Delta Ridge

by Frances Downing Hunter

  “So now I’m a vampire! I cared about you, Michael. From the first time I met you at that Christmas party at the justice building and you asked if I needed a ride home. Even then I wasn’t sure if you were attracted to me, or if you thought I was too drunk to drive.”

  “Well, you were in your cups, Holly. I watched you from the moment you came into the room. If I’m not mistaken, I was about the third guy you turned your charms on as you circled the room.”

  “Are you saying that I had no takers until I came to you?”

  “Drunk women don’t frighten off all the men—just the gentlemen. I don’t know what happened in your conversations with the other two or four, but I didn’t see any prince charming to the rescue either. By the time you introduced yourself to me, you were slurring your speech and leering.”

  “At you? I was leering at you? How gallant to say something like that to a lady. No gentleman does that.”

  “I never said I was one. I’d been drinking too. It wasn’t my intention to end up in your bed that night, but somebody had to get you home.”

  “Are you saying that I offered sex as cab fare? I’ve never been this insulted. You seem to roll in and out of women’s beds fairly easily if your experience with the Carter women is any example. I don’t remember ever forcing you into mine.”

  “Holly, we’re getting nowhere with this conversation. I’m finished having children. So is Elizabeth. Robert needs all we both have to give. You’re younger. You deserve a child of your own. You and I are in different places in our lives. I can’t go back to where you are. I’ve grown up—quit partying. And so has Elizabeth. You’ll meet someone who’s on the same page as you are; someone who wants the same things. It won’t be such a stretch—so hard. You’ll see. In the meantime, let’s try to work together for a good cause, to capture and try a killer before he kills again. Okay?”

  “It’s okay,” I said as Michael opened the car door and said goodbye; but it wasn’t okay. It would never be okay. I hated both of them and their sneaking around, their deviousness. He had never known or cared about my feelings, and Aunt Elizabeth—I had become closer to Aunt Elizabeth since I came home than I had ever been to my own mother. Aunt Elizabeth had betrayed me—-like everyone else I’ve ever loved and trusted.

  18 Ashes To Ashes

  BY MONDAY MORNING I was still depressed and still angry as hell, but I knew I needed to get to the office and act as though Michael’s actions had not stabbed my emotions. When I opened the door, the phone was ringing. “It’s Russell Funeral Home,” Marie announced, switching the call to me.

  “What would your family like to do with Garland Carter’s ashes? Where might they be sent?” the dour male voice asked. My God, it had been two months since Uncle Garland’s death, and nobody had even thought of his ashes, or the helicopter’s bucket seats, or whatever they were; but yet, decorum demanded something be done with the ashes.

  “I’ll come get them,” I said, realizing I had no idea what to do with them, but knowing that after this long, I would embarrass the family if I didn’t pick them up today. I had neither memory nor time left for procrastination, which in my current state would turn quickly to complete forgetfulness. When I arrived, Uncle Garland appeared in a huge, heron-carved, gray urn on a dolly in the parlor. The attendant respectfully offered to transport Uncle Garland’s ashes to my Bronco for me.

  I opened the back of my Bronco to reveal, to my embarrassment, three mismatched tennis shoes, a lint infested black parka, multiple Subway sandwich wrappers, bits of bread crusts, and six unopened packs of socks in assorted bright colors that I had optimistically purchased last week in anticipation of playing tennis in the early spring.

  “Place it in here, if you would. Does it have a stopper? Oh, yes, I see that it does. Oh, good. Thank you so much.” The remains will be safe here, I thought, in spite of the horrified look on the attendant’s face that told me I had condemned poor Uncle Garland to a purgatory of stale food and old gum wrappers. Yes, I knew that no one’s car was supposed to look like an open garbage can, but the man could easily see that being discarded was not the same thing as being thrown away. I knew that, while I had run it through the carwash a time or two, the car’s interior had not been unloaded or vacuumed since Ham had bought it in anticipation of my arrival in Delta Ridge. Thinking of Ham, I realized that it was a good time to swing by the hospital to see him.

  “HAM HAVE YOU been drinking? Something in this room smells a lot like scotch,” I said, sniffing the essence of the familiar. “What is it? Don’t tell me that you’re drinking rubbing alcohol now.”

  “Good lord, girl, my blood alcohol level’s so low that if I had a dipstick, you couldn’t get a reading.”

  “Well, that’s a new development.” I studied the dimples that were now straight seams in his symmetrical, craggy face. “You old fraud,” I said gently. “You’re high as a kite on whatever’s creeping through that IV right now.”

  “No, it’s clean. Just glucose.”

  “That’s all you’ve had?”

  “I didn’t say that,” Ham chuckled, “but you do know, if I get out of this place alive, I’ll have to give it all up this time.”

  “Don’t cut any deals with me. Just save your breath for God or Charlotte. I’m going to get some coffee. Can I bring you a beer?” I joked.

  When I returned ten minutes later, Ham was asleep and Jack Walker was standing beside his bed. “Hello, Holly. How’s your grandfather doing?” he asked and smiled at me.

  “So far, so good. His major concern is what his life will be like after he gets out. His doctor says the heart attack was mild, but he’ll be here several days for a series of tests.

  “I’m glad he’s doing well. How about you?”

  “Just tired.” I thought that I must look like the wrath of God, but I was past caring.

  “I had a really good time Saturday night, Holly. Maybe we can get together again soon.”

  There was a question in the tone of his statement, but I let the remark slide and just thanked him for coming to see Ham.

  As soon as Jack left, Ham opened his eyes. “What did he want, Holly? That doctor (if that’s what he is) magically appears in this room every time you do. I haven’t detected that he gives a rat’s ass about my health. I think he’s kind of creepy. Are you interested in him?”

  “Good Lord, no.”

  “You are a Carter, Holly. Watch out for strangers. You never know what others want from you until sometimes it’s too late.”

  “Speaking of creepy. That’s a creepy thought, Ham.”

  “Look at Charley Carpenter. Do you think Garland had any idea what kind of legacy he was leaving us by messing around with that maniac’s brother? Bunch of knee-capping Memphis hoodlums. He’s the kind of Carpenter who carries a blackjack instead of a hammer and saw.”

  “Now Ham, you do realize that you’re becoming a one track wonder with this Charley Carpenter obsession. Nobody in this family would have one friend if we had to worry about everything anybody else could want from us, whether it’s your money or influence. I don’t have either one.”

  “Honey, you don’t have friends in this town, just hangers-on, and anyone of them would hang you upside down if they smelt blood. Just be careful, and don’t forget about pay back, Holly Dolly. Your old grandfather has been around long enough to smell trouble long before it comes through the door. In the Middle Ages the powerful built mosaic pentagrams into the floors of their entrance halls to keep evil spirits out of their houses. Trust me, it’s a custom we should have kept.”

  “I didn’t know you were superstitious, Ham.”

  “I’m not, but I’m super suspicious of other people’s motives. Prosecution does that to you. This family has more enemies than the government has pork, and most of them would barbeque any one of us if they could. Some have criminal records they give me credit for. Even the clean ones, like Garland’s sweetie, can have crooked relatives. As to the ones we sent up the river, most of them eventu
ally swim back, and sometimes they bring all the carp and the sharks in the county with them. The Hatfield’s and McCoy’s grew up not far from here.”

  “Not in this century they didn’t, Ham, but I’ll be careful.” That was all Ham needed to hear and he drifted back to sleep.

  For now my mission was to remove Uncle Garland from the car before I forgot about him, or someone else in the family remembered him. Was it too hot out there? Too stuffy in my car? Uncle Garland had already experienced extreme temperatures in more than one country.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow, Ham.” I realized I had awakened him to say goodbye. “I need to get back to the office.” He nodded and waved his hand. I knew that those were the magic words he never argued with.

  THE REMAINDER OF the day moved slowly, but uneventfully. There was no through traffic in the office at all, so I shrunk some of the paper pyramid on my desk. Finally, at five o’clock, I called it quits. I was anxious to get home and be by myself. But I looked forward to Uncle Garland’s company. I suspected that he would be content alone in the Vine Street house foyer where he could observe all comings and goings. Not that there would be many, but otherwise, he would be homeless since Aunt Elizabeth was now fully ensconced in his Victorian home.

  “Holly, I’m taking some time off from work this week to freshen up Uncle Garland’s house. Queen Esther picked up some of my clothes today from Vine Street, and Felicia’s staying with her grandmother at the Hall. She’s helping get the house ready for Ham’s homecoming Friday. Don’t forget about the party Saturday night. Bring a guest if you’d like.” I was amazed that the answering machine could hold so much information. A deft move, breaking into my house, then calling during the day when I was at work. I was becoming very territorial, very possessive about my new old house. Anyway, I knew Aunt Elizabeth’s plan—avoid me for a week until my mood lightened. That’s the best way to handle teenagers. So, my mood was already lightening. Everybody had scattered from Vine Street like a bunch of stray cats, but I was returning home and taking my houseguest with me.

  Home alone was what I was most looking forward to this week, followed by a long relaxing weekend. But first, I had to figure out how to get the urn out of the car and into the house. Uncle Garland and my father are the only company I want right now. Death in the Vine Street house I had lived with for twelve years. Uncle Garland would be no intrusion. The two departed men I trusted will watch over me with their benign and friendly spirits. Am I crazy? Do I have no one left in the world except those who had already left it? I don’t care. The thought of having Uncle Garland’s remains to come home to makes me happy.

  I remembered a wobbly grocery cart in the pantry and quickly put it to good use. I used some of the car’s debris to serve as a cushion for the urn. As I lifted the urn using both my knees, and rolled it on the cart into the house, I couldn’t help but think, all the ashes from the entire crash site must be in here. “Bless me now,” I said aloud, feeling strangely safe in the cozy, empty house that my other relatives had fled. Thank God, Aunt Elizabeth is at Uncle Garland’s house (and he is here with me, not in that overcrowded den of iniquity), I thought. And Felicia had volunteered to be the human sacrifice at the Hall. Hallelujah! No way was I ever going to stay there with Victoria, Charlotte and an invalid Ham. Just shoot me now. Shoot me now.

  19 Talking Drunk

  THAT NIGHT AT the Hall, my somber mood was evidently taken for fatigue and fear over Ham’s heart attack. I was left alone with my wine glass and a chilled bottle of sauvignon blanc in the library, while the others visited in the den, which Lee had set up as Ham’s bedroom. He was, of course, holding court. Midevening, I looked up from a leather-bound volume of Dickens’ Great Expectations to see Aunt Elizabeth standing in the doorway. Victoria probably sent her in as a grief counselor, I thought and almost chuckled.

  “Holly, how are you doing? I want you to know that I would never....”

  “It’s okay,” I interrupted, but my brain was too far into self-pity mode for rational conversation. It kept repeating, it’s not okay, and I don’t know if I will ever be again

  “Is it really? Holly, Michael’s so worried that you’re hurt.”

  “He’s an arrogant son of a bitch!” I couldn’t believe I had spoken those words. My voice sounded harsh, defensive, bitter. How Aunt Elizabeth seemed to love saying his name, the hint of possessiveness in her voice! The subtle shifting of concern, the focus now must be on poor, long-suffering Michael.

  “Holly, I could tell you that Michael was wrong for you, that he had lost a daughter shortly after birth that was severely handicapped. That Michael’s own sister had died as an infant of the same condition. Robert was unplanned, and Michael didn’t tell his wife about his sister’s death until after Robert was born. You know, Michael’s Catholic. He doesn’t believe in abortion, but his wife never forgave him. She filed for divorce shortly after Robert’s birth.” Finally Aunt Elizabeth hesitated.

  How could Michael have shared that personal information with her so quickly and never shared it with me? I bit my lower lip. I said nothing, knowing my face was transparent enough.

  “I said I could tell you all that, but I see—as I knew it would, it makes no difference. I can say that you’ll meet someone nearer your own age who wants children, and you’ll have the life you want—but I know that doesn’t erase the hurt you feel now.”

  In my sad adolescence, I didn’t say.

  “Holly, you never shared with me that you and Michael had a relationship in Little Rock. Neither did he until yesterday.”

  “It was private. Just between us. Why? Would it have made a difference?” But nothing was private anymore. My intimate moments with Michael were now in the public domain to be deciphered by Queen Elizabeth. Every way I had been reflected in his eyes was now shard glass, broken like my stupid heart.

  “I didn’t know. Michael said it was long over before your accidental encounter in Delta Ridge.”

  “Did he? Well, that’s interesting.”

  “Wasn’t it? He said that you’d had no contact in over a year”

  “It’s all such a joke. I thought you were interested in Jack Walker.”

  “How strange. I thought that you were. Anyway, Holly, you can’t own a man who’s moved on.”

  “Wow. I didn’t see that missile coming. When did he tell you that?”

  “Well, yesterday, when he told me about the whole affair.”

  “Affair? So he’s calling it an affair now? Or is that your term? We were both single. Affair’s such a shady word. Because he never asked me to marry him, does that make it an affair?”

  “An affair of the heart, Holly. I didn’t mean to speak unkindly or out of turn.”

  “Well, you took your turn—and my turn, out of turn, I might add.”

  “Holly, neither you nor I made Michael’s choice for him. He did that himself.”

  “I just never thought that competition would come from my own house, my own family, from someone your age. It’s all so shocking. You’re older than he is. I would never have imagined...”

  “That Michael could have been interested in me? Aren’t you being a bit arrogant now, Holly? A bit condescending?”

  I realized that, in my pain, there was pleasure in seeing hers. I continued, “My God, you’ve had three husbands. How many do you want?”

  “While you haven’t even had one, right? And your field of choice should be twenty-five to fifty, and mine over fifty-five, am I right?” Aunt Elizabeth’s voice was as cold as her eyes.

  “Well, you’ve certainly done the numbers, haven’t you? If older women continue to choose younger men, women my age will never find husbands.”

  “Holly, you have a world of opportunity if you open yourself up to it. Just look around you. You’re young, although you may not feel like it right now, and you’re beautiful and smart.”

  “And almost too old to be good breeding stock. I’ve been so long alone!”

  “No, you have a large family who l
oves you. I love you. So does Michael.” “Like a lecherous uncle, I suppose.”

  “Holly, don’t be cruel. Before everything blew up, I had planned to have lunch with you tomorrow to tell you that I’m moving to Garland’s house this weekend. I can finish the redecorating while I’m living there.”

  “And sleeping with Michael.”

  “This much jealousy doesn’t become you, Holly. Michael and I have far more in common than mere sex.”

  “I have to go home now, thank you.”

  “You’re in no condition to drive.”

  “Then I’ll walk,” I announced, grabbing my coat, muttering a goodbye to the group in the den. “Come on, Jigger, let’s go.” I needed the fresh air, but was not prepared for the six block walk down the icy street. It took thirty shuffling minutes, as I lurched and twisted down the middle of the road—the glazed sidewalk being even more treacherous. Only later did I do my mea culpa, thanking God that the cops were not out either, and that I had not been picked up and placed in the slammer for public drunkenness.

  ONCE AT HOME and finally finding my key, I entered the warm house and trudged upstairs to my bed. I awoke at 3:00 A.M., fully dressed and lying on the comforter—my coat over me—and Jigger snoring up against my back. Is this dog allowed on the furniture? I can’t remember.

  How quickly I had re-entered my own head to hate my aunt and Michael, and to view my self-pitying self from above—as if I were an ant lying on my pillow. It would have taken more self-respect than I could muster to be a cockroach. I flattered myself in both comparisons. I had nothing in common with a cockroach nor an ant except a love of darkness, a fear of the light. As long as they lived, they had purpose and destination. I had neither, except to stay out of sight. But then my head began to spiral. Nausea was standing in the doorway, begging for entrance.

  I must stop it now. I got out of bed and put on my pajamas, walked downstairs to the kitchen, and looked at the coffee pot and thought, No, I think I’ll have a vodka to calm my stomach, my nerves, a little dog hair to exorcise these demons—to break this obsession. To bite me in the butt. I deserve to be bitten. Yes, Vodka. I’m here alone. Come join me. Who cares? It’s early. Much too early for gin. I laughed dryly. “Vodka straight up, neat in a Waterford glass, that’s what I need.” I announced aloud for “no one else in Tilbury town to hear.” I noticed Jigger at my feet, but staring up at me as if waiting for the literary reference to come clear. Where had he been? The library? I let him out the back door and wandered into the cold den, stopping to flip up the wall thermostat. I didn’t want to interrupt my thoughts long enough to lay a fire.