Dark River Road

by Virginia Brown

Doc laughed. “You know how things get turned around. Rumors are thick as fleas on a hound dog right now. Maybe you better let me handle the clinic today.”

  “All those people out there?”

  “Once they find out you’re gone, they’ll go. Only the ones that really need to be here will stay behind.”

  “Right.” Chantry stood up. “Sounds good to me. But if you get a chance, find out just what the hell Mrs. Tilly brought in, will you? It looks like muskrat roadkill.”

  Doc let him out the rarely used back door. They had to move a stack of plastic dog crates to get to it, but it was better than being followed.

  When he got near his street, he saw a phalanx of vans and cars parked outside Cinda’s house. Most had those tiny satellite feeds atop the vans, with TV station logos on the sides. He did some inventive swearing as he passed up his street, went two streets down, and parked in front of Herky’s house.

  Miss Abby came out and told him he was welcome to park there as long as he needed. She had bright blue eyes behind big gold-rimmed glasses, and a dimple flashed in her cheek as she smiled up at him.

  “Tempest in a teapot time. Don’t let it bother you too much. It’ll die down soon enough and folks’ll be on to some other gossip.”

  “That’s what scares me.”

  She laughed. “If you walk down through the back alley, you ought to be able to get close enough to the carriage house to make a good run for it. Go through a space in the hedge, you should come out right about across from your front door. It’s the way Herky goes.”

  “Where is he, anyway?”

  “Telling any reporter who’ll listen how he saved his dog Spot from being eaten.”

  At least Herky was getting something good out of this. Chantry cut down the alley and through the hedges, and just like Miss Abby had said, his front door was only a yard or two away. He barely made it inside. Some guy with a camera came running after him, feet pounding on asphalt, and Chantry slammed the door in his face and locked it.

  The noise must have woken Cinda. She came out of the bedroom, rumpled but looking much better. She yawned. “What’s going on?”

  “Reporters. You might as well go back to bed. Unless you feel like running the gauntlet in your jammies.”

  “Christ.” She moved to the couch and grabbed the remote and sat down. It took only a minute to find the local news, a station out of Clarksdale. Bert Quinton’s face popped up in one corner of the screen, a photo taken several years before, as the news announcer repeated the question on everyone’s lips: What happened to Ted Quinton?

  Cinda watched in silence. When that program moved on to another news story, she switched channels, found it on a Tupelo station and watched that. Then she found it on a Memphis station, and after that, CNN. All said basically the same thing, using alleged and cadging words to keep from being sued.

  Finally Chantry went over and took the remote from her hand and turned off the TV. Cinda looked up at him, her eyes a little glazed.

  “This is much worse than I thought.”

  “How do you like your eggs? Over easy, right?”

  She just stared at him. He went into the kitchen and cooked bacon and eggs, then made her come sit at the bar to eat. She refused at first, but finally gave in and ate. It was all he could think to do, feed her.

  Outside the carriage house, reporters with cameras and microphones milled about, waiting and watching like vultures. Cinda called her parents’ house while Chantry washed up the dishes. He heard only bits of her conversation, and tried not to listen.

  She came back to the bar and sat on the stool again. “I should have helped you clean up. Sorry.”

  “You okay?”

  “Sure. My granddad’s accused of murder, my mother’s gone off to Italy with Paolo, and now my father’s filing for divorce so he can go live with his lover in Jackson. A charming man named Travis. If they get married, I won’t know what to call Travis. Stepmama? Or stepdaddy? I’m considering throwing myself under a train.”

  “You’re just shell-shocked. This all hit you at once.”

  “Now I know how you felt. You know. A long time ago.”

  “Yeah.” He hung the copper pan back on the overhead rack. “I’ve had better times since then.”

  “God, I hope so.” Propping her elbows on the bar, she rubbed at her eyes. “I’m not sure I can take one more disaster.”

  Chantry thought about Chris and Tansy. “Sure you can. You’re a Quinton. You can take anything.”

  She looked at him through her fingers. “I’m also a Sheridan, and my father’s not exactly made of steel.”

  “That’s the part that’s kept you human.”

  “I take it that’s meant to make me feel better.”

  “Look, you stood out there and faced down grown men to rescue a dog for Herky, you stood up to the police afterward, and you can make it through this.”

  “I shot Billy Mac Stark because he was going to hurt you with that knife.”

  “Did I ever thank you for that, by the way?”

  “For shooting him?”

  “No, for giving me just a baseball bat when you had a .357 Magnum in your purse. I’m damn lucky you can shoot straight.”

  “That’s not luck. That’s practice. And I didn’t tell you about the gun because I’d get away with shooting someone and you wouldn’t.”

  “That’s true.” He leaned on the counter, saw the small smile tug at one corner of her mouth. “You’ll get through this, Cinda. You can get through anything. You’re tough.”

  She tilted her head forward until her forehead touched his. “It’s easier if you’re with me.”

  Right. Dangerous territory again. But he’d made up his mind.

  “And I like the bracelet.” she said. “I was a kid when I gave it to you. I didn’t even know what forever meant back then. I do now. Do you?”

  “I’ve got a pretty good idea.”

  Her voice lowered. “Chantry. Do you mean it?”

  He was stepping out on a ledge here. A big risk. But he’d known that when he put the bracelet in the pile of gifts.

  “I mean it. I’ve always meant it. It’s always been you, Cinda.”

  “Forever. You and me. I like the sound of that.”

  So did he. But he remembered how short his mama’s forever had been, and wasn’t so sure life would cooperate.

  CHAPTER 41

  Chantry didn’t go, but he heard all about it from Herky the next day, how Chris Quinton had stood up in front of the entire congregation of New Cane Creek Baptist Church on Sunday morning and told his grandfather and the world that he was getting married to Tansy Rivers. Bert Quinton stood up and walked out of church without saying a word, and Cinda went home and curled into a fetal position in the middle of her bed.

  That was where Chantry found her, still in her church clothes, shoes kicked off and a pillow hugged to her chest, staring dry-eyed at an antique armoire across the room.

  “Hey,” he said, and perched on the edge of her bed. “I hear there’s going to be a wedding.”

  She cut her eyes at him. “Why now? Why’d he say that now? When everything else is all in an uproar?”

  “Why not? It’s taken Chris nearly fifteen years to have the balls to say how he feels.”

  “That was elegantly put.”

  “Yeah, well I’m all out of elegance. Sorry. It’s been a rough week for all of us.”

  “I’m afraid Granddad’s going to have a heart attack.”

  Chantry didn’t say anything. The world wasn’t that kind. Quinton would probably live to be a hundred and ten.

  “Have you talked to Tansy?” Cinda asked.

  “No. She just got back to Tunica. I figure I’ll go see her some time this week.”

  “Does she love Chris?”

  “Always has. Since we were kids.”

  Cinda sighed. “How did I miss it? I mean, Chris must have said things or done things that I should have noticed.”

  “Probably not. He kn
ew how your grandfather felt about interracial dating.”

  “But to keep such a secret all these years . . . no wonder he acted strange at times. I just thought it was . . . well, you know, because of Aunt Laura.”

  “He’s had to hide a lot, I guess.” That was true. Maybe he should have given him more credit. It had to be hard to walk such a fine line and not have anyone to talk to about it. At least he’d had Mikey. And Tansy a long time ago. Now he had Cinda. He looked at her. She’d rolled onto her back and was looking up at him.

  “You never even hinted how he felt about Tansy. Why?”

  “It wasn’t my secret to tell.”

  “And you didn’t trust me. Because I’m a Quinton.”

  “It was never that. None of us can help who we were born. All we can do is try to be somebody to be proud of. Mama used to tell me that I could be anything I wanted. I believed her for a long time.”

  “And now you don’t?”

  He thought about that a minute. “She was right in a lot of ways, but she just didn’t tell me that I’d have to be careful what I wanted.”

  “Ah, the ‘be careful what you wish for because you might get it’ thing.”

  He smiled. “Basically.”

  Cinda sat up. “Well, I can hardly wait to see what the rest of the week is going to bring. If I had any sense, I’d do like Mother and fly off to Italy.”

  “You’re not the kind to run away.”

  “No,” she said with a faint smile, “I’m not that smart.”

  Maybe he wasn’t either, but later he thought he should have been. It’d have been safer for everybody.

  Somebody tried to burn down the Cane Creek Animal Hospital that Sunday night. They’d have succeeded, too, if Doc hadn’t been there tending to a really sick cat. He smelled the smoke while he was in the back, and by the time he got to the front of the clinic, the waiting room was blazing so high the extinguishers he kept on hand hardly cut it. Fortunately, the alarm system was wired for fire too, and fire trucks showed up at the door quick enough that the only thing considered a loss was the waiting room. And the fish tank. None of the animals suffered any harm except for a little throat and eye irritation, and Doc had some smoke inhalation and a few burns on his hands from trying to put out the fire, but other than that, it turned out a lot better than it could have if he hadn’t been there late.

  “Who’d do such a thing?” Mindy asked, staring at the ruined room. Water still dripped from blackened rafters and walls.

  “I have a pretty good idea,” Chantry said grimly. And he did. Chris had warned him. Mrs. Sheridan had warned him. And he hadn’t listened.

  He left the clinic and got in his car and drove out to Six Oaks, madder than hell and ready to take on Bert Quinton or whoever got in his way. Sukey, the housekeeper, said that Mr. Quinton was gone for the morning but would be back that afternoon.

  Spoiling for a fight and disappointed, Chantry said he’d be back and turned to go to his car. He had in mind driving up to the Silver Dollar Casino to see if the old man was there. Then he stopped.

  Laura Quinton stood on the top step leading up to the wide front porch. She had on a broad-brimmed hat and long, flowing dress, and looked like she’d just stepped out of some gothic southern novel. A flawed Faulknerian character.

  “You never came back to see me,” she said, and he nodded.

  “I did. They said you couldn’t have visitors.”

  “Ah. I wondered.” She took a step closer, smiling. “The secret is out now. They’ll come for him.”

  “They—?”

  “The police. They’ll take him away.”

  “That’s not likely, Mrs. Quinton.” He said it gently because she seemed so pleased and he didn’t want to disappoint her. “There’s no proof. The police can’t just arrest a man like Bert Quinton without something called probable cause.”

  Her smile faded. “But they must.”

  His supply of patience waned. All he wanted was to find Quinton. He shrugged and started to go around her, but she grabbed his arm. Her fingers dug into his skin with surprising ferocity.

  “You make them take him. He’s a wicked man. I heard him that day, you know. With Carrie. He made her cry. Like he used to make me cry. And Chris. Even Colin. He says terrible things.”

  He tensed, watched her closely. “What’d he say to Carrie to make her cry?”

  Laura got a crafty look on her face. “You make them arrest him and I’ll tell you.”

  He should have figured it wouldn’t be that easy. He shook his head. “I would if I could, but as much as I’d like to see him go to jail, I can’t make the police do anything.”

  “Then you’ll be sorry.” She stepped up onto the porch, then turned to look at him. “He won’t rest until he ruins you.”

  That may well be true. But he was getting used to disappointment.

  Chantry drove up to the Silver Dollar but Quinton wasn’t there. Or if he was, he didn’t intend to be found. So he drove over to the Grand Isle. The desk clerk at the hotel called up to Tansy’s room before she’d give him the room number, then said he could go on up.

  “Miss Rivers will send someone to meet you on the concierge floor.”

  He half-expected Chris, but Dempsey came down to meet him. There was a nice kitchen on the concierge floor, stocked with just about everything anybody could want, and he followed Dempsey to a table in the far corner. The only other person was an employee who kept the place supplied with fresh food and coffee.

  “You need to talk some sense into Tansy,” Dempsey said when they were seated at the window that overlooked the river. “Quinton’s fit to be tied. He’s liable to go and do somethin’ mean.”

  “I know. He tried to burn down the clinic last night.”

  “So I heard. He’s dangerous, Chantry, just like a rabid dog. I told Tansy to hire a few more bodyguards but she just laughed, said he couldn’t get to her here.”

  “Look, he’s angry and dangerous, but he’s not stupid. He’s not going to murder her, certainly not after Chris got up in front of the church congregation and told everyone he intends to marry her. It’s probably the main thing keeping them both safe right now. Quinton has to know how it’d look if one of them ended up dead. Especially Tansy.”

  “But he could arrange an accident. It wouldn’t be the first time.”

  Chantry looked at him. “Yeah. Jesus.” Possibilities popped up like icebergs in a dark ocean. “I’ll find him. I’ll stop him.”

  Dempsey shook his head. “Ain’t smart to corner somethin’ meaner than you, boy. And Quinton is a damn sight meaner than anyone I know.”

  “How the hell did he get that way? Not that it makes any difference, but at least Rainey had a reason for turning so mean. Quinton just enjoys it.”

  “Meanness don’t happen overnight. Took Bert Quinton a long time to get like he is. He didn’ start out that way. Not that I recollect. His daddy expected a lot of him, but that ain’t always a bad thing. Some folks just don’t grow straight, like a tree bent all out of shape.”

  Chantry stood up. “Maybe somebody needs to chop down that tree.”

  “Maybe. Just don’t let it be you.”

  “Dammit, I can’t let him get away with trying to burn down the clinic. If Doc hadn’t been there—I’m not risking it again. I’m going to find that bastard.”

  “Chantry, wait until you ain’t so mad. It won’t help my baby girl if you go out there half-cocked and say or do stuff that won’t make any difference or help anything. We need cool heads. We need Tansy to listen. To go someplace safe.”

  He was right, and Chantry knew it, but it didn’t make him feel any better. He looked away, and saw the casino employee staring at him from beside the fruit basket she’d been rearranging. This wasn’t the place to be talking, either.

  Dempsey went up with him to see Tansy. She looked a little shell-shocked herself, not knowing whether to be glad or scared.

  “Chris told me what he did at church. I don’t know
what to say.”

  “How long are you going to be here?” Chantry asked her, and she made a gesture with her hands like she wasn’t sure. “If I was you, then, I’d make it a short trip. Go up to Memphis if you have to, or somewhere a lot farther away. Out of Quinton’s reach for a while. And take Chris with you.”

  “I have a contract here for several shows. I have to honor that. But I do have to be in New York soon to lay down some new tracks on my next CD. Do you really think he’d be so stupid as to try something?”

  “This ain’t New York. Quinton owns the sheriff’s office. And the sheriff.”

  “That’s ridiculous. It’s not like we’re living in the fifties. There are laws.”

  “Uh huh.” Chantry just looked at her, and Tansy bit her lower lip. She had to remember the cross that’d been burned in her yard. He wondered if Chris had told her about her real daddy yet. Or if Dempsey intended to do that. It’d better be soon, because at the rate things were happening, she’d find out anyway. He looked over at Dempsey, and it was like the old man knew what he was thinking, because he put out a hand to Tansy.

  “Baby, there’s things you don’t know but you need to hear. I shoulda told you a long time ago, but I didn’t. It didn’t seem right somehow. Like I’d be saying things about your mama.”

  Tansy frowned. “What about Mama?”

  It was time he left them alone, and Chantry left the penthouse suite and went out to his car. It was almost October and the sunshine was still warm so that the inside of his car was hot when he opened the door. A funny smell washed over him, like the stuff crop dusters used on cotton fields. DDT. Hell, they’d outlawed that years ago, but he still remembered the smell from his childhood, and remembered watching the crop dusters swoop low over the fields every year with billowing clouds of white fog like vapor trails streaming behind. And he remembered hearing about a pilot that flew his plane into some electric wires and ended up with his brains spilled all over the ground, too. So why was he remembering that all of a sudden?

  He stood there a minute, thinking. The hair stood up on the back of his neck, and he backed away from his car slowly, looking at it. Maybe it wasn’t DDT. Maybe it was fertilizer. And mixed with something else. He got down on his hands and knees and looked up under his car, and saw something that shouldn’t be there, a metal cylinder tucked up in the chassis between the front wheels.