CHAPTER 8

Bucky arrived home after work and parked his motorcycle beside the back porch. A large pine tree with a white bench around its base dominated the yard. During summer afternoons, Bucky stretched out in the tree’s hammock, taking in the heavy scent of pine, and practiced birdcalls he’d learned from his daddy. The same calls he’d taught Miss Iris. During the first red streaks of sunset, he’d call in hawks that would drop gently onto treetops, as though on sore feet. As the sky’s colors faded, he’d imitate meadowlarks, towhees, and finches. And they came.

He trailed inside his one room rental, threw his coat somewhere, and dropped into a chair at the kitchen table cluttered with dirty dishes, car magazines, and photographs. That was the good thing about living alone: things could be messy if you wanted. He would return from the Laundromat and not bother to remove clean clothes from his duffle bag until he needed them. Of course, his shirts and pants would be wrinkled as a newborn turkey vulture, but he knew how to wield an iron.

He’d ring up Chief Parker and see how the investigation was going.

“Hi, Mrs. Rheingold. Bucky here. The chief in?”

“Hold on. He’s just about to leave.”

Moments later, “Hello, Bucky. Nothing yet to report.”

“Any clues at the crime scene? You know, where they cut the brake line. You were going to check it out.”

“Came up empty. Nothing but brake fluid and gravel.”

“What about footprints?”

“Like I said, brake fluid and gravel.”

“How about the crash site? Learn anything there?”

“Afraid not.”

“Maybe there was a witness. It was pretty bright out there with the full moon. Have you asked around?”

“We’re working on it. Trust me, this isn’t my first investigation. Have a good night.” The chief hung up.

Bucky laid down the receiver. Tenacious as a fox at a rat hole? Seems like the rat has little to worry about.

He pawed through the black-and-white pictures he’d just printed. Two were no good. The wino appeared to hold a bag over his head instead of drinking from the bottle inside, and the accidental shot he took of Marybeth was too bright. The light streaming through the trees burned out her hands holding the stuffed giraffe. He started to toss the picture aside, but something caught his eye. He reached for his magnifying glass. A cross. Marybeth had propped the giraffe against a cross stuck in a mound of dirt. Maybe it was a grave for a pet dog or cat. But the giraffe being there seemed weird. Then again, as a kid, he’d owned a three-legged pet raccoon named Tripod who played with a stuffed squirrel.

He grabbed his coat to go check for clues at the crash site, when he heard a car crunch up the drive past the window. It was Kindra, the granddaughter of his former boss, Gustafson. She was a high school senior who worked at her grandfather’s store, running the register and manning the gas pumps out front. Bucky had photographed her sweet sixteen party almost two years ago, and ever since, she’d considered him her “big brother.”

He quickly cleared the table of dishes and tossed his coat and duffle bag in the closet. Her knock came, and he opened the door just as lightning lit the horizon with an eerie glow. “Hi, Kindra. Fancy seeing you here.”

“Are you all right?” Her eyes were big, like green saucers.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“The accident. You were there, you saw everything.”

“Yeah, it was pretty bad, but I’m okay. Wanna come in?”

Her face brightened with that idea. “Gee, thanks. But only a minute.” She pranced past him. “Wow! Small and compact, but nice.”

“How’d you find out? You know, about the accident?”

“Grandfather told me.” She bopped to the sink and started reading labels of photographic chemicals. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

“I’ve always been okay. I wasn’t in the accident.” He gathered loose photos on the table together.

She picked up a developing tray, as if checking its weight. “I’m glad you’re working for Mr. Alsop.”

“I’m glad, too. It’s the next step in my plan.”

“Just like your book said, two years at the store, then become a business politician.”

“You’re mixing everything up. My daddy said to become a businessman and go into public service, the Carnegie book said how to work with people, and I said two years at the store.”

“Why do all that?”

“My daddy always said we’ve got to leave the world better than we found it. That means I can’t waste my life doing something pointless. I want to help lead our town to do great things, things for people, not corporations like the ones taking over the shrimping business and ruining it for the little guy, such as my daddy. Someday I want to be on the city council, then become mayor. I could do important things, like my Uncle Rupert. He was the first mayor in the country to integrate Negros into the police department.”

Kindra now peeked into the partially open closet. Obviously, she used the accident as an excuse to check out his room. At the store, she would say stuff like, “You’re so lucky to have your very own place.” And she’d ask personal questions. “Have you ever thought of becoming a vegetarian?” As for the art of suggestion, she was a master: “I love rock and roll. Uncle Lewy’s sounds like so much fun.” Hint, hint.

Uncle Lewy’s was a beer joint where Bucky photographed performers such as Jerry...Jerry something Lewis. He’d sing and pound the piano like a madman.

Her poking around was getting on his nerves. “Want a Nehi or something?” Anything to settle her down.

She beamed all over. “Sure.” Her forehead crinkled. “But, if I’m keeping you--”

“Well, I was--”

“Okay, a Nehi. A quick one.”

The thought of leaving went out the window. Kindra did a few twirls and dumped herself onto a loveseat. Her legs shot up about three feet in the air, like a little kid’s. She picked up a picture on the end table. “Who’s freckle face?”

“Just someone I know.” He took it from her and put it back. No way was he going to talk about his old girlfriend back home. Kindra would have a million questions. He opened two Nehis and they sat at the kitchen table.

She began pawing through his stack of photos, tapping the one of the courthouse with her finger. “That’s where they’re going to bury a car.”

“A car?” He grabbed the picture. That must be the time capsule Peter talked about. “How do you know?”

“Grandfather told me.” She stared at another photo. “Good old Marybeth.”

He told her how Kansas had freaked out when he took the picture. Kindra kept glaring at it. “What?” he said.

“She ran away.”

“Really?”

“She told me she was going to. I warned her that her father would kill her. The next day, Kansas came in the store totally freaked out. I kept my trap shut.”

“Where’d she go?”

“It’s a secret. She doesn’t want her father to know. He’d beat her and then read the Bible to her. I’ll tell you something, but you have to promise not to blab to anyone.”

“Okay.”

“She had a baby,” Kindra whispered.

“No way! I’d have known if she was pregnant. She came in the store all the time.”

“I got suspicious when she started wearing loose-fitting clothes. Since I’m going to be a nurse, I notice those things.” She took a swig of drink. “One time I heard her throwing up in the bathroom. When she came out from the toilet, I gave her a paper towel. She said she’d been doing it a lot. That’s when I put two and two together. Baggy tops, throwing up.”

“Didn’t know you guys were chummy.”

“I only know her from in the store.”

“But where’s the ba--my God, she ran away with it?”

Kindra sipped her drink. “Took it somewhere to be adopted.”

“But, why run away?”

“Afraid of her father.”

Bucky shook his head. “How could Kansas--I mean, he must’ve known she was pregnant.”

“She said he didn’t.”

“Who’s the father?”

Kindra took another swallow. “Vester Overstreet.”

“VO. That twerp?” Wait a minute! Wasn’t Kansas the father? The deputy chief said he was a child molester. Bucky couldn’t tell Kindra that.

“That’s who she says.”

“Where’d she run off to?”

“VO’s house. She’s hiding there, and I need to go and get my mother’s wedding ring back.”

Bucky knew Kindra’s mother and father had died. That’s why she lived with her grandparents. He raised the drink to his lips and stopped. “What’s she doing with the ring?”

“I lent it to her so she and VO could pretend to be married when they went to the adoption agency.”

He took a gulp. “Pretty stupid.”

“Made sense to her. She only just turned sixteen.”

He burped. “I meant of you. Shouldn’t a told her about the ring.”

“She promised to give it back. ‘Cross my heart and swear to God.’ Oh, Bucky, my mother’s ring is the most important thing in the world to me. Will you come with me to VO’s?”

Bucky didn’t want to get involved. If Kansas would shoot him for trespassing, what the hell would he do for getting mixed up with his runaway daughter? “Sorry, have to pass.”

“But I can’t go alone.”

“Look, I’m sure she’ll come back once the baby is taken care of and give you the ring.” No wonder she wanted to put the baby up for adoption if her own father got her pregnant. He suppressed a shudder.

Kindra grabbed his arm, her eyes droopy, like that dog whose breed he couldn’t remember. “But she said VO has it and won’t give it back. He’ll have to if you’re there. Let’s go now. Please.”

Bucky clomped to the window. “Look.” He pointed to thick dark clouds. “It’s going to rain any minute.” No way did he want to face Kansas and accuse him of child molestation.

“I don’t give a darn. I’ll drive.”

Bucky thought of Marybeth all scared and hiding. Maybe he could do something to help. “All right, but first we need to make a stop.”