* * *
Lilah Stargill had put on Randall’s old plaid car coat over her caftan, and an old scarf over her pink foam hair curlers. She stood in the entrance to the barn workshop, making little clouds with her breath, and watching her husband polish the rosewood casket. He had not seen her yet. His back was to the door. She could hear his ragged breathing, ending now and then in a sob, as he made circles on the coffin lid with the rag. He kept rubbing the same spot over and over, and looking away at nothing, as if his polishing arm belonged to somebody else.
Lilah went over and stood behind him. She put her arms around his waist. “I should have known you’d take it the hardest,” she said. “He loved you the least.”
He turned to face her, with tears coursing down his plump red cheeks. “Well, I tried to make him proud of the man I became. I wasn’t a war hero like Garrett, or a Grand Ol’ Opry star, or a college boy, but I have responsibility at the dealership. A new car every year. The house will be paid for in five years, and we have savings. I guess it isn’t much, but there’s a lot that have less.”
“He knew that, Robert,” whispered Lilah, hugging him. “And now that he’s in heaven maybe he knows more—that you are really and truly loved. The only one of the Stargills that has roots instead of wings. He could depend on you, Robert. More than he deserved, I often thought.” She took the rag out of his hand and laid it on the table. “That’s enough for tonight. There’ll be things to see to in the morning. The Stargill family is more than the land. It’s the people in the family staying together, and you’re the only one who can keep it together. Those other three are too wrapped up in their own problems to see above them, but you’re the head of the family now, and you’ll pull them together.”
“Do you think so?”
“Of course I do.” She patted his arm. “Now come in the house, Robert Lee. It’s too cold out here in the barn. I’m making some cocoa for Kayla, and you’d better have some, too.”
Robert Lee swallowed the last of his grief. “Kayla? Is she back then?”
“She’s on her way,” said Lilah, steering him through the door of the workshop and toward the barn’s open door. “Rudy told me.”
“Rudy?”
“Yes, Robert. Now hurry. If I burn that cocoa, he’ll just give me hell.”
* * *
“What do you mean she’s not there?” LeDonne pushed past Garrett Stargill, and stooped down beside the mouth of the cave, a little to the left, though, out of a direct line of fire. He clicked on his three-cell mag flashlight, and peered over it. No shots. No sound of scuffling feet against the rocks inside.
Where the hell was she?
He turned to Garrett Stargill. “Do you know this cave?”
“Thirty years ago. It’s only that one chamber there, just big enough to hold four or five kids. We didn’t go in it much. My brother Clayt thought snakes might live there.”
“There’s no back way in?”
“Not that I ever heard of. That’s something you should ask Clayt, though. I enlisted at eighteen, and I haven’t been back much since. Clayt’s been roaming around in these woods all his life.”
“All right,” said LeDonne. “I’ll send somebody to ask him. You go on home now, Mr. Stargill. And thank you for your help. We’ll take it from here.”
Garrett started to protest, but this deputy was clearly in charge. Arguing wasn’t going to do any good. He took a deep breath, mumbled, “Glad I could help,” and walked away. It wasn’t the heroic finish he had envisioned, but at least he had made the effort. If Dovey Stallard wanted to get herself shot, that was her problem, he thought. He had to get back to Debba. She’d be afraid with all the searchers crawling all over the mountain. He shouldn’t have left her alone. She never felt safe without him, and his first duty now was to protect her always, to make up for that one terrible time when he had not been there to save her. He didn’t know what hurt worse, the betrayal of a fellow soldier, or the unspoken reproach he had lived with ever since. Blaming her was the only way he could live with it.
* * *
Joe LeDonne walked back to the trees, where the rest of his men were waiting, weapons drawn. “I’m going in there,” he said. “She’s not in the part of the cave that I can see from the entrance. Anybody willing to go in with me?”
He waited through an uneasy silence, knowing that these men weren’t going to be anxious to volunteer for what could be a fatal ambush. Even an empty cave was dangerous; add an outlaw with a gun and it became a death trap. But with or without backup, LeDonne was going in.
“I’ll go, sir.” The voice sounded like a kid’s.
A young man in a leather jacket and camo trousers stepped forward. “I’ll go. What the hey.”
“Are you a police officer?” asked LeDonne.
“Yes, sir. Off duty when the call came in. Thought I’d come give you a hand. I live over here, work in the next county over. Figured I knew these woods well enough to help out from all the hunting trips I’ve been on up here.”
LeDonne looked at the kid, idly wondering if he even wanted to know his name. What the hell, in combat he had entrusted his life to kids younger than this, but that had been a long time ago. And he hadn’t known some of their names, either. Some of their faces, though, he would never forget. He had spent twenty years trying.
“Right,” he told the young policeman. “You’re with me.”
They walked away from the others. “I’m going in first,” said LeDonne. “I’ll have the light. You’ll go as backup, low to the ground, with your weapon drawn.” He looked again at the kid. “Don’t point it in my direction,” he added.
“No, sir.”
“Go slow and easy in there. The floor is uneven. Don’t trip on an outcrop of rock and shoot yourself, either.”
He knelt at the entrance to the cave. “I don’t know how far back she is in there, and I don’t know what the rest of the cavern is like. It may be narrower. It may be flooded. We may not be able to stand up in it.” He started to add that it was a perfect place for an ambush, but he thought better of saying it. Either the kid was smart enough to know that, or else he’d be spooked by it, which might make him more likely to do something stupid.
“I’m with you, sir.”
“If anything happens to me—a rockfall, for instance—you get out and go for help. You are not to try to carry on single-handed. Is that understood?”
The young officer nodded. “Got it, sir.”
There was nothing else he could say to postpone the inevitable Much as he dreaded it, it was time. LeDonne took a deep breath and plunged into darkness. He hated caves—any dark, closed, starless place made the back of his neck tingle, and tightened his throat muscles. In Vietnam there had been tunnels. They were used for hoarding weapons, for ambush and traveling by stealth, and finally, they were used as a last-ditch refuge by Vietcong. LeDonne had to go in such a tunnel once. Just once. Twenty-odd years ago now, but he was still fighting his way out of it in sleep. He knew that if he got out of this cave tonight, he would sleep with a light on for weeks, waiting for the worse darkness to come back for him in dreams.
He flipped on the three-cell mag light to get his bearings, and to make sure that the anterior chamber was empty. It was. He kept the light on, and turned to his backup man. “Okay,” he whispered. “We’re going through that opening in the back. Don’t make any noise as you advance.”
He threaded his way around a pile of small rocks scattered around the narrow opening. It looked as if the passage had been blocked at one time. He wondered if Dovey Stallard had uncovered it. The rocks had not been moved by tremors or ground water. He pressed his body against the damp rock on one side of the opening, and reached out to illuminate the interior cavern, holding the big light in the center of the opening, well away from his body.
He waited to a count of ten, listening to the kid breathing a few feet behind him. No shots. No sounds of scurrying in the darkness ahead. LeDonne edged forward and peered into th
e next chamber. He could see boulders near the wall of the cave. They blocked his light, leaving shadowy recesses at the far end of the passage. In the center of the chamber a wide section of floor had given way, leaving a jagged pit more than six feet across. He was too far from the edge to see into the crater, but he could see something sticking up on one side of the hole—a stick, perhaps. Nothing alive. He wondered if Dovey Stallard, rushing into this second chamber to escape her pursuers, had fallen into the pit. She might now be lying unconscious or dead on the rocks below. But in order to find out, he would have to leave the safety of the narrow opening, and venture into plain sight in the center of the cavern. Oh, this was bringing back memories. It was like having two nightmares at once.
He lowered the light and sat back against the wall for a moment, trying to decide what to do next. Maybe he should have let Knoxville send the Special Operation Squad, but he didn’t think they’d have had any better luck getting her to surrender. It was up to him now, and he had to find out if she was in the back cavern—and if she was still alive.
He motioned for the young cop to come forward. “I’m going in there. There’s a pit in the center of the chamber, and she may have fallen down there. Keep your light in readiness, but don’t turn it on unless you have to. And cover me.”
“You’re going into that hole?”
“Not unless I have to. I have to check it out, though.”
He edged forward. Still keeping the light to one side, but he thought that was a futile gesture. In the confined space of the cave, the three-cell light gave off enough of a glow to reveal his position. He might as well shine it on his face. Why pretend that he had the advantage of surprise. “Are you in here, Dovey?” he asked in a conversational tone. “You’ve got a lot of heart if you are. ’Cause I sure as hell hate this place.”
“We always did, too.”
Her voice was calm, as casual as his. There was a slight echo in the cavern, but he could tell that the sound came from behind the rocks at the far end of the chamber. She sounded weary. “We found this cave when we were kids. We played pioneer out in these woods, looking for the Boone tree, and we came in here a time or two, but there was always something about the place that made us uneasy. We never saw any snakes, but it felt like … like a snake crawling across your foot, just being here.”
“Tell me about it,” muttered LeDonne. He had reached the edge of the pit, braced himself against a rock, and directed the light down into the darkness below. He saw an old wooden ladder propped up against the side of the hole, which looked no more than eight or nine feet deep. There was no shine of water reflected in the beam of light: dry, then. He saw what looked like a clump of rags near some rocks in the pit, and a scattering of small bones, too small to be human. The remains of a bear’s dinner, perhaps? An old Indian campsite? He called out to Dovey, “Where’d you get the ladder?”
“It was here. We never went in this part of the cave when we were kids. It was blocked up. I didn’t go down there. Looks like a snake pit to me.”
“Too deep for that.” LeDonne marveled that they were talking like two hikers meeting on a trail. Dovey Stallard was hidden by darkness and by the boulders at the far end of the cavern, but he was conversing with her in something approaching a normal tone of voice. They were talking about childhood memories—not the phony dialogue of negotiator and fugitive, but real talk. He tried not to think about the fact that she probably had a gun aimed at his head.
“There’s something down in this hole,” he said, peering over the side of the pit. “I’d like to check it out sometime. But right now what I’d really like is to get out of here. I don’t care for small dark places. You want to come out now so we can leave?”
“You’re scared?” She sounded amused.
“Caves bring back bad memories for me,” he said. “And futility makes me antsy. Look, there’s no back way out of this place, is there? No—’cause you’re still here. So why are we postponing the inevitable, Dovey? Why can’t we just walk out of here?”
“Because if I walk out of here, we lose. My father and I. We lose the land. And we don’t deserve to have that happen. My father has worked hard all his life on that farm. We never took charity from anybody. It shouldn’t end like this.”
“Maybe this isn’t the end. Maybe you should come out so that you can keep fighting.”
There was a long pause before she said, “I’m tired.”
“So am I,” said LeDonne. “Let’s go home. Please.”
“Two against one?” She was wary now.
It’s supposed to be a lot more than that, LeDonne thought, but he could sense her weakening. She wanted to trust him, to let it be over. The two of them were communicating. They could work it out. Perhaps one more small show of faith was all it would take. “You can go, Officer,” he said to his backup, loudly, so that she could hear him.
In the darkness he heard the kid gasp. “Sir, we’re not supposed to—”
“On my authority. Go out now. Tell them everything is all right.”
Another long pause. Then the young officer muttered, “Whatever you say, sir.” He scrambled for the opening that led to the outer chamber, dislodging rocks, and cursing softly as he went.
When his footsteps had died away, LeDonne said, “All right. Now it’s you and me.”
Dovey Stallard said, “Dwayne Stargill was a lot like you. He didn’t play by the rules either.”
“Dwayne?”
“The wild one. Younger than Robert and Charlie, older than Garrett and Clayt. I married him—a long time ago. He’s dead now.” She sounded weary. “I never did have a lick of sense. Clayt was worth ten of him.”
“It’s not too late,” said LeDonne. “Come out, and we’ll go find Clayt. He’s worried about you.”
“I think you’re more my type.” There was bitter amusement in her voice. “I think you understand me better than Clayt ever would.”
“I’ve done some fool things in my time,” said LeDonne. “I try to put them right, though. It’s all we can do, isn’t it?”
Silence.
“I could help you put things right again, Dovey.”
He heard a slow, deep sigh.
“All right. I’m coming out.” She stood up then, a long shadow against the wall of the cave. LeDonne was still kneeling at the edge of the pit, holding the flashlight at his side, careful not to shine it in her face. He watched her emerge from the darkness, hands at her sides, and in that split second he saw the pistol in her hand, as she leveled it at him. He froze, caught in the light, knowing that he did not have time to fire first.
Two snapping sounds, like firecrackers. LeDonne threw the flashlight away from him, and rolled sideways on the dirt floor, feeling sharp bits of rock cutting into his flesh. He waited for the searing pain to tell him where he was hit, but there was no sensation except coldness and the spurt of fear. Then the adrenaline kicked in, and his body went into the old familiar combat high, with no sensation of danger to himself.
The light had fallen into the pit, but in its glow he could see her outline against the rocks.
It was happening in slow motion for him, the way a firefight always had—in the seconds that it had taken for him to drop the light and fall, to pull his pistol from his holster and point it in her direction. No time to aim—just squeeze off round after round until the shadow falls.
All in slow motion.
He felt that he had all the time in the world—to tell her that he was sorry, that if it had been his farm, maybe he would have done just what she did. He thought about the shots ricocheting off the rock and coming back at him. He wished he could see Dovey Stallard’s face, but then maybe it was better that he hadn’t. He wondered how you could hate somebody and love them at the same time. You understand me better than Clayt ever would. Hell, yes, he understood her. And if she hadn’t shot Spencer, he would have let her get away. Whatever that was worth. For an instant he could even see himself taking off with her. If only she hadn’t shot
Spencer.… All these thoughts in a jumble of seconds between the snapping sounds from his pistol. Maybe five heartbeats.
It took five heartbeats more for him to realize that the only sound in the cavern was the discharge of his weapon, and the echoes.
Dovey Stallard was falling forward, the gun tumbling from her hand.
He lay there, motionless and staring, with his weapon pointed at the bare rock. He waited for some sound, some movement. But all was still.
Finally he struggled upright, and edged along the floor toward Dovey Stallard’s body. He couldn’t see plainly enough to tell where she was hit, but he touched her neck for a pulse and found none.
LeDonne holstered his weapon and sat there for what seemed like a long time, absently stroking her hair. But he didn’t say he was sorry.
After what seemed like minutes in slow motion, LeDonne felt a hand on his shoulder. “Are you all right, sir?”
The kid. LeDonne had forgotten all about him. He must have come back in after he heard the shots. Now he skirted the edge of the pit, and kicked the gun away from Dovey Stallard’s outstretched hand.
LeDonne stood up, taking stock of himself. “I’m okay,” he muttered. “Just bruised some. We need an ambulance. I think she’s dead, though.”
“You got her.” The young officer was kneeling beside the body, checking for vital signs. He shrugged. “Suicide by cop. I guess she wanted it this way.” He sounded shaken. “You okay with this, sir?”
“Yeah.” LeDonne didn’t seem particularly upset by the chain of events. Philosophical, perhaps; detached—as if the past few minutes had happened on a television show he was watching. Or perhaps it hadn’t sunk in yet, and his emotions would catch up with him later.
“Well,” the young officer said. “At least it’s over.”
LeDonne was silent. Had she wanted it this way? Or had she intended to kill him and try to escape outside? Perhaps in her weariness she had even forgotten when she came toward him that the pistol was in her hand, and he had killed her for nothing. He would never know.
The Rosewood Casket Page 29