“What’d I say?”
Norma Faye blinked tears from her own eyes, shook her head, and laid her cheek on Miss Becky’s shoulder.
Miss Becky’s voice was muffled from inside the now damp towel. “I’ve failed with both of them. The Devil’s done run off with one and the other’n don’t know that our salvation and hope is in the church. Pepper ain’t there, Top. Jesus is!”
I still hadn’t learned when to talk, and when not to. “But you always said Jesus was right here with us, in our hearts, and all around us. What do we need to go to the church house for?”
“Hush, hon.” Norma Faye rose and gently tugged me by the shoulder toward the kitchen.
I hadn’t been there but for a minute before Grandpa and Uncle James pulled up in the drive. The wet gravel sounded completely different under the car tires than it does when it’s dry outside. The back door opened and Aunt Ida Belle climbed out of the car. Her face was screwed up and she was crying too. They all came through the kitchen door, letting the screen bang shut.
Slap, clop, clop.
That’s when I knew when things were really bad, adults lettin’ screen doors slam.
They weren’t no more’n through the kitchen and in the living room than the women commenced to wailin’ like somebody had died. It made me feel even worse, listening to them like that.
Two marked cars came up the drive. Uncle Cody and Mr. John Washington finished filling up the living room with serious-faced adults.
Uncle Cody pitched his wet hat on top of the TV. “Does anyone know where she might have gone?”
Everyone shook their heads.
Aunt Ida Belle got hold of herself. “Don’t nobody know where my baby girl is?” Her voice hitched like a kid’s. She always gets her hair permed at Geneva’s little shop by her house in Arthur City, but it was all wet and blowed up as if she’d been pulling at it.
“Top!” It was Grandpa and he sounded aggravated.
I knew that was coming. Here I was, all by myself and not knowing anything, but Pepper was still getting me in trouble. “Sir?”
“Tell me where Pepper went, son.”
I tried on about three different expressions, trying to let ’em know I had no idea. “I didn’t know she was gone until y’all did. She didn’t tell me nothin’.”
“If I find out you’re a-lyin, I’ll take my belt to you.”
“I know, Grandpa. But I don’t.”
Uncle James rubbed his palms on his thighs. “Maybe she said something and you didn’t much think about it. Is she staying with somebody from school?”
“Nossir.”
Uncle Cody rubbed the back of his neck. “Maybe she’s with kinfolk in Chisum.”
I didn’t know, so I didn’t say anything.
Mr. John snapped his fingers. “I know. Mark Lightfoot. I bet she’s gone across the river and is with him right now.”
Aunt Ida Belle appeared hopeful. “I bet that’s it. Do we have a phone number for anybody over there who knows him?”
“I’ll find out.” Mr. John put his hat back on and went outside.
“Top?” Miss Becky wiped her eyes.
“Honest! I don’t know. We haven’t talked to Mark since the powwow in Grant. I don’t know no phone number for him. He said the house they were living in barely had electricity, let alone a telephone.”
Conversation stalled while they studied the floor and each other.
Aunt Ida Belle took a deep, shuddering breath. “We need to do something. James, don’t sit there like a bump on a log.”
“What do you want me to do?” His voice told how miserable he felt.
She was lost. “I don’t know.”
The phone on the telephone table jangled loud enough to make us jump. I thought Grandpa would shoot it, even though it was our ring on the party line, and not two or three. It rang again, and again.
Uncle Cody sat down on the hard seat and answered. “Hello. No, this is Cody.” He was mad at first, but then his jaw set and he listened. “Well, that explains a lot. No, Pepper’s gone too. Do you have any idea where they went?”
We all watched him like an actor on a stage, hanging on to every word and trying to figure out what the person on the other end of the line was saying. Like Grandpa who rubbed his bald head when he was frustrated, Uncle Cody rubbed the back of his neck, where the hair used to curl over his collar. Now it was cut short, like the rest of the men in our community.
“Well, we don’t, neither. That clears up a few things here, though. All right, we’re working on it right now. Yep, I’ll call you when we find something out.”
Mr. John came back into the house as Uncle Cody hung up. Water dripped from his hat and his shirt was soaked. “Mister Ned, I got somebody from the sheriff’s office in Hugo heading over to where Mark lives. He knows ’em, cause he has to go over there pretty regular to break up family squabbles and sometimes to haul off a drunk or two.”
That made Miss Becky screw her face up even more. Mark lived with us for a while after his mama was killed, but we had to give Mark up when his family came to get him. Since they had the law on their side, Grandpa said we had to let him go instead of raising him as part of our own family.
Uncle Cody took a deep breath. “You can tell ’em to come on back. That was Cale’s daddy. He said Cale’s run off too.”
Grandpa’s face got red as a beet. “That little bastard! He took her with him.”
Uncle James stood. “Let’s go.”
“Hold up, James.” Uncle Cody held up his hand. “I said he’s gone. Preacher Westlake don’t know anything else and said he ain’t got no idea where Cale might be. He’s as worried as we are.”
I’ve never seen so many adults in one place that didn’t know what to do. Mr. John crossed his big arms and stared at the ground, studying on it.
The phone rang again, making us all jump. Uncle Cody eyeballed me and then answered. I raised both hands and shrugged, showing that I was telling the truth and still didn’t know where Pepper was off to.
“Hello. This is Cody.” He listened and then his eyes changed. “Thanks ma’am. I appreciate the call. No ma’am, I don’t think it’s wrong, and I’m glad you did, this time.”
He hung up. “That was Miss Whitney.”
“Aw, psssshhhhh!” It was Miss Becky’s sound of disgust.
The old widow woman didn’t have much family and couldn’t get around much, so to fill the time, she liked to listen in on our party line. We all knew she picked up sometimes when we were on our call.
Grandpa took off his hat and rubbed his bald head. “Well?”
“She was listening to me talk to Preacher Westlake, and this time it’s a good thing. She was listening a couple of days ago when Pepper and Cale Westlake were planning to run off, and she heard it all. They’re on the way to San Francisco.”
Both Miss Becky and Aunt Ida Belle wailed, and Miss Becky started praying loud and long.
Uncle Cody stood up. “Let’s go.”
It was the first time I ever saw Grandpa unsure of what to do. It took several long seconds before his face cleared. “Nope.” He put his hat back on and set it right. “You’re the sheriff now. You can’t go off after runaways. Your job’s right ’chere.” He stopped Mr. John as he drew a breath to speak. “You too, John. Y’all have a hit and run to solve, along with two missing men. Me and James will take care of this.
“John, what you can do is put out an APB on the kids. Norma Faye, you come call the bus station and see if the kids showed up there. Mama, we’ve seen worse, just ’cause it’s our baby girl don’t mean…” He paused with a catch in his throat. Grandpa didn’t say anything to Aunt Ida Belle, because all she could do was sit there and beller like a calf.
Norma Fay shooed Uncle Cody away from the telephone table. “I’ll call the Dallas bus station, too. You’re right
Ned. Someone will remember seeing two kids buying tickets to California.”
They all started talking at once and Miss Becky stood. “Come go with me, Top. We’re walking over to the church to pray as hard as we can.”
“Shit,” I said under my breath, and Norma Faye whacked me a good one on the butt while she waited for someone at the bus station to answer the phone. It didn’t hurt, though.
Chapter Twenty-two
Back on Main, Anna drove south. The rain slacked off to a light, misty drizzle when she glanced up at the 271 Drive-In marquee. In the Heat of the Night was the main headline. The story about murder in a racist southern town made her snicker, considering where she worked now. She didn’t think there would be too many people that night. Even the second feature with Robert Mitchum, Home From the Hill, wouldn’t be much of a draw, even though it was shot in Clarksville, only twenty miles away.
She was already past the drive-in when she realized it was the perfect venue for two men in a strange town and made a U-turn into the long gravel drive. It was still early and the ticket kiosk beside the giant screen was empty, so she crunched over the wet gravel and through the forest of short speaker poles. She parked near another car beside the concession stand and went through the front door.
Cecil Hutler was scrubbing the grill with a steel brush. He saw her and smiled. “Well, if you ain’t a sight for sore eyes. I believe you’re the prettiest deputy I’ve ever seen.”
Anna took the compliment and smiled at the heavyset owner. “Thank you. I’m Deputy Anna Sloan.”
“I’ve not seen you before.”
“That’s true. I only started a week or so ago. I’m here investigating the disappearance of two out-of-town businessmen.” She held the photo out of reach, in case he was tempted to take it in his greasy fingers.
“I know. I saw the paper.” Cecil showed his greasy hands. “Wish I had an exciting job as a lawman. What I have, though, is the glamorous life of a movie mogul. I keep the projector going up there,” he raised his eyes toward to ceiling and the room above that housed the equipment, “order movies, keep the speakers going, replace the speakers when these idiots forget and drive off with them still hanging on their window glass, clean the grill, order food…”
She was afraid the list would go on forever and wiggled the photo. “Have you seen those guys that disappeared?”
Cecil lowered his hands. “Yep.”
Anna chewed her bottom lip. “When?”
“They was here one night a couple of weeks ago. Maybelle was sick and I had to take tickets for a while until my wife could get up here to relieve me so I could get the first reel ready for the show…let me see, that was Bonnie and Clyde. I liked that one, ’course it’s a real rip-snorter…”
“What made you remember them?”
“Why, they was dressed to the nines. You don’t hardly see suits out here at the drive-in. They might have been to a weddin’, instead.”
Anna waited.
“One of ’em came to the concession counter. I remember, I went down for a cigarette and run a bunch of kids out of the bathroom. Them boys like to hang around in there and smoke.”
Anna wiggled the image again. “Did you see them leave?”
“Lord, no. When the lights come on, it’s a regular car race to the exit, and I’m usually packing up the reels by that time…now wait a sec. I came down for a minute, waiting for the projector to cool, and saw ’em in line to leave. I believe I saw someone get in their car before they reached the exit, but I can’t be sure.”
She felt a prickle along her neck and the unbelievably good luck. “Do you know who it was?”
“Lord, no. Somebody got out of a truck and in with them.”
“Did you recognize the truck?”
Cecil scratched his shaggy head. “Naw. I see so many trucks and cars come through here every night, I couldn’t tell you who was driving it. I wouldn’t-a noticed, but some teenagers had one of them Chinese fire drills, where the doors on two or three cars all come open at once and everybody gets out, even the drivers, and they run around like chickens with their heads cut off for a minute and then pile back in. Drives me nuts, ’cause that kind of nonsense slows the line and the older folks complain about it, but they really ain’t doing nothin’ wrong, kids havin’ a little fun’s all. I only noticed ’cause it was an adult got in the car.”
She felt her hopes fall. “All right. If you think of it, give me a call at the sheriff’s department.”
“Sure will. Hey, do you want some free passes to the show? I’ll tell the wife to let you in any time you want. You can come tonight and see this new picture. I doubt we’ll have much of a crowd in the rain, but the kids who like to smooch will be here for sure. They don’t watch the picture anyways.”
“How about I wait till the weather clears?”
Cecil studied the big screen made gray by the falling rain. “That might be a while.”
Chapter Twenty-three
Ned pulled his Plymouth Fury to the curb in front of the Greyhound bus station in Chisum, the windshield wipers barely keeping up with the rain. Norma Fay hadn’t gotten anywhere with them on the phone, so Ned gathered up James to do police work the only way he knew how, with shoe leather.
James never wore a hat, so he hurried out to stand under the neon-trimmed chrome overhead that extended to the curb. Ned circled around, stepped over the gutter running with water, and they pushed through the doors and into the station.
Two rows of uncomfortable blue chairs sitting back to back took up the center of the waiting room. Half a dozen people talked or read, passing the time until the next bus arrived. One man in wrinkled khakis and a worn blue work shirt sat facing the ticket window, reading a paper. He lowered it, saw the badge on Ned’s shirt, and raised the paper higher. A couple in the other row waited for their bus, shoulders touching.
Ned’s breath caught at the sight of an old man with an unusual black Stetson pulled low, hiding his face. It stood out against the small-crowned silverbellies worn by most of the men in Chisum. Ned stepped forward and touched the dozing man on the shoulder. “Tom.”
Instead of Tom Bell, a stranger glanced up with a quizzical expression. “You talking to me?”
“Sorry.” Ned felt his spirits sink. “Sorry. Thought you was somebody else.”
The stranger grinned. “I reckon I am.”
The oily haired ticket agent smiled at James through the window. “Howdy. Where to?”
“Not buying a ticket. We’re looking for my daughter who took off on her own. She might have come here with a boy her age, about fourteen or fifteen, and bought tickets to somewhere in California.”
The agent shook his head. “I’m sorry your little gal’s gone, but I wouldn’t sell tickets to a kid. Runaways come through ever now and then to catch the bus, but I send ’em on their way.”
“Maybe somebody bought ’em for the kids.”
He shrugged. “Might have happened. Lots of parents buy the tickets and put ’em on board to ride by themselves. Happens all the time, but they gen’lly tell me what they’re doing. If they came through here during the night, I wouldn’t know it no how. I get off at six. Hold on. He picked up a microphone. “All aboard for Dallas. All aboard for Dallas.”
Ned stood to the side, hands in his pockets. Still keeping an eye on him, the man with the paper stood and headed toward the door leading outside. Ned scanned the others. They rose along with two scruffy young men who picked up small grips and filed through the doors and around the corner from where Ned parked the car.
He followed them outside under a second chrome overhang. After they boarded, Ned rested one foot on the bottom step. “Do you drive this route every day?”
The white-haired driver stuffed the tickets he’d collected into a pouch hanging from the dash. “Yessir.”
“Did you have a couple of kids get on ye
sterday, boy and girl about the same age, fourteen or fifteen?”
“Nossir. Not yesterday.”
“Did you drive last night?”
“Nossir. That’d be somebody else.”
“Well, did you hear anybody say a couple of kids like that went to Dallas?”
“I wouldn’t know.”
“All right then.” Ned’s gaze rested on the man sitting on the front row, hiding his face again with the newspaper. “When’d you get out?”
Lowering The Chisum News, he squirmed. “Yestiddy. How’d you know?”
“McAlester?” The big penitentiary in McAlester, Oklahoma, a hundred miles north was as well known to Texans as Huntsville, farther south in Texas.
“Yes, boss.” There was no pause between the words, as if they were one. The man’s gaze slipped off to the badge on Ned’s shirt. “I’m movin’ on.”
“Did your time?”
“Yes, boss.”
“You see two kids, boy and a girl, fourteen to sixteen, come through here and get on a bus?”
“No, boss.”
Ned studied on him for a minute, watching the ex-con grow more and more uncomfortable. “All right. Don’t backslide.”
“Yes, boss. Uh, boss? How’d you know?”
“I been at this business a long time, son. I don’t know what you done since you got out, but you look awful nervous. I wouldn’t do it again, at least not in this county.”
The man’s eyes slipped toward the floor. He had less than five dollars in his pocket, along with a Baby Ruth bar he’d snitched from the drugstore on the square, in case he got hungry on the way to Dallas. “Yes, boss.”
Ned pushed away and the bus pulled into the rain with a roar. He met James back inside. “Dad, they don’t know nothin’ here.”
“All right. Let’s go check the train station, and if that don’t work, we’ll go to Dallas.”
“Where in Dallas?”
“The bus station there, I reckon. They might have hitchhiked, and if they did, there’s no way to know if anybody picked them up. The bus is our best chance.”
Dark Places Page 9