Burying Daisy Doe

by Ramona Richards

  The impromptu party went on until well after dark. My little charcoal grill gave way to Doc’s big gas monster. No side of beef was to be had, but someone showed up with three slabs of ribs and five pounds of ground beef. Misses Betsy and Claudia Hall, the two women who lived next door on the other side of that big hedge, brought over more buns and chips. Tagging along at their heels trotted a loving, oversized, half-blind tortoiseshell mama cat who decided that Demonspawn was one of her long-lost kittens and that my legs were the perfect place for circle eights. I wound up having to check for her every time I stood up.

  And a good time was had by all.

  Too good a time, as it turned out. Around ten thirty, maybe closer to eleven, Mike Luinetti arrived with two of his officers in tow, including Dean Sowers. Maude greeted Mike with a strange sound that was half guffaw, half squeal, which told me that she’d overcome her Baptist reluctance to the longnecks in the cooler. Mike, a bit startled to find a sodden seventy-something hanging around his waistline, peeled her off and faced her forward, with his arm around her shoulders. He spoke softly and kindly to her as he escorted her to where Doc and I were plucking the last ribs and burgers from the grill.

  “I take it you two are responsible for upsetting Jake Beason’s evening.”

  Doc snorted. “That stick-in-the-mud wouldn’t know fun if it wrapped itself around his neck and screamed ‘Howdy!’”

  “That may be.” Mike rotated Maude toward Doc and gave her an encouraging push. “But he does know what time it is.”

  I looked at my phone for the time. “Oops. Noise ordinance?”

  “Yep. All quiet in the city limits after ten, Sunday through Thursday. After eleven Friday and Saturday.”

  Doc took a deep breath. “Right. I helped get that passed.” He turned off the gas on the grill. “I’ll start funneling people out.”

  “Would appreciate it, Doc.” Mike motioned for his officers to help. As they started to round up folks, he looked pointedly at the trailer. “That yours?”

  “More private than the room over the drugstore.”

  “Jake asked about that too. Said it was an eyesore.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “As long as it wasn’t a permanent structure, not much I could do.”

  “Want to see what’s really bugging him about it?”

  Mike raised an eyebrow, and I motioned for him to follow me to the other side of the Overlander. That side, away from the house lights and tiki torches, remained in dark shadows. Mike pulled his flashlight from his belt and turned it on the trailer. Pinkie shone like a sunrise.

  Mike burst out laughing. “This was your idea?”

  “Trust me, no.”

  He gazed at it a few more moments, both of us silent. As the sound of the party moved away, he said, “Find out anything during this shindig?”

  “Most everyone over sixty thinks you are infinitely better to have around than JoeLee Wilkes.”

  “That’s reassuring, considering the general consensus is that ongoing corruption kept him in biscuits and gravy.”

  “At least four of the younger women have a crush on you. They’re not real happy with my presence right now. Three of them are even single.”

  “About the case.”

  “Oh, that. Well, gossip does run deep around here. I told a couple of the older folks I was interested in the museum and got a complete rundown of the town’s history. Including a few of the ‘dirty little secrets’ that turn out to be common knowledge. Did you know that JoeLee was in business with a bootlegger up near Fort Payne?”

  “I’ve heard the rumors.”

  “Fellow by the name of Buck Dickson. And apparently Mr. Dickson had some deep connections in Grundy County, Tennessee. Maybe even Dixie Mafia connections.”

  Mike hesitated. “Hadn’t heard that part.”

  “Apparently, the shine ran downhill in more than one way. It gets better.

  “How much better?”

  “Dickson apparently ran the overall operation up and down the Highway 11 corridor before the interstates were built. He contracted local politicos to run business in their towns, keep everything under wraps. No trouble equals no feds looking over their shoulders. Ever wondered why the civil rights movement that cracked open Alabama never wormed its way into Pineville?”

  Mike stared at me. “You’re joking.”

  In the distance, I heard my name mentioned.

  “There’s more, but we’d better get back, before Doc starts to worry that Jake has taken his own action.”

  “I need to go to more parties.”

  “With booze.”

  Just before we wandered from behind the trailer, I rubbed my lips hard with the back of my hand. Grinning, Mike’s hand gently took my elbow. He too knew how to keep up appearances.

  We needn’t have bothered. Standing under my patio awning, twisting their hands and bowing in tandem, the ladies from next door greeted me eagerly. “Miss Star!”

  “Ah, I see you’ve already met,” Mike said.

  I looked from him to the ladies, whose anxiety escalated. “Please help Miss Snopes!”

  I looked back at Mike.

  “Museum,” he said softly.

  I still didn’t get it, so I looked back at Doc’s neighbors. “Please,” they begged in tandem. “She’s under your trailer.”

  Light dawned. “Your tortoiseshell.”

  They nodded. “We think she went under there after Precious, but she hasn’t come out.”

  I looked back at Mike. “You’re the first responder on scene.”

  “Nope.” I could tell he was fighting a grin. “Cats are below my pay grade. Besides, I just had these pants cleaned.”

  “Please!” Their voices sounded as one.

  I touched one of the women on the shoulder. “Don’t worry. Some of us know more about being heroes than others.” I looked back at Mike. “At least give me your flashlight.”

  This time he did grin, broadly, and handed it over as if it were a surgical instrument. Then I knelt and shined the light back and forth under the trailer, examining each section. No pussycat. With a long sigh, I pulled my phone from my back pocket and passed it to Mike. Then I lay down and scrambled under the trailer. Once under it, I rolled onto my left side to look toward the back. Scanning each section carefully—which gave me time to get familiar with the plumbing and other underworks—I found the wayward Miss Snopes on top of the wheel well, tucked away, tense and wary. She blinked at me owlishly, none too thrilled to have been discovered, and swished her tail furiously. I knew then that she had not sought out shelter under the trailer out of curiosity or in search of Precious. And I was about to do battle.

  “Now why would you do this, worry your ladies so?” I spoke softly, scooting closer to her. No good. In her half-blind state, she had no idea who I was by sight, and any smell of mine she’d garnered from her rubbing my legs had no effect. “Miss Snopes, I’m not going to hurt you.”

  She wasn’t a very believing cat. She jerked right, making as if to leap over me and bolt, but she bumped a pipe and froze, backing into position. She couldn’t see well enough under the dark trailer to run, even with the bouncing beam of the flashlight. I frowned. “How long have you been under here, baby?”

  Her upper lip curled, and she let out a low warning hiss. I inched closer, holding my hand out so that she could sniff me. The hiss became a deep-throated growl. Then she slapped my hand.

  I jumped, hitting my head on the bottom of a pipe, and she yowled. Muttering ugly things about Miss Snopes and at least two generations of her mothers, I rubbed my head briefly. My hand showed no marks. Miss Snopes, apparently, had no claws. “Why in the world would they let you out with no claws?” I whispered at her. This time I moved closer and, with one sudden grab, snatched her by the nape of her neck.

  A piercing scream shattered the air around me as I dropped the flashlight and pulled her to me, holding her tightly against my stomach. She twisted furiously, trying to bite me, fighti
ng me with her clawless feet, but I grasped her head with one hand so she couldn’t latch those teeth into my flesh and wrapped my arms around her, pulling her head against my chest, whispering to her. I could feel her heart racing; I wanted her to hear mine. She continued to freeze, then buck suddenly, trying to escape, for several minutes.

  “Miss Snopes, shh. Miss Snopes, shh.” I whispered it over and over, absolutely certain at this point that she had not come under here willingly. This was a dark and scary place to her. She’d come under here to get away from something that had terrified her more than the underside of the trailer. “Miss Snopes, shh.” I rocked her, repeating it, holding her tight until she calmed.

  Without moving, I called Mike. He peered under. “Yeah?”

  “Get one of the big towels out of the bathroom.”

  “Sure.” He disappeared, and I heard his shoes clunking the floor over my head. He returned shortly.

  “Can you drape it over my leg? I think I can get it from there.” He did, and I drew my knee up slowly. Every move except a breath seemed to make Miss Snopes jumpy, so I took care to move in gentle inches and stay calm, breathing regular. Once the towel was in reach, I moved it over her, holding her with one hand as I wrapped her with the other. Thus confined, her tension eased, but I knew she’d launch free at the first opportunity. Rolling to my back, I held her against my chest, put the flashlight onto my stomach, and pushed out from under the trailer with my heels.

  When the light first hit her, Miss Snopes jerked, but I held on. The two ladies bounced nervously and tried to reach for her, but Mike held them back until I was well clear of the trailer. “Listen to me,” I said softly to them. “She’s terrified. You both need to be calm. Very calm. Stop bouncing.”

  They looked at each other, nodding, and both inhaled deeply.

  “Good. She needs to feel safe. Leave her wrapped in the towel as you take her home. Now one of you reach down and take her firmly but gently by the nape of the neck, just behind my hand. Press down at first, then wrap her with your other arm as you feel me push up on her. She’s going to jerk, but don’t let go. We’ll never find her in the dark, not as scared as she is.”

  “Poor Miss Snopes,” one whispered.

  The other one reached down, and I felt her hand move in behind mine. We made the transfer with only a few sudden jerks from Miss Snopes. They cuddled her, cooing and stroking her as they headed across the yard, disappearing through a small gap in the hedge.

  Mike took his flashlight and helped me to my feet. “I didn’t realize you knew so much about cats.”

  “It’s a gift.”

  “I’m now really glad you went under there. I would have just snatched her out by the nape of the neck and handed her out here. You’re sure to have a job now.”

  I brushed cat hairs off the front of my T-shirt and grass from my butt. “What?”

  He motioned toward the hedge with his flashlight. “Miss Betsy and Miss Claudia.”

  “What about them?”

  He chuckled. “I get it. Doc didn’t tell you who they were.”

  “Just told me they were Betsy and Claudia Hall from next door.”

  “They’re the museum curator and director. The ones I wanted you to meet tomorrow.”

  Now it all came together. “I see, said the blind man.”

  “They’ll love you for this. By tomorrow afternoon, you’ll be the local hero.”

  I gave up on brushing off. Between the cat and the grass, everything I had on would need a good soak. I crossed my arms and looked around the yard, Miss Snopes still on my mind. Maude and Doc had disappeared with most of the detritus of the improvised cookout. Most everyone had gone following Mike’s arrival. Doc still chatted with one of the officers next to his back porch.

  “What’s wrong?”

  I couldn’t put my finger on it. Everything looked … normal. But something was … or had been … amiss.

  “Mike,” I said softly. “Something had absolutely terrified that cat, and I don’t think it was a tribble on stilts named Precious.”

  He grew sober and a bit more alert. “What do you think it was?”

  “No idea. She has no claws, so I don’t think they would have brought her unless they believed she’d be safe. She had to know everyone here. So either some critter came into the yard that we didn’t notice …” It was his town. I didn’t really want to say it.

  I didn’t have to.

  “Or someone here has terrified her before.”

  We were silent several minutes. “I guess that sounds silly. Worry about who terrified a cat.”

  Mike didn’t answer immediately. When he did, his words sounded official, even though his voice was so low I barely heard it.

  “Star, everyone in Pineville knows how important that cat is to Miss Betsy and Miss Claudia. If the cat doesn’t like you, they don’t. They would never trust someone who Miss Snopes didn’t trust.”

  “This wasn’t about the cat.”

  “It was about you. They couldn’t have known your gift with felines would make it backfire. Someone tried to make sure Miss Snopes was terrified enough to turn the Hall sisters against you.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Pineville, Alabama, 1972

  ROSCOE LIT ANOTHER cigarette, blowing the smoke out slowly. He sat at the kitchen table, watching William. Dusk had settled heavily in the kitchen, but neither Roscoe nor William turned on a light. Standing at the counter, William wrapped biscuits and leftover ham in wax paper and thrust them into a paper sack. He moved jerkily, as if his muscles occasionally touched an electric wire. In the remaining light, sweat gleamed on his dark skin, trailing across the contours of his well-defined arms and soaking his T-shirt.

  They had long since finished dinner, and Maybelle and Juanita had washed the dishes in a sullen silence as both men sat at the table, fidgeting with their cigarettes. Finally, the women retreated to the front porch. Maybelle, having said all she could think to say, sat in the dusk with her Bible on her lap, praying, her soft lips moving wordlessly. Juanita had settled on the steps, although her gaze focused somewhere along the horizon. For a while, Roscoe had stood in the living room, watching them through the screen door, taking comfort in the cool evening breeze and chewing on the end of a matchstick, thinking about the night to come. Finally he returned to the kitchen and sat, his weary gaze on his brother.

  “You don’t want to do this, William.”

  William stopped packing food, pulled a chair out, and dropped heavily into it. He glared at his brother, then suddenly rubbed his face and head vigorously, nervously. He finally placed his hands on the table, palms down, spreading his fingers wide. His voice was harsh, with a bitter edge to it.

  “You’re right, Roscoe. I don’t. I don’t want to drive to Gadsden tonight and meet with a bunch of cracker white boys and convince them I’m loyal to their lawless, draft-dodging selves. I don’t want to drive up to Fort Payne and pick up a car full of shine and beer and bootleg tapes, then drive it back down to these parts. You’re right. I don’t want to do any of that. But you, all heavenly mighty Roscoe-with-a-job, you tell me how I’m going to make money to feed my family. You know what it does to a man to depend on his brother? Don’t you? I can’t keep living here. We need a place.”

  “Mr. Teague offered—”

  “—a tenant house. A farm. Roscoe, you know this ain’t the forties and I ain’t no farmer. I never was, even before I went overseas. I’m not Daddy. Or you. I’m a driver. I was good before I left. The army made me a better one.”

  William stood again and took a quart jar out of the cabinet, filled it with water, and capped it. He paused, then spoke more quietly. “It’s only for a few months.” He took a deep breath. “I been talking to the bank over in Carterton. The manager knows Daddy, knows us. He cares more about green than black. If I can get the down payment put together, he’ll help me finance a truck, a used big rig. It would be hard getting started, but independents can make decent money. It would be a good way
to support myself, giving Maybelle and Jeshua a regular place to live.”

  “And if you get killed?”

  “I’m a good driver. Told you that.”

  “What happens to your truck loan if you get arrested?”

  William snorted, looked down a moment, then up at his brother. “You really don’t know what this is about, do you?”

  “Tell me.”

  William shook his head. “Let’s just say that once drivers get out of DeKalb County and back on our side of the line, they don’t have to worry about the local law. JoeLee sees to that.”

  “JoeLee? What’s he got to do with it?”

  “He and Buck Dickson.” William held up two fingers pressed tightly against each other. “Why do you think JoeLee keeps winning elections after more than twenty years? As long as towns and counties are dry, as long as Baptists keep voting down the drink, JoeLee will keep winning and Buck will keep running booze like it was still 1925.”

  In silence, Roscoe and William looked at each other a few more minutes, then William reached out and took Roscoe’s cigarette, taking a long draw off it, pulling it down to the end. He ground it out in the ashtray. “I got to go. I’ll be back in the morning.”

  He picked up the sack and quart jar and headed out the back door, letting the screen slam behind him. After a moment, Roscoe heard William’s old Ford pickup growl to life, saw the reflection of the headlights as he headed down the drive.

  The cigarette smoldered a bit longer in the ashtray, a long tendril of smoke rising in the last of the day’s light.

  “Brother, you don’t even know the half of it. JoeLee Wilkes and Buck Dickson ain’t even the tip of it. And you are going to get us all killed. Like lambs to the slaughter.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Pineville, Alabama, Present Day

  AS USUAL, THE farmers showed up at the drugstore fountain between five thirty and six Monday morning. Office and retail folks showed up a bit later, sometimes as early as seven, but a few didn’t drag in until almost nine, still looking for hot coffee and plenty of gravy with their biscuits and eggs. Monday was one of Miss Doris’s days as well, and she and the girls showed up about eight thirty, their normal time. Maude Taylor held court this morning, and their table fairly spun as they laughed and chatted about last night’s get-together. Miss Doris seemed a bit miffed that she hadn’t been invited. Apparently word had never made it that far down Maple Street. But she melted when one name came up: Miss Snopes.