| |
For some reason, Della took small, windy roads to get to the park. “They’re prettier,” was all she said when I asked why. Okay, I gave her that. Goldenrod and purple asters hugged the roadside while red-leafed dogwoods and witch hazels, blooming yellow now, hovered over them like protective parents.
The trip gave us time to talk, and we managed to get in a few laughs. I started to feel so good I sang “On and On,” a lively tune I loved, even if the lyrics were kinda sad about his darling leaving him. But that was okay; I knew my family would be coming back to me.
With a sudden jerk of the steering wheel, Della turned off the main highway on to a gravel road, like she knew just where she was going. She pulled into a field where black SUVs, cars, and a van were parked willy-nilly.
That’s when it hit me. Della’d driven us to Ferguson. Where Tom Dooley murdered Laura Foster in 1866 and some monster axed a woman two month ago. The same place I’d swung by on my trip home from Greensboro.
She found a shady place to park for the dogs, lowered the windows, and put a bowl of water in the back. Then she smiled at me. “Come on, Abit, let’s go meet these bottles and stoppers.”
By the time I’d straightened myself out after slouching in the Jeep for over an hour, Della was already chatting with some guy who looked official. Her reporter skills hadn’t left her.
“Listen, you can’t just walk up here like that. Who let you in?”
“More like who was there to stop us? Security is pretty lax around here.” Man, she had some nerve.
“Ms. Kincaid, please step away from the scene.”
In spite of my nerves—or maybe because of them—I had to work hard at not laughing. That guy sounded right out of a TV show. He stood a little taller than Della, about her age and looked good for his age. His short hair had turned salt and pepper, and his eyes were so dark brown they looked almost black. The only color was his face—an angry red.
“Okay, okay, Agent Stoltz. But I want you to meet my friend, Abit Bradshaw.” She did her arm like a game show host in my direction. Stoltz’s eyes followed, and his frown deepened.
“What is going on here? What are you playing at?”
“Playing at? Really, Agent Stoltz? Like I mentioned at the store, we’re here about finding this damn serial killer before he kills again. We’re here about saving lives.”
I guess what I’d told Airhorn might’ve done some good, after all, since Della nearabout quoted me. What I’d told her the other day had made an impression.
Another agent walked up while she was talking; I assumed he was the younger one Della’d met at the store. That made two FBI agents too many, and I turned to leave.
Not Della.
She started in on how she knew from her crime-writing days in D.C. that the FBI didn’t just show up on cases like this. Local lawmen had to have asked for help from the FBI. “So here’s some help for you,” she said, again pointing my way.
Stoltz looked at me like I was dog dirt on his shoe. “Oh, please. Enlighten us. Then maybe this crazy woman will drive off and leave us to do our work.”
I had trouble finding my words, but after a time, they tumbled out. I managed to make my case and give credit to Wallis Harding, who I explained was an expert. I gave them all the details we’d come up with, including seventy-three days—now with only twelve to go. I was extra polite and yes sirred; no sirred; you’re right, sirred whenever Stoltz asked me something. I told them everything—except the one thing they were looking for.
“So how will all this help us stop the next killing, God help us if there is one?”
I felt the color rise up my neck. I couldn’t answer.
––––––––
When we got back into the Jeep, we rode along forever without saying a word. Della was lost in thought, and I felt like a fool. Stoltz had practically patted me on the head and sent me home. And the other guy, Agent Maynard, just stood there, studying the ground.
But after a while, I let all that go. I reminded myself that I was on a road trip with Della, like the ones we’d taken so many year ago. The weather was still sunny and warm, and we were headed to a park I’d never been to before. We rode along quiet-like until I asked, “You know how Fiona and I decided to have only one child?”
Della clenched the steering wheel so tight the Jeep swerved a little. She righted it and nodded. I’d noticed she tensed up whenever I brought up the subject of kids. I reckon that was somehow a heartache in her life too.
“Well, it wasn’t just because of my genes.” I waited a beat, but she kept staring straight ahead. “When I was little, I used to say to myself that I couldn’t wait to have my own kids so I could push them around, you know, like I was.”
Della looked over and let out a big sigh. “Oh, honey, everyone’s had thoughts like that. That doesn’t mean anything in the long run. How old were you?”
“About 8 year old or so.”
“I rest my case. I’d hate to think of what all went through my mind when I was that age. Don’t beat yourself up. When we’re young, we think all kinds of crazy things. That’s why they call it growing up.”
“So why didn’t you ever have kids?”
She took her time answering. “Oh, lots of reasons. I couldn’t see bringing a child into this crazy world, but you’ve changed my thinking on that.” She looked over my way. “When I see children like Conor, I know the world will go on in spite of mean-spirited politicians and crazy serial killers.” She gave me the saddest smile and turned back to watch the road. After a mile or so she added, “And besides, I didn’t trust Alex to stick around.”
“But he’s great.”
“Yeah, in lots of ways. And to be fair, it wasn’t just that. I loved my job. It was dangerous and time-consuming. I couldn’t see chasing a story about a mob gangster and going home to make pablum.”
“You’d’ve been a great mother.”
“That’s easy to say now, Abit. Maybe I would now. But not back then.” She looked at me again. “You’ll just have to be my kid, okay?”
“Fine by me.”
––––––––
Stone Mountain turned out to be a giant rock sticking outta the earth, big and smooth and hard to fathom. A sign explained that over time, all the softer layers of rock washed away, leaving it to stand proud, six-hundred feet in the air.
The dogs were excited, and I was glad to get outta of the Jeep. I’d started having a delayed reaction to that damn FBI agent. “You oversold me, Della.”
That came outta nowhere, but she knew exactly what I was talking about. “Hold your horses, buster. I got you an audience with the chief honcho, and he’s not likely to forget you or what you’re trying to do. You know how men like that are—ego all caught up with being first, being the best. He knows you now, and I believe I saw some respect for your ideas.”
“You were seeing things.”
“No, honey, I wasn’t. He nodded a time or two. Coming from an FBI agent, that’s tantamount to a papal blessing.”
We took care of Mollie’s and Rascal’s needs before we settled into a quiet walk, only saying stuff about the wildflowers or birdsong. A hawk shrieked off in the distance. I never liked that sound, a cry of loneliness.
Walking in the woods made me think of church, in a good way. The trees rose up toward the heavens while protecting us here on Earth. We walked on a path made soft with pine needles and leaves, hugging a stream where frogs carried on in harmony with a chorus of chittering birds. Everything felt right.
Until a big tattooed guy came up behind us with a blaring radio. Some kind of mishmash country music—nothing like the good stuff the Rollin’ Ramblers played. I made a face at Della, but she just shrugged her shoulders. Rascal took my side and gave a low growl, though that guy never heard him over his noisy radio. We slowed down and mercifully the brute moved on. The music drifted behind him for a while, but soon joined him round the bend.
––––––––
The trail led us to the middle falls and later the lower falls along Big Sandy Creek. It was pretty, but I liked Laurel Falls better. I thought to myself, that sounds just like Mama, but it was the truth. Whatever, the walk did all four of us good.
We found a nice little café for supper. After we gave the dogs some fried chicken scraps, they slept most of the way home, and I almost did. I made myself stay awake to keep Della company, but she was lost in thought again. After a while, she broke the silence.
“When do you think you and Wallis will figure out the killer’s pattern? You’ve come so far, surely you two can take it the next step.”
“If I knew that, I’d be at Wallis’ right now.”
She chuckled. “I guess you would. It was just that you did such a good job of explaining the chronology of everything to Stoltz. It’s like ‘shave and a haircut, two bits.’ You’ve got the shave and a haircut part, now what is the two bits?”
Something she said gave me a start. I tried to follow that feeling, but it had already drifted away, like that awful country music.