Rock-a-Bye Bones (11 page)

“I didn't see Rudy much after Pleasant disappeared.” Mrs. Uxall pondered that statement for a moment. “He said he was movin' in with friends, but he didn't give no details.”

“Your other son,” I indicated the man I'd talked with, “saw her broken down on the road.”

She whirled on Alfred with a speed that astounded me. The next thing I knew she was beating him on the head with her purse. “You passed a pregnant girl on the road and didn't help her. What did I teach you?”

He ran through his excuses about picking up a tire, but she was having none of that. “I'll deal with you when we get back from the funeral home.” She faced me again. “That's all I know. If I think of anything, I'll call. Rudy wouldn't hurt Pleasant or her baby. If he had the infant, it was because she gave her to him. That much you can take to the bank. Now I gotta go.” She brushed past me and went to the car, her other sons following.

While I was in the area, I decided to stop by Cotton Gin High School. I wanted to talk to the band director and some of Pleasant's friends. If she'd run away, surely a classmate would know. If she hadn't gone of her own free will, maybe some of her friends could tell me who had shown an interest in her in the last few months.

*   *   *

Built in the 1960s, the high school followed the architectural design of a chicken hatchery—a long, low, flat building with windows that could be pushed out at an angle. The school had been built in the days before central air, and window units hung off the building like ticks on a dog. Everything reeked of poverty. Cotton Gin High School had been erected and then left to slowly decay from lack of funding. It was a sad place, with an open field parking lot for the students and a faculty lot, with one visitor parking spot, near the front door.

When I stepped inside, the deteriorating conditions were forgotten as the sounds and smell of high school assaulted me. Young girls clustered at lockers to giggle and stare after the boys who paraded down the hall like peacocks.

The different cliques, almost identical to the ones in existence during my high school years, were easily distinguished. The cool girls—those without acne and with glossy hair and slender thighs—giggled and practiced cheers halfway down the hall. The geek kids were buried in lockers, sorting through a mountain of books. The jocks squeaked down the hallway in athletic shoes. Twenty years had passed, but nothing had really changed. Except I felt terribly old. The fresh-faced students, many self-conscious and the rare few who exuded security and determination, were my past. How had so much time slipped by me?

“You lost?” a very tall young man asked.

“I need to speak with the principal.”

“Down the hall, to the right.” He rearranged his backpack and continued to his next class.

I followed him, stopping at the door of a large glass office where several women worked at desks. The principal's office. Oh, I'd been here before, and always because I was in trouble. Funny how guilt oozed from me just because of the proximity. I pushed the past away and stepped into the reception area.

“Can I help you?” a pretty brunette asked.

“I need to see Mr. Bryant.” I gave my name but didn't show my PI badge. A minute later I was seated across the desk from the principal.

R. B. Bryant had twenty years heading one of the poorest schools in the nation under his belt. He wasn't a man who wielded his authority with a swagger. He was soft spoken and friendly. When I explained what I wanted, he offered his full cooperation.

“Pleasant Smith was an extraordinary young lady,” he said. He leaned back in his chair, the springs squeaking. “The whole school was buzzing about her music, and I have to say she seemed to write songs with a great maturity. She had a shot to escape the poverty here, and I had hopes she'd bring resources back to Bolivar County.”

“She was a good student?”

“Exceptional. We have some very bright students here at Cotton Gin High, but sometimes brains aren't enough to escape the quicksand of environment.”

His words struck a chord with me. “Pleasant could have made it, couldn't she?”

“She could have. It was almost a done deal, from what I know. Scholarships for the plucking, interest from an agent in Nashville. Someone with Pleasant's talents, getting a degree from Delta State University right here in Cleveland, and then rocketing to fame—it would put us on the map. And it would give the kids here an example, show them it could be done. Unless you've seen success firsthand, it's hard to conceive. So many of my students come from generations of dire poverty. They can't imagine a different life.”

“What do you think happened to Pleasant?”

He leaned back in his chair and stared out the window. “I've thought about this every day since she disappeared. She took the pregnancy in stride, and to my knowledge, she never revealed the name of the baby's father. That takes a lot of grit for a young girl to pick up a burden like that and carry through by herself. She had responsibilities taking care of children at home, but other than those days, she didn't miss school, until she disappeared. Someone had to take her. I just hope she's still alive. That baby should be due any day.”

It was clear Principal Bryant cared about the students in his charge. Law and order took a second place to compassion. “Did Pleasant ever talk about the future?”

“She planned to make it in Nashville and come back here to open a music studio. She wanted to record the next generation of Mississippi blues players. She said she wanted to talk to that new club owner over in Zinnia when he got his club going.”

Scott. She had meant to talk to Scott. It didn't sound as if Pleasant had abandoned all of her dreams voluntarily. “Pleasant had an appointment with a music agent, do you happen to know who it was?”

“Tally McNair, the band director, could probably answer that. She and Pleasant were close.”

“I realize Pleasant never said, but do you have any idea who the father of her child might be?”

Bryant leaned forward, the chair squeaking again. “It's a puzzle. She never showed any interest in the boys at school. As far as I know, she never had a date. She was totally focused on her music and getting a scholarship to DSU. Of course, she's a young woman, and no number of rules and restrictions can counteract youthful impulse. But Pleasant thought things through.” He frowned and looked down at his hands for a moment. “I wondered if she'd been raped. Her family situation isn't the best. That trailer park has some rough customers.”

“I'll check that possibility out.” If Pleasant had carried her rapist's child, it wasn't inconceivable that the man had decided to shut her up before she could sue him for support, or worse, send him to jail. The bad thing about this case was that almost anything was possible, based on the evidence I'd gathered to date. Which wasn't much. And time was running out. Coleman couldn't wait much longer to take official action. He had to uphold the law, and he'd already cut me as wide a margin as possible.

The principal telephoned the secretary in the outer office, instructing band director Tally McNair to come to the main office. “There's a teacher's lounge next door. You can talk in there.”

“Thank you.”

“I hope you find Pleasant and her baby and they're both okay. She worked hard to make some opportunities for herself. My gut tells me something terrible has happened to her, but I hope I'm wrong.”

“Me, too,” I said before I shut the door and waited in the hallway for the band director to arrive. When she turned the corner and came toward me, I was surprised to see a young woman who might have passed for one of the high school students. Tall and slender, Tally wore her dark hair pulled back in a ponytail that swung with her animated walk.

I introduced myself and we stepped into the empty teacher's lounge. “I can't be away from my class for long,” she said. “What can I do for you?”

I explained who I was and what I wanted, and her eyes filled with tears. “Oh, god, can you find her?” She gripped my hand. “You have to find her.”

“I'm doing my best. Who was the agent Pleasant was planning on meeting?”

Tally's face fell. “She never told me. She was so secretive about that whole Nashville agent thing because she didn't want the deal to fall through and then to face the ridicule from the students. They were hard on Pleasant. Some of them were downright cruel.”

“Because of her finger?”

Tally's laughter was deep and easy. “The finger was the tip of the iceberg, though it was a real showstopper when she played the guitar. She'd learned to use it, believe it or not.”

I could only imagine how an extra digit might come in handy. “So what was it?”

“Where she lived, the extreme poverty. Mean girls sense a person's weakness, and that was Pleasant's weak spot. She was defensive about her economic circumstances, and she wore it on her sleeve. A certain clique of girls realized that and tormented her. I told Pleasant they were merely jealous of her talent, but words don't salve a wound to the heart.”

“True. What's strange to me is that Pleasant simply disappeared, and no one in authority pushed Sheriff Kincaid to look for her.”

“I did, for the first two weeks. Then it was so hopeless.” Tally brushed a tear from her cheek. “A lot of girls simply stop coming to school. It's too hard. They have responsibilities at home. Pleasant was pregnant. Maybe I wanted to believe that she'd gone to Nashville to pursue her dream.”

“Who did Pleasant hang out with?”

“She was a loner, mostly.”

“I need some names. The girls who were her friends and her tormenters.” I held the pen poised at my pad.

“I'm not sure I should give names.” Tally rubbed the tips of her thumbnails against her forefingers in an unconscious gesture of nervousness. “Things are so regulated in school now. I don't mind telling you, but it could get me fired.”

I understood her predicament. If I were a law officer, she'd have no choice but to tell. But she owed nothing to a PI, so her allegiance was to job. Understandable. “Can you give me the name of a student who would know their names and might help me?”

Tally fidgeted more.

“You want to help Pleasant, right?”

She nodded.

“If you won't tell me the names of the mean girls, tell me someone who will.”

“Marcia Colburn, but please don't say I gave you her name.”

“I won't. Now, before I go, tell me about Pleasant's songs. What were they like?” I'd heard the one ballad that Faith had been playing in the trailer park. It was a haunting melody with lyrics that seemed too mature for a high schooler to have written, but as I got to know more about Pleasant, I realized she'd packed a lot of life into her seventeen years.

“Pleasant was able to blend folk and blues in a unique way. She wrote about things people of all ages feel. Love, loss, the desire for revenge, hopelessness, though she wasn't one of those so-serious people who wallow in depression.” Tally laughed self-consciously. “Her music just spoke to people.”

“I'm surprised she didn't share information about her Nashville agent with you. Aren't you something of a mentor?”

“Pleasant didn't trust. If you've spoken with her family, you understand why.”

I took exception to that. The Smiths were poor, but Charity appeared to love her children. “Her mom tries.”

“No, no, I didn't mean that. The place she lives is on the thin edge of desperation. I always had the sense that someone in the trailer park raped Pleasant. I don't have any proof, but that was my thought.”

“Did she ever mention a fellow named Rudy Uxall?”

Tally frowned. “No. Not to my knowledge. But Pleasant was close-mouthed, as I said. She didn't share a lot of information. She kept things to herself. The good and the bad.”

“What about Frankie Graham?”

“Oh, Frankie. He was in the band before he graduated. A sweet kid, but no talent at all. More of a bookworm. I know they were friends, and before he graduated, Frankie seemed to look out for Pleasant.”

“Could they have been romantically involved?”

“Anything is possible, but I never saw that. He was more like a big brother. But ask Marcia. If anyone knows, it'll be her. She and Pleasant were close.”

“Where is Marcia?”

“As luck would have it, she's in the band hall. Follow me.”

 

9

Marcia Colburn was a slender girl who came out of the band hall carrying a flute case. She wasn't unattractive, but she was a girl who would never stand out in a crowd. She glanced over at me, then lowered her gaze. “Miss McNair said I should talk to you.”

“If you don't mind,” I said, trying to put her at ease. “I'm trying to find your friend, Pleasant. Maybe you can help.”

“Is she alive?” she asked, suddenly eager.

“I believe she is.”

“What made her run off like that?”

“I wish I knew. Maybe she'll tell us when we find her.”

A shadow crossed Marcia's face.

“Do you know something that might indicate where she went? Someone she was meeting? Anything like that?”

Marcia looked down the hall, which was empty since the students were in class. She motioned for me to follow her to a big oak tree behind the band hall. When we were out of sight of the main building, she brought a pack of cigarettes from her purse and lit up. “Pleasant wasn't who you think she is,” she said.

“What do you mean?”

“Everyone thinks Pleasant is this quiet, smart girl who is going to break out of Cotton Gin High and go on to stardom. But she's not the saint everyone paints her as. My best advice to you is to let it go. Pleasant is fine. She always comes out on top.”

“Tell me about her.” Marcia was angry and bitter, possibly at being left behind. While I couldn't trust what she said one hundred percent, I would sure get to see the flip side of my missing girl.