“Son of a bitch,” Hick grumbled as he put his coffee cup on the saucer with a bang.
“It seems the habitually inept law enforce-ment of the town of Cherokee Crossing has done it again. As of this printing two murder suspects, Jed and Eben Delaney, are on the lam. Sheriff Hick Blackburn was overheard by this reporter stating that in his ‘learned’ opinion the young miscreants were innocent and flatly refused to bring them in. As their flight from Cherokee Crossing has made their guilt evident it is hoped that Sheriff Blackburn can redeem himself with a quick apprehension before they kill again.”
Hick closed the newspaper. He had slept little and risen early after his unsuccessful trip to Broken Creek. The last thing he wanted to deal with was Wayne Murphy’s nonsense. Maggie looked up from the pile of diapers she was folding.
“Damned Murphy.”
“Now what?”
Hick handed her the paper and watched the color in her cheeks rise. She handed the paper back and told him, “Nobody believes a word he writes.”
“That may or may not be true, but I hate how he twists everything to sell his papers.” Wayne Murphy had long been Hick Blackburn’s nemesis. Things had gone from bad to worse when Hick refused to let Murphy accompany him to Claire Thompson’s arrest for the murder of an infant two years earlier, arguably the biggest thing to happen in Cherokee Crossing’s history. Murphy used the paper often to exercise his vindictiveness.
“Wayne Murphy isn’t likely to change, you know that. So no use worrying over him.” Maggie said grabbing another diaper. She folded the last one and stretched. “I best get Jimmy ready for church. You goin’?”
He shook his head. He hadn’t gone in a while but Maggie asked every week nonetheless. “Not this week. Not with everything I’ve got to do.”
“I’ll go by for your mama again,” Maggie told him. “She don’t need to be walkin’ in this heat.”
“Thanks,” Hick replied. He rose from the chair and grabbed his hat. He had a long day of investigating ahead.
“Don’t forget, Tobe and Fay are coming for Sunday dinner,” Maggie called after him.
Hick had forgotten, and he could tell Maggie knew it. Gladys’ murder was hanging heavily on him and he had a lot of do. The idea of entertaining guests was unappealing. When things were bad at work, the tension always spilled over at home.
“I’ll be here,” he promised.
Frustration boiled within him as he drove to work. He was annoyed with himself for, once again, letting Wayne Murphy get under his skin, and he felt ashamed for getting so wrapped up in work that home felt like an inconvenience. To not invite Tobe and Fay when they were in town was really not an option, and yet he was still irrationally angry with Maggie for doing it.
Tobe had been Hick’s best friend in high school and together the two boys had been summoned to war. Though not casualties in body, both men had been scarred and wounded by their experiences in Europe. Tobe found solace in a bottle and had ultimately carved out a shaky personal armistice by only indulging in his lust on the weekends. He and Fay moved to St. Louis where Tobe soberly worked at the Fisher body plant Monday through Friday, and stayed drunk from Friday night to Sunday. It hurt Hick to see his friend reduced to this and he was an unwelcome reminder of the war, a visual demonstration that their public personas belied secret, personal demons.
Adam was seated at his desk, feet up and newspaper in hand, when Hick entered the station. “Any luck with the preacher?”
Hick hung his hat on the coat rack and shook his head. “He didn’t remember Abner. Unfortunately, Abner’s story is all too common.”
“I was afraid of that,” Adam studied Hick a moment. “You see any sign of Brewster?”
Hick shook his head. “I don’t reckon he shows up on that side of town unless it’s to serve a warrant.”
“That’s just what I’d expect from that bastard. Speaking of bastards …” He picked the paper back up and asked, “What the hell are we going to do about Murphy”
In spite of his calm appearance, Hick sensed the rage seething below Adam’s controlled exterior.
“What can we do?” Before Hick made it to his desk, the station door burst open and the formidable presence of the Reverend Ted Wheeler filled the room.
With arms folded across his chest and a face seemingly carved from cold stone, Wheeler stared at the two men.
“Well?”
“Well, what?”
“As a citizen of this town, I demand to know what you are doing to apprehend those two murderers.”
Hick lowered himself into his chair, and fought to keep his voice controlled, measured. “Who do you mean?”
The reverend strode across the room and slammed his fist down on Hick’s desk. With menace in his narrowed eyes, he growled. “Don’t play games with me. Gladys Kestrel was like family to you. Look how she cared for your father, and this is how you repay her? By letting her killers walk away scot free? Shame on you!”
Hick rose and looked Wheeler in the eye. “Let’s get one thing straight, right now. Eben and Jed Delaney are not ‘murderers’ in any sense of the word. They may have been convicted already in Murphy’s rag and in your mind, but they are innocent until proven otherwise. And furthermore, don’t you tell me who to arrest or how to do my job. I don’t want to hear any of your ‘sins of the father’ bullshit, and I don’t want you spreading your hate through town. We’ve got Murphy to do that, we don’t need two of you.”
Reverend Wheeler’s eyes widened and his mouth tightened. “How dare you? Do you know who you’re talking to?”
“I’m talking to a man who ought to be preaching love, but who chooses to preach hate. That’s normally not my business. Not unless it starts disturbing the town or interfering with an ongoing investigation.”
The Reverend’s eyes glimmered. “And if it does?”
“Murder ain’t the only thing can get a man locked up.”
“Are you threatening me?” Wheeler’s voice was low.
“Advising you.”
“I see.”
“Don’t you have a sermon you ought to be preachin’ somewhere?” Adam said.
Wheeler’s face contorted with fury as he spun toward Adam who now had his newspaper rolled up in his hands as if he were going to swat a fly. “Oh, I’ve got a sermon alright.” Wheeler spat the words. “I’ve got a sermon and it’s not about God’s love. God is a God of vengeance as well.” He walked back to the door, shoulders straight and head high as if he were in a military parade. He turned and cast a wrathful eye upon Hick and Adam. “I should have known better than to think anything would be accomplished by my coming here. It appears going out after those boys might be more work than you’re accustomed to.” He looked pointedly at Adam’s feet on his desk before turning to leave.
“He’s gonna be a problem,” Adam said nonchalantly after the door slammed.
“He is a problem,” Hick corrected. “Everyone knows Murphy’s full of shit, but people will start believin’ Wheeler. We’ve got to find those boys, fast. Where could they have gotten to?”
“They could be anyplace there’s work to be found,” Adam replied. “They could be in Illinois or Michigan. Hell, they could be all the way out to California.”
“I reckon I’ll need to find out if Miss Delaney’s had any word.”
“Let’s hope she has. Them disappearing like this only adds fuel to Wheeler’s fire.”
“Wheeler,” Hick repeated. “Wheeler and Murphy, they’re like kings of their own little kingdoms with no idea of what goes on in the world outside of their realm. They think they have all the answers. Hell, Jed and Eben have never even been in trouble. Not once.”
“Neither had Abner,” Adam reminded Hick. “And, yet, he was convicted of first degree murder.”
“I’m not buying it,” Hick responded. “What possible motive would those boys have had to kill Gladys.”
Adam looked at the stacks of letters they had brought from Gladys’ room. “Maybe something in here will give us an idea.” He opened one and began scanning it.
Hick settled back onto his chair and examined Abner Delaney’s letters. “Or something in here,” he said, opening the next envelope on the stack..
The clock ticked as Hick read letter after letter from Pinewood Prison, each like the other. Abner worried over his family’s welfare, while doing nothing to save himself. There was never any suggestion that Abner thought of filing an appeal. Just a constant stream of hopes for a better future for his children.
Hick ran his hand through his hair in frustration. His thoughts swirled and in his mind, he saw Gladys’s torn face and the earnest expressions of Jed and Eben. He saw Pearl Delaney’s haunted eyes and the wistful longing of Mourning. He played every scenario over and over in his head and none of them pointed to the Delaney brothers as possible killers. And yet, they were the ones who had stumbled upon Gladys’s body, they were the ones who lost a father in prison for a killing in which Gladys seemed to have taken an interest, and they were the ones everyone in town suspected. Anger welled up again as he thought of the hatred and vengeance Wayne Murphy and Ted Wheeler were stirring up.
He scooted his chair back abruptly. “I need some air,” he muttered and walked outside. He paused in front of the station and flipped open his lighter, turning the thumbwheel, lighting the wick. He flipped the lid closed and popped it back open, repeating the motion, staring absentmindedly into the distance. He knew enough about the Pinewood Prison Farm to understand just how much information
Abner withheld from his family. He knew Abner would have been subjected to hours of grueling work in the hot sun, picking cotton, and would have likely been beaten. He knew prisoners were routinely tortured and not fed properly. He knew of the brutality of the prison trustees, hardened criminals given authority to exercise justice, or vengeance, without impunity. He lit a cigarette and took a long draw letting the smoke slowly seep out his nostrils. “Why wouldn’t Abner fight to get away from there?”
“Uncle Hick!” a voice shouted, cutting through Hick’s thoughts. He turned to see Benji, Adam’s oldest son, and Jack Thompson walking with the two Shelley girls.
“What are ya’ll up to?” Hick asked, tossing the cigarette to the ground and crushing it.
“You remember Lucille and Edna?” Benji asked. Benji, a smaller version of Adam, was tall for his age and looked to be the same age as Lucille Shelley, although in reality he was only eleven and Lucille, fourteen.
“I remember them when they were little girls. I don’t recognize them now,” Hick replied with a smile.
“Miss Pam says we’re to entertain them,” Jack announced. Jack Thompson was one of Adam and Pam’s foster sons.
“Is that a fact?” Hick said, putting his lighter in his pocket. “What do ya’ll have planned?”
“We’re going to the diner for a Coke,” Benji replied importantly.
“Daddy had to go back to work,” Edna piped. The youngest Shelley girl was small like her mother with two blonde Shirley Temple pigtails.
“My daddy was a principal, too,” Hick said. “I remember him working all summer long while us kids had time to play.”
“Mama begged him to let us stay a little longer so we could do some visiting. We’re staying at your old house,” Lucille told him. She was slender with her father’s good looks and her mother’s expressive eyes.
“Good,” Hick told her. “My mama likes company.”
Benji cleared his throat. “Uncle Hick, we’re kinda getting thirsty.”
Hick nodded and said, “Ya’ll have fun. Don’t throw your Coke bottles in the ditch.”
“We won’t,” Benji called as they ran down the street, their laughter a stark contrast to the pall that hung over the town. It was more than the usual Sunday quiet. It was a wariness, sprung from the knowledge that one of their most beloved citizens had been brutally murdered. The usual sounds seemed hushed and shrouded in the awe that a tragic and premature death creates.
Hick was ten years old when Susie Wheeler was murdered. It seemed funny that he did not remember the event. He did not remember if his parents talked about it—they must have—or what was written in the paper. But he remembered the feeling, this feeling, that something terrible had happened and nobody could explain it or make it right. He and Tobe had been running down the street, shouting at the top of their lungs when the door to the post office opened and Mrs. Benson, Maggie’s mother, had stepped out. She caught the boys by their arms and whispered kindly to them, “Don’t shout so boys. Today is a day of respect.”
The awful silence. That was the only thing he remembered about Susie Wheeler’s death and the only thing he remembered four months later when Ronnie Pringle died. It was as if the town had been collectively punched in the gut. But Ronnie died in June and by July Hick, Tobe, and the rest of the boys were back at the ball field. Death’s bony fingers released the town but stayed wrapped around the throats of those it hurt the most.
The door to the station opened and Adam stepped out. “Got a call from Miss Barnes. She says she spied Eben Delaney in the cotton patch. I’m goin’ to head out there and try and calm her down.”
“Can you stop by the Delaneys and find out if Miss Delaney’s got any word?”
Adam nodded and strode to the squad car.
“If anything turns up, come on out to the house. I reckon Tobe will be passed out by eight o’clock anyway,” Hick called after him.
Hick’s prediction had been pretty accurate. Tobe had arrived tipsy and the five beers he drank at dinner had mellowed him to the point that he fell asleep on the porch swing before the lightning bugs began to flicker. As Tobe snored, Hick, Maggie, and Fay enjoyed strawberry shortcake and coffee.
“Maggie, this is delicious.” Fay licked her spoon and dug in for another bite. “The strawberries in St. Louis don’t have the tartness ours do. They taste old.”
Hick motioned outside toward the porch swing. “He getting by okay at work?”
Fay nodded. “They like him a lot. He’s a good worker, and the foreman says he might get promoted to the paint department. Painting cars pays better than putting in windshields.”
“How’s Bobby like his school?” Maggie asked.
“He likes it and is doing well.” Fay set her plate down and sipped her coffee. “He’s got a nice group of boys he plays with. I mean it ain’t like here where we had nature and the swamp and Jenny Slough. He’s got alleys and amusement parks and swimming pools.”
“I miss that slough,” Hick said. “Fishing the levees and ditches ain’t the same. There’s no mystery, no cypress trees. It’s hot and sunny and dull.”
“It was a shame they dammed it up,” Fay agreed. “I remember growing up out there and how mysterious the world seemed. We had our own cast of characters, that’s for sure. We had the threat of the spooky eephus to make us behave and Miss Delaney’s potions to keep us healthy.”
The name of Pearl Delaney brought up unwanted associations with work and Hick pointedly put them out of his mind.
“And Johnny,” he added.
“Oh, Coal Oil Johnny! Whatever happened to him?”
“He and Patsy the Mule just disappeared when they dammed the slough. No one’s seen hide nor hair since.”
A loud snort and groan from the porch reminded them of Tobe’s presence. Fay shook her head. “It’s a shame Miss
Delaney don’t have a potion for that.”
“What kind of potions did Miss Delaney give you?” Maggie asked.
“Well, if you ask me they weren’t anything but coal oil with a little molasses. You town kids had Doc Prescott to doctor you up. We had Miss Delaney’s snake oil. She could cure everything from the croup to malaria.”
“I think I’d rather have malaria.” Maggie shuddered.
“Bless her heart, but Miss Delaney sure tried to help people out. They were good people. No one who knew him ever believed Abner done that to Susie Wheeler. Most thought it was her fellow, Ronnie.”
A slow ache took hold at the base of Hick’s skull. He wanted to forget about work, not discuss it over dessert. Maggie glanced over at him, then quickly turned the conversation to the latest gossip around town. Hick took advantage of the moment to step out onto the porch and light a cigarette. Tobe snorted once again and opened his eyes.
He straightened up and patted the swing. “Hey Hick,” he said with a slur. “Have a seat, buddy.”
Hick settled in and offered his friend a cigarette.
Tobe shook his head. “One vice is about all I can afford.”
Hick took a long draw feeling the comforting smoke warm his lungs. He exhaled and the two men sat silently on the porch swing, the sounds of frogs and crickets filling the air around them.
“How’s St. Louis treating you?” Hick finally asked.
“Shit, it’s hotter than hell in that factory and the houses are on top of each other. Still, there’s a good tavern at the end of the street and they let Bobby run me home a bucket of beer a couple of times a night on the weekends.” He shrugged. “I got beer, work, baseball, and Fay. And Bobby. I guess it’s alright.”
Hick leaned back against the swing, took another deep drag, and peered off into the darkened distance.
“What about you?” Tobe asked. “You doin’ okay?”
Hick shrugged. “Yeah. Mag works her ass off around here, and it feels like I’m never around.”
“Ya’ll should come on up some weekend,” Tobe urged. “Come to a Cardinals game at Sportsman’s. I take Bobby up there some Sundays and we watch Slaughter and Musial and Schoendeist. It’s the next best thing to playin’.”
“That’d be nice. Maybe when Jimmy’s older.”
They sat in silence listening to the swing creak and the night gather around them. “Listen, Hick,” Tobe said finally, “if you and Maggie ever decide to get out of this place, I can get you on at Fisher or if not there, Chevrolet is hiring. Union wages, good benefits. You wouldn’t have to put up with the shit you put up with here.”
Surprised, Hick turned to look at Tobe. “I’m—”
“I know what goes on here and how this place treats you.” He leaned forward and looked into Hick’s face. “Don’t let them suffocate you. You ever need me, you know I got your back. Think about this, in the city I’m just another factory worker. Nobody knows who I am … or what I’ve done.” The old sadness was there, a weight Tobe just couldn’t set aside. Hick saw it and Tobe knew he saw it. But neither man wanted to grapple with it, so Tobe quickly reached into the cooler for another beer and offered Hick one. Hick didn’t say no, so Tobe opened them both, took a drink from his, and sank back onto the swing. “It’s good to be anonymous.” There was unmistakable relief in his voice. “You ever get tired of it all, you just give me a call. Life is good in the city.”