back door for him to get in.

  When they pulled out of the driveway, Savona still stared after them with that bemused expression on his tanned face.

  Chantry took the back roads, just in case. Herky seemed calmer now, but Cinda looked tense. She wore shorts and sandals and had her hair pulled back from her face. She stared out the front window as afternoon light dwindled toward darkness.

  “Your car’s liable to get muddy,” Chantry said, and s
he nodded.

  “Just so we get his dog back. Do you know where you’re going?”

  “Pretty much. Been here once before with Mindy. Billy Mac took her dog, too.”

  “Why doesn’t someone report him?”

  “Someone has. Many times. No one gives a damn. Or can do anything about it. And that includes your friend up in Desoto County.” She had her own problems. The law wasn’t clear on some things. Dogs got stolen, used for fighting, or as bait, police went out and took a report, maybe even made some arrests, and then the people paid a fine and went home to start all over again. A couple thousand meant nothing to men making a lot more than that fighting their dogs. They’d make that money back in one night.

  Cinda made a soft sound of distress. He looked at her quickly. “You sure you’re up for this?”

  “I’m sure.” She put a clenched fist to her mouth. “People who fight animals are medieval. Despicable. I’d like to see them all in jail.”

  Chantry thought about what to say next, what he suspected. Then from the back Herky said, “If Billy Mac Stark hurts Spot, I’m gonna hurt him bad.”

  “I’ll help,” Cinda said, and Herky said good.

  Chantry remembered too late he’d left his pistol in his car.

  Lights were on at Billy Mac’s trailer. Tall lights up on poles switched on at dusk. Chantry cut the Escalade’s lights as soon as they crossed the metal I-beams spanning the creek, and kept the SUV in the middle as much as he could. Getting stuck in the mud wouldn’t help.

  Several vehicles were parked out front. He recognized Beau and Rafe’s red truck. Damn. This could get really ugly. He should have thought it out first. At least brought a gun with him.

  “Don’t suppose you have a baseball bat in here,” he muttered, and Cinda looked at him sharply.