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  The boy was in there, and perhaps he’d be waiting with a knife or a gun. Frank considered the possibilities as he walked. When he got to the door, he smelled cornbread cooking. It wasn’t uncommon for the timber camps to hire a black woman to cook and wash for the men while they were out working the trees. He tapped lightly, and when there was no answer, he pushed the door open and walked inside a long, narrow room with six beds. The stench was almost unbearable. The room was a narrow tomb, without windows or any ventilation. He pinched the skin under his nostrils and walked toward a curtain that was draped across the doorway that led to what had to be the kitchen.

  He could hear someone in there, possibly the boy, maybe someone else. Frank didn’t believe that Suzanna was at the camp. Dantzler wouldn’t give her up so easily, unless he intended to ambush Frank on the way back to his car. Frank clicked through the possibilities as he walked toward the curtain. For some reason, he dreaded pushing aside the cloth. Dantzler had set him up, and whatever Frank was going to discover was going to be unpleasant. There were few things man could do that Frank had not already witnessed, and sometimes participated in. Still, he dreaded the looking.

  He could hear soft scuffling behind the curtain and the sound of a chain dragging on the wooden floor. His hand touched the cloth. He heard the sound of crying, and a soft murmur, not words but a crooning of comfort. He drew the curtain slowly, not wanting to startle what sounded like a wild animal. He stepped into the heat of the kitchen, the smell of cornbread baking, and the sight of the woman. She was naked, her body fleshless and discolored by bruises. A heavy iron manacled one ankle, and hooked to it was an iron chain and ball, the type used by prisons. The boy clung to her, a knife in his right hand and a threat in his eyes.

  Frank stood, unable to move as he looked into her face, the dark hair matted and filthy, and the violet eyes filled with the light of madness.

  “Katy?” he said, his voice breaking on the word. “Katy?”

  “Stay away,” the boy said, brandishing the knife. “You stay away.”

  Frank stood perfectly still, taking in the scene, letting the pieces fall into place as his body filled with a rage so searing he thought he might explode.

  “Katy, get some clothes,” he said, talking as if she were a frightened animal. “Get some clothes. I’m taking you with me. You and the boy.” “Stay away!” The boy stabbed into the air.

  “I want to help you,” Frank said, talking now to the boy because Katy had shown no recognition of his words.

  “You can’t!” The boy howled the words. “If she tries to leave, he’ll burn me again.”

  Frank nodded that he understood. He inched backward, moving toward the cloth that separated Katy and her son from the men who worked for her brother. “I’ll be back,” he said. “I’ll come back to help you.”

  The boy shook his head, his one eye flowing with tears. “Don’t,” he choked. “Don’t come back. That girl ain’t here.”

  Frank left the camp. He stepped into the fresh night air, his lungs tight with an anger he hadn’t felt in years. Dantzler materialized out of the darkness.

  “Just remember, lawman, you don’t have any jurisdiction here. By the time you roust ole Sheriff Miller up to Leakesville, Katy and the boy will be gone. I can move them and hide them as much as I like.”

  “She’s your sister,” Frank said.

  “She’s a whore. She brought shame on me, and now she’s paying for it, just like in the Bible.” “I’ll be back for her.”

  “Won’t do you no good. She’s insane. I keep her on a chain so she won’t get lost in the woods. She can’t wear clothes because she sets herself on fire.” He laughed. “Now you get back to your truck and you get off my property, and you’d better not come back unless you bring a lot of lawmen with a lot of guns.”

  14

  Dotty’s red-nailed hand snapped the knob of the television off. She picked up her empty glass and walked to the kitchen, annoyed at the silliness of Eve Arden as Connie Brooks in her pursuit of an obviously uninterested Mr. Boynton. It was only a foolish television show, but Our Miss Brooks seemed a perfect parallel to Dotty’s life. Here she was, stuck in Drexel, her intentions good and her talents wasted.

  She reached under the kitchen counter for the bourbon, poured another shot in her glass, and got an ice tray out of the refrigerator. She added several cubes, and then some Coca-Cola, swirling the mixture with her finger before she tasted it. Normally, she didn’t drink alone, but Lucas had awakened something hungry inside her. She paced the kitchen, the skirt of her dress swishing against her thighs, her skin alive to the whisper of her nylon slip. She felt every texture, every sensation, and she wanted more.

  She glanced at the clock. It was eight-forty-five. At this rate, she’d never be able to relax and go to sleep. She thought about calling the hospital to check on Marlena. Perhaps Lucas was there, but she didn’t believe that even as she thought it. Lucas was at his house. He would wait there for others to report to him.

  Making a decision, she picked up her car keys. Drink in hand, she walked out into the still hot night, got in her car, and headed toward Lucas’s house. If he was home, he might welcome a visitor. She’d had a bath and changed into her second best pair of panties. Maybe tomorrow morning she’d go into town and do a little shopping. Marcel’s carried a brand of underwear that she normally didn’t buy because of expense. Hell, though, she still had a little of the money left from what the railroad had given her after Joe was killed when a train crushed him. Some folks called it blood money, but she’d paid off her house, like the lawyer recommended, and bought herself the television set because she deserved some entertainment on the long nights she spent alone. The remainder of the money, which wasn’t much, she’d put in the bank for emergencies. Well, new underpants might just classify as an emergency, especially if Lucas Bramlett was going to see them. Dotty had seen Marlena’s underwear, had been with her when she bought it in Mobile at one of the expensive department stores. If that was what Lucas was used to seeing, Dotty intended to give it to him.

  She thought about the television show she’d just watched. Eve Arden was so innocent it made Dotty’s teeth ache. All her character had to do was walk up to Philip Boynton and tell him she wanted some of what he had in his pants. That would do the trick. Dotty smiled, the cool wind from the car window and the bourbon making her lips feel both numb and eager.

  She wasn’t going to play innocent and hard to get. That was for television stars and young girls. At thirty-six, Dotty knew the sand was running out of the hourglass fast. Maybe Lucas would want another child. She could do that, though she’d never wanted children. The doctor had said Marlena couldn’t carry a child. Lucas hadn’t seemed all that interested in Suzanna, but it was hard to tell. Sometimes men didn’t want something until it was taken from them. Just to be on the safe side, she had two rubbers in her purse. She’d put them there before she took Lucas breakfast. He hadn’t used any protection, though. She accelerated slightly as she thought of what that might mean.

  When she got to the Bramlett driveway, she stopped. The gate was across the road, the chain laced through it and the big padlock clearly visible. Lucas had locked the gates. It was such an unexpected twist that she sat in the car, unable to come up with another plan of action. Climbing the gate was out of the question. She could go home and call Lucas, ask him to open the gate, but somehow she knew that wasn’t smart. He obviously didn’t want company, and Dotty instinctively accepted that she couldn’t wheedle him into anything. She backed the car onto the highway and kept heading east. After all, it was Friday night. She had no intention of being alone.

  At the junction of Highway 63, she turned left, heading in a northeasterly direction. Just on the other side of the Greene County line was a bar. There was a jukebox and dim lights and an endless supply of whiskey. She’d go there and have a few drinks, maybe dance with someone if he was handsome enough. Maybe do more if he made her feel beautiful. She was hot and horny and
in need of someone to make her feel desirable. If Lucas was too busy to tend to her needs, she’d find someone who wasn’t. She’d spent the entire day nursing his sick wife, and this was the thanks she got. Well, she’d see about that.

  She pulled into the parking lot of the Friendly Lounge, a place where most nights the drinking and dancing went smoothly. She parked, got out of the car, and walked through the front door, staggered for a moment by the smell of beer and cigarette smoke. She pushed into it, slowing as her eyes adjusted to the neon lighting provided by Budweiser beer and Kool cigarettes. At the end of the bar a large fan blew, plastic ribbons dancing in front of it.

  “Well, if it isn’t Miss Strickland.” The bartender reached behind him for a bottle of Early Times and a glass. “The first one’s on me.”

  Dotty smiled. Boo Bishop was always nice to her, and he’d never blamed her for the knife fight that cost Tommy Teel twenty-six stitches around his neck and the Friendly a shut-down of two weeks. She perched on a stool and took the drink Boo handed her.

  “It’s been a while, Dotty. Where you been keepin’ yourself?”

  She shook her head. “I’ve been sitting with Marlena Bramlett at the hospital. You know she’s my best friend, and it’s just terrible what those criminals did to her.”

  Boo propped up on his elbows. “I heard she was beat up bad. That someone did awful things to her.”

  “You don’t know the half of it,” Dotty said, leaning closer so that he could smell the expensive perfume she wore. She’d taken the bottle from Marlena’s vanity. The condition she was in, Marlena wasn’t studying about perfume and chances were she’d never wear it again anyway.

  “Tell me,” Boo said.

  “She was cut up bad and raped with …” She faltered.

  “With a tree limb,” a man said from the darkness of a corner. Junior Clements stepped up to the bar. “It was surely bad.”

  Boo stepped back. “That’s a terrible thing. Miss Marlena has always been nothing but nice to me. I hate to think someone would hurt her like that.”

  Junior took the seat beside Dotty uninvited. He leaned his elbow on the bar so that he could address both of them. “I heard she got what she needed.”

  “That’s a vile and terrible thing to say.” Dotty edged backward from Junior. He made her skin crawl. “If Lucas heard you say such a thing, you’d be sorry.”

  Junior shrugged. “I’m not judging her, I’m just repeating what I heard.”

  “Well, you’d better stop,” Dotty said, miffed that Junior had stolen her thunder. “Marlena is a good person. She didn’t deserve anything that happened to her, and what about Suzanna? I guess she deserved to get herself kidnapped and taken off.”

  Junior sipped the beer he was holding. “Wonder what happened to that young’un. Sheriff Huey’s been searching high and low. Frank Kimble hasn’t slept a wink.” He chuckled softly. “I heard Frank learned all about tracking from some old Injun got blown apart in the war. I guess it ain’t doin’ him much good, though, if he can’t find a kid.”

  “I sure hope they find her and that she’s okay.” Dotty put as much maternal emotion into it as she could muster. Going on the record with a tender sentiment was a good thing to do. Junior ran his mouth all over the county, so it was just as well he repeated something sympathetic. “The men who took her are gonna be sorry.” That was just a fact. Once Lucas found out who was behind this, no law in the country could protect them.

  “What makes you think so?” Junior asked.

  “Marlena told Jade something tonight. Some way she can identify the men who hurt her.” She had Junior and Boo’s full attention, and she decided to stretch the lie. “There’s going to be hell to pay.”

  “I thought Mrs. Bramlett was unconscious,” Junior said. “What I heard was that she wouldn’t ever be right in the head. No matter what she says, no one’s going to believe her. She’s gone be a vegetable.”

  Dotty felt a lightning bolt of fury. Junior was an oaf. “That shows what you know. She told that nigger sister of hers something. Marlena knows who hurt her, and when she’s strong enough, she’s going to talk.”

  Junior laughed in a way that made Dotty feel stupid. She stood up. “The doctor said he expected a full recovery.” She was outright lying. “It won’t be long before that little girl is back with her mama and daddy and the people who took her are going to prison, if they live long enough to get there.”

  The front door of the bar opened and Dotty swung around to see who was coming in. The neon light struck Frank Kimble full in the face, and Dotty inhaled sharply. Frank looked like he’d seen a ghost. He was that pale, and shaky looking. He ignored her and walked to the bar, taking a seat three stools away from her.

  “Bourbon. Make it a double, on the rocks,” he said.

  Boo poured the drink and set it down in front of him, then moved back. Dotty watched, twirling the ice cubes in her drink with her finger. It had been fun, titillating Junior and Boo, but now something serious had walked into the bar. “Frank, you look all done in. Did you find out something about Suzanna?” She got off her stool and walked over to him, carefully putting one foot in front of the other in a way that made her hips undulate.

  “Dotty, I’m not in the mood,” he said.

  She stopped in her tracks, an expression of hurt on her face. “I was just asking a civil question. You don’t have to get all touchy. I have a right to ask about Suzanna. She’s my best friend’s daughter.”

  She saw something rise up in Frank and touch his lips. He almost spoke, but he didn’t, and she had the sense that she’d been spared. She didn’t like men who made her feel uncertain. “Thanks for nothing,” she said as she went back to her bar stool and her drink.

  She watched Junior walk over to Frank, thinking the coroner was about as dense as a creosote post. Frank radiated an energy that warned others to keep away. It was as effective as a sign, to everyone except Junior.

  “Find anything about the kid?” Junior asked.

  Frank stared at his drink, but when he finally looked up, his expression was hard and cold. “No, Junior, I didn’t find anything about Suzanna Bramlett. I’m just wondering what you and Pet Wilkinson stole out of that Chevy that was parked on the side of the road. What things did you take that may affect my finding Suzanna?”

  “We didn’t take a damn thing,” Junior said. “You ain’t got no call to go and say something like that.”

  Frank stood up, drained his glass, and turned to confront Junior. “I know you took something, and when I find out what, I’m going to see that you pay.”

  Frank put a dollar on the bar and walked out, slamming the door hard behind him. Junior stood looking after him. “Bastard,” he said, but he didn’t make a move to follow Frank into the parking lot. “I’d bust his chops but everybody in town knows he’s crazy as a run-over dog.”

  The August night had fallen hot and heavy. Jonah had watched the three-quarter moon rise and disappear behind a thick cover of high clouds. Before the orange glow had disappeared from the western sky, he’d heard the cry of a hoot owl. Death waited in the hot, dark night. He read the signs, and no matter how he tried to interpret them, they all said that someone would die before the sun lit the eastern sky.

  Jonah wasn’t a man who fought against fate. He had watched his father sicken and die from what some had considered a minor injury. Mose had limped into the house, the gash in his calf bleeding profusely. Jonah had helped his father wash out the cut and wrap it with clean rags.

  “It may heal clean and it may not,” Mose had said. As if the ambivalence of his own words had opened the door, infection set in. Jonah had helped his mother wash the oozing wound and even tried to cauterize it with a hot poker. Through it all, Mose had never cursed or screamed. He understood that his time to die had come.

  Jonah accepted life, and death, much as his father had. Jonah had worked for the Sellerses, and then the Longiers. He’d learned what they wished him to learn, such as driving a car an
d the fancy manners of a butler. He’d dressed as they wanted him to dress, in tails for parties and khakis for gardening. He’d been by Lucille’s side through her pregnancy, her marriage, her second pregnancy, and the death of her husband. In some ways, he was as married to her as he was Ruth. That hurt his wife, and he knew it. Still, he sat on the Longier porch in the cool of the night, listening to the portents of death, waiting for the phone to ring or the headlights of an approaching vehicle to bring the news of tragedy. Miss Lucille did not need to be left alone, and over the years Ruth had made it abundantly clear that she did not need him, would never allow herself that luxury.

  Jonah shifted his position on the top step of the porch and thought about his life and how it was ruled by three women. Jade was his sun. She warmed his life and brought joy and bounty. He could not look at her without a smile. Lucille was the moon, a pale light that created shadow and hid more than it illuminated. Her rule over him was as strong as the tide, and as inevitable. Ruth was the earth, as solid and permanent as the ground he walked upon. He could not imagine a day without her.

  There was not a single one of the women he could lose. Without any one of them, his life would fail to cycle through the seasons. At night he sometimes dreamt of Jade living in a city like New Orleans. He saw her happy, with a husband and children of her own. To have those things, she would need to leave Drexel, and as much as he wanted them for her, he wanted equally for her to stay, to run her beauty shop and content herself with her growing wealth. He did not dream of losing Ruth or Lucille. That time had come and gone. It was Jade whose fate was not yet sealed.

  He heard the floorboards of the house creak and knew that Lucille was up. He heard her come to the screen door and look out across the side field where Amos and Andy, the two old mules, grazed in the lush summer grass, their dark silhouettes visible as the moon blinked out from behind the clouds. Jonah made no move to turn and talk to Lucille. He waited for her to speak first.