Picture Them Dead (17 page)

We waited and finally Miss Lottie spoke, her voice so soft I had to step close to the bed to hear her. “Sadie's gone, isn't she?”

“Yes, she's gone,” I said. “She passed more than thirty years ago.”

Miss Lottie nodded. “It can't hurt her now. There was a half-moon that night,” she said. “I was always partial to a half-moon when I was a youngun. Liked squeezing my eyes nearly shut to make out the whole round of it if I stared at it for a long time. Couldn't abide ever looking at a half-moon after that night. Aunt Sadie and Uncle Oren had gone to bed but I wanted to watch the moon, so I took my quilt to the window. I wanted my doll baby to see the moon and while I was showing her, I saw Daddy out in the yard. He'd been fidgety for a few days. That's what Sadie called it, fidgety. Uncle Oren called it shell shock. I had no idea about what that meant back then. I had it in my child's mind it had something to do with turtles. Daddy couldn't sit still and he'd prowl around, talking to himself. When he was like that I couldn't make him better. It was like he didn't even hear me or see me, like he was somewheres far off and him not there at all, just his ghost self.

“I saw him out the window, he was running across the yard, all bent down like there was something out there he might hit his head on if he didn't stay low, 'cept there wasn't nothing. Just wide-open yard. Right about then a hooty owl called and Daddy fell on the ground and made a noise. I was scared he'd hurt hisself so I went to see after him. I stopped at the well and got the bucket and the ladle from where it was sitting on the edge of the well. I could barely carry it, and I spilled lots, but there was some still left and I figured Daddy might need a drink of it. He was all curled up in a ball with his hands over his head and yelling like a banshee. I reached down to touch him and he cried out like the devil himself had grabbed at him. He looked up at me and yelled something I didn't understand. He grabbed me and started running for the well. Sadie and Uncle Oren came out just then, both of them in their nightclothes. Daddy hollered at them. ‘Get down, get down,' he kept hollering, ‘mustard gas, mustard gas,' which I thought was silly. I knew what mustard was and I knew what gas was and they didn't go together. But Daddy was scaring me and I started crying and trying to squirm down but he held me fierce tight and ran with me. It was hurting my legs and I started bawling.”

She stopped there, and for a moment I thought she wasn't going to go on. I wasn't sure she even remembered we were in the room. But then she turned from the window and looked first at me, then at Luke, and her face contorted.

“He tried to put me down the well,” she said. “He tried to kill me. He went out of his head. Afterwards Uncle Oren said he probably saw that metal bucket shining in the moonlight and it took him back to something that happened to him in the war. That was a deep well and I was screaming and crying and trying to kick away and cling on all at the same time. I knew I was fighting for my life. I couldn't see the water, all I could see was that dark hole in the ground, and I knew, because I'd thrown pebbles down there before, that it was a long, long way down and if he got me in there I'd die. I didn't know how to swim and I had the idea that the hole went all the way down to the middle of the world. Sadie was yelling at Daddy and grabbed aholt of my legs and Uncle Oren was trying to prise Daddy's hands off me, but Daddy snatched me backwards, whipping my head around till it made me dizzy. He came around with his fist and hit Uncle Oren so hard I thought he'd kilt him. He was on the ground and not making a noise anymore, but the rest of us were making plenty. Sadie was screaming and Daddy kept yelling ‘Get down, get down' and was trying to get me into the well. Sadie was clawing at Daddy, trying to get me free. I was slipping; I could feel it. Daddy had let my legs go and I was dangling in the opening. I kicked as hard as I could trying to get my foot over the ledge of the well but my little legs were too short. I grabbed at Daddy's shirt and held on as tight as I could, but he reached up and started peeling my fingers back so I'd let go. He broke this one,” she said, holding up a crooked pinkie. “I couldn't even scream anymore by then; my voice was gone. The next thing I knew I heard a loud, awful sound and everything let go. Somebody had an arm around my waist and I fell back on the ground with Sadie, both of us crying and panting like dogs. Sadie got me up and pushed me toward the door, telling me not to look back but to go in the house and lock the door and stay there until she told me to open it.

“But I did look back. Uncle Oren was groaning and starting to try to sit up, but Daddy was still, lying there beside the well on his belly. Something was bad wrong with his head. The rusted old pulley Uncle Oren had left on the ledge of the well when he'd put in a new one was on the ground beside Daddy, covered in something dark and shiny. I'd never known anybody who died, and I'd surely never seen a dead person, but I knew Daddy was dead.”

“She saved you,” I said, though I hadn't intended to speak.

“She saved me that night and lots of nights after that, from bad dreams and black thoughts, from blaming myself or blaming Daddy. She hung on tight. But there was a piece of me that went down the well that night and I never did get whole again. And neither did Sadie.”

“God,” Luke whispered, “I wish I'd known all this back then. No wonder . . .” he started, but his voice trailed off.

We visited with Miss Lottie for a while longer, looking through the photo album with her again and trying to leave her with happier memories. I went out to the desk to let the charge nurse know she'd had an emotional afternoon and that she might need extra attention that evening. When I came back Miss Lottie was dozing, the photo album open on her lap. Luke was sitting by the bed, holding her hand.

He looked up and saw my smile and gently pulled his hand away. “Doesn't change anything,” he said quietly, “but it sure explains a lot.”

seventeen

It was full dark by the time we left Cottonwood. I called Esme to see how she was holding up and braced myself for a tirade, but she sounded calm, too calm. There was an air of fatalism in her voice. I didn't like the sound of it one bit.

“I liked you better cranky,” I told her. “Buck up, Esme, it doesn't matter what Jennifer thinks. Plus, you were right.”

“Right about what?” Esme asked.

“Lots of things,” I answered, aware of Luke beside me in the car. “Miss Lottie told Luke and me about what happened the night Samuel Wright died. Oh, Esme, it's a god-awful story, like something out of one of those dark Gothic tales.”

“That it was dark, I already knew,” Esme said. “I've got the headache to prove it.”

“I'll be home in a bit; Luke's gonna drop me off,” I said, hoping that would convey the message to Luke that I wasn't going to invite him in. I needed some time alone with Esme.

“No, have him take you back to River's. You'll need to get your car,” Esme said. “The curtains were the wrong size and Claire and I went out to exchange them. But they had to do a special order, so she dropped me at home.”

“Okay, see you in a few,” I said, clicking off and giving Luke the update.

We talked the rest of the way back to Morningside about the story Miss Lottie had told us. Luke was right—it didn't change anything, except maybe his perceptions of his grandmother, and maybe of himself. But sometimes that can be a very big deal. I could tell he was processing it all, both as a grandson and as a scholar. I could identify with this phenomenon, as this was what I was going through as I found out more about my mother's adoption. My grandparents had wanted a baby very badly, and they'd gotten one, also very badly.

On the one hand, everything that happened in the past was what had brought me to where I was today. Wishing some things had been otherwise seemed like a cosmic game of Jenga. If even one block got pulled out of the tower, where would I be? Would I be? If Mom hadn't been adopted from the Marshall Islands, she probably wouldn't have ended up in the States and she'd never have met my dad. I'd never have been.

Similar thoughts had to be going through Luke's mind. If Miss Lottie hadn't been subjected to that horrifying incident as a child, she might have grown up a different person altogether. There were so many ways that could have gone, but probably none of them would've led to Luke's existence.

As Luke turned off onto the county road for River's place, we were suddenly away from the town lights. With neighbors spread out on their multiacre plots, we'd abruptly gone pastoral. The headlights swept the woods, closing in on either side of the highway. The asphalt snaked around curves and up small hills and down into shallow dips in the land. We crested a hill and hit a straightaway. I could see the entrance to River's driveway situated about halfway between us and the next series of curves. As we passed a thicket of pines, Luke pointed out my window. “That's the shortcut I was talking about. Grandma didn't take care of the driveway and it was an invitation to sink to the axles in mud. There's a clearing in there where we'd leave our cars when we came here after we were grown. There's a path that leads right to the kitchen door.”

“I didn't realize you continued to visit after you were old enough to drive,” I said. “I guess I had the impression you didn't have much of an attachment here.”

“We didn't,” Luke said. “I didn't, anyway. Sherry came back a few times to visit. Honestly, I think she came to see what she could get out of Grandma,” he said. “I never caught her at it, but I'm guessing she probably pilfered a few things from the house. I came down a couple of times when she was here 'cause I was at Georgetown, and it was easier to get here than down to Miami to see her. Despite everything, I still wanted to see her. She'd gotten nicer to me as we got older. We came maybe three or four times.”

“And you stayed with your grandmother?” I asked.

“I did. I'm not sure where Sherry stayed. With a friend, she said, but I don't know who.”

“Do you think Sherry would have parked in there that night?” I hesitated, trying to think of how to phrase the question. “The night she came out here?”

I could see Luke's frown of concentration limned by the dashboard lights. “You mean the night she was killed? No, I don't think Sherry drove here. Her apartment manager tells me her car is still in the garage down there. I'm assuming the repo men will be around for it soon; I seriously doubt it was paid for. Sherry lived her life on the delayed payment plan, financially and in every other way, too.”

Luke put up a hand to shield his eyes as a car that had been parked along the roadside switched on its headlights and pulled out into the road, coming toward us. “Geez, high beams, jerk!” he muttered, and I grabbed at the dashboard as the car crossed over the centerline and into our lane. It was coming fast, very fast.

I screamed, or thought I did, then realized I'd only made a mewing sound. I pushed my feet into the floorboard and bent down. Luke swerved and I got slung sideways. Luke caught my nose with his elbow as he put both hands on the steering wheel and turned sharply onto the narrow shoulder. The car bounced along, gravel pinging against the underside and vegetation scraping at the body. I was jostled around until I found myself looking out the back window at the receding taillights of the other car. My seat belt engaged and I felt it dig into my shoulder as the car jounced along. I tried to get my hands up to brace myself against the headliner, but that only served to bang my hands painfully against the roof. I tried tucking down and turning sideways as I felt the rear tires going into a skid. We traveled a few more feet before the rear end of the car went into the ditch and the engine stalled. When we came to rest, I was looking through the windshield at the stars.

There was a quiet like no quiet I've ever heard, or rather not heard, before.

“Are you okay?” Luke asked, his hands still clamped around the steering wheel.

“I think so. You?”

“I'll let you know as soon as I can take inventory,” Luke said, his voice little more than a whisper.

I don't know how long we sat there, but when we finally started to move, it was slow and awkward. I had trouble unlatching my seat belt. Once I was free, I struggled to get out of the car on the ditch side because gravity kept insisting that the door stay closed. I had to hold it open while climbing out onto the sloping ditch bank. Weeds snaked around my feet and rocks set my ankles turning.

Luke was having his own troubles on the driver's side; his seat belt had locked and he couldn't get the release button to work. I climbed up onto the roadbed and went around to try to help, and after considerable banging and prying with a screwdriver Luke produced from the glove compartment, we finally got him out.

We didn't know whether to call the cops and wait by the car or walk on to River's house and wait for them there. I looked up and down the lonely stretch of road and voted for option number two. “That wasn't an accident,” I told Luke, “and the driver could come back for another go at us.”

We started our limping trek toward River's driveway, keeping well over to the side of the road, ready to leap the ditch at the slightest hint of danger.

But the driver didn't come back, and by the time Denny and Jennifer got there, River had checked us both over, doctored our scrapes and bruises, and distributed ice packs.

I called Denny direct, even though I knew he was off duty. He must have been with Jennifer because they both showed up minutes later. While Jennifer had gone back to her old sullen self, Denny seemed completely normal. Maybe she hadn't had a chance to tell him what she'd overheard Esme say.

“Can either of you tell us anything about the car, anything at all?” Denny asked.

“It was a dark color,” I said. “And a regular car.”

“Yeah, not a wagon or an SUV, a sedan,” Luke added. “I was so busy trying to keep us out of the ditch I didn't catch much else, but it was definitely a dark-colored sedan.”

“Me either,” I said. “I was busy being scared out of my wits. I tried to get a look at the plate after it had passed, but we were being bounced around and I couldn't focus.”

Only I had seen something. I just didn't know what. I'd seen something that might be important but I couldn't get it all sorted right then. Too much stuff was buzzing around in my head, plus my nose was throbbing like the dickens.

Denny and Jennifer drove us back up to where the car had come to rest, and Denny called in the highway patrol investigator to come do the calculations. More flashing lights, more questioning, and steadily stiffening muscles were putting both Luke and me into a bad humor before it was all done.

When at long last everything was documented, River and Luke examined the damage to the car and determined it would run. They drove it up into River's driveway. Denny and Jennifer walked me back toward the house, and as we approached their car Denny said, “Sophreena, let us take you for a cup of coffee.”

“We called in, we're still on duty,” Jennifer pointed out.

“Yeah, and I'm dead tired,” I said, though I regretted having to agree with her.

“Not a suggestion,” Denny said, and grabbed my arm, escorting me to the car and placing me in the backseat, cupping my head to keep me from hitting it on the door as if I were the prime suspect in some heinous crime.

He drove in silence to the all-night pancake house out near the expressway, which at that moment hosted a few bleary-eyed truckers and a party of teenagers sucking down Cokes and shooting straw papers at one another.

Denny guided us to a booth on the opposite side of the establishment and went to the men's room. I had to resist the impulse to put my head down on the gray-speckled Formica table and take a nap. I'd told him absolutely everything I could think of, what did the man want from me? Did he not believe me? Or maybe he didn't believe Luke. Maybe he wanted to question me alone.

Jennifer slid into the booth opposite me. She had a weird expression on her face. I couldn't read it. Triumph? Worry? Indigestion?

Right at that moment I didn't care what Jennifer was thinking about me or Esme or anything else. I just wanted a hot bath and a long sleep.

When Denny came back, an older waitress with hair an unlikely shade of red hied over and took our order, not bothering to hide her disappointment when we ordered only coffee. Cheap-ticket table.

Still Denny didn't speak. He moved the syrup container and the jam and jelly rack so he could rest his arms on the table and waited for the waitress to come back and pour our java. After she walked away he lifted his cup first to me, then in Jennifer's direction. “Here's to y'all,” he said, and took a noisy slurp.

“Look, Denny,” I said. “I've told you every single detail I can remember. I have absolutely nothing to add. And I'm really, really tired. Could you just take me home?”

“I will shortly,” Denny said. “This little tête-à-tête is more in line of a personal conversation between you and me and my partner,” he added, turning in Jennifer's direction, “so I guess it's not really a tête-à-tête.”

Jennifer leveled me with a look and I wanted to smack the smugness from her face.

“I can explain,” I said. “Esme and I were—”

Denton held up a hand. “My meeting,” he said. “I get to do the talking. Did I ever tell either of you about my great-aunt Leonie? No, I'm sure I haven't. Well, she was my grandmother's sister. My grandmother helped raise me, did most of the hands-on work, truth be told. Not because my mother didn't care, but because she was working all the time, trying to make a life for me. Aunt Leonie lived right next door to Granny, so I saw a lot of her growing up.”

“Much as I'd love to hear about your family, Denton,” Jennifer cut in, “we're supposed to be on duty here.”

Again I found myself reluctantly in agreement with Jennifer. I was so tired I could barely manage to sit up in the booth, though the coffee was starting to put a little starch in my spine.

Denton gave Jennifer a look that made her scoot back a little in the booth and I decided this was no time to argue with him.

“This will only take a few minutes and it's important or we wouldn't be here,” he said, his demeanor calm but very firm. “Aunt Leonie was a very ordinary woman in lots of ways. To look at her you'd have thought she was just a sweet old lady. But the thing is, Aunt Leonie knew things. She knew things she oughtn't by rights to have known. You get what I'm saying?”

Jennifer sniffed. “You're saying she was some kind of psychic or something? You know I don't believe in any of that stuff.”

“No one is asking you to,” Denny said. “I'm not trying to convert you. I'm just sharing an experience I've had in my life. I loved and respected my aunt ­Leonie. She was a humble soul who never used what was special to her in any way except to help people. Now, Jennifer, you've told me things you overheard Esme say this afternoon, and we need to get some things straight among the three of us.”

I turned to glare at Jennifer and she shrugged. “He needed to know he's involved with a crazy woman,” she said.

I tried to rise, but lucky for me the booth prevented the maneuver, since I had no idea what I would've done if I'd gotten to my feet. Again, Denny lifted a calming hand.

“Here's the thing,” he said. “I know you told me out of concern for me”—he turned to Jennifer—“and I thank you for that. But let me be clear. I know Esme Sabatier. She is many things, but crazy is not one of them.”

“No, she's not crazy at all, she just—” I began, but again Denny cut me off.

“I am a grown man and Esme is a grown woman and we are getting along fine and dandy. If she has things she wants me to know she will tell me, in her own way and in her own good time,” he said. “In the meantime, neither of you is to mention anything about this episode to anyone, in particular not to Esme. Do I make myself clear?”