The papers sat neatly on his desk, waiting for the long hours in the night when sleep wouldn’t come. The storm had passed and Hick gazed out the window lost in thought. His head ached from lack of sleep and food, as well as the uncertainty of how to conduct the investigation. He watched Adam and Wash cross the street, trying to avoid puddles. They opened the door and stepped in, bringing the smells of rain and bacon with them.
Hick stood. “Adam, you ready to go out toward the slough? Start asking questions?”
“Sure,” Adam said, grabbing up his hat. “Wash can hold down the fort.”
“Good luck,” Wash said, settling in at his desk. “Only way to figure this thing out is leg work.”
Hick and Adam drove out toward the slough, the windows down, letting in the rain-chilled air. Everything felt moisture-laden, even the seats of the car felt damp. The clouds hung low and gray over the flat delta, threatening to dump a new round of precipitation at any moment.
“Let’s start at the Thompsons’,” Adam suggested.
The Thompson household was at the far end of the slough. Adam’s son, Benji, spent a lot of time with Jack Thompson, his best friend.
“Yeah, I’d like to get that one over,” Hick agreed remembering his last visit to the house. “Poor old lady.”
Claire Thompson had been sitting on her porch swing the last time he stopped at the house, barely a month ago. It had been a hot day for May and the air already had that bright, summer feeling. A beautiful day to deliver such horrible news—her only son, Ross, was dead.
“What a day.” Adam shook his head as if reading Hick’s thoughts.
“I never thought Ross would die so young. He was always so cautious.”
“And now those boys are orphans.”
Claire’s only child, Ross, had fallen asleep at the wheel of his truck and driven off a bridge. His wife had died four years earlier in childbirth, and now his aged mother was raising their boys alone.
Adam drove the car up the two sandy dirt lines in front of the house and parked beside the propane tank. The house stood stark and white, almost cruel in its sterile perfection. Mrs. Thompson raised no flowers or trees, saying there was no money to be made in prettying up the place. John and Claire Thompson had risen from the abject poverty of share-cropping to owning one of the largest farms in the county. After John died, most of the land was rented out. In spite of her advanced years, Claire kept busy with a sizable garden and chickens. She didn’t believe in being idle.
Claire came out to meet them, wearing a tan work dress with dainty flowers sprinkled unconvincingly on it. Those flowers did nothing to temper the severity of the austere platinum knot that bound her hair.
Moving with amazing alacrity for a woman of her age, she met them as they climbed from the car. “Morning, boys.”
Both men removed their hats. “Morning, Miss Thompson,” Hick said. “How have you been?”
“Well, I’m getting by. Jack and Floyd keep me on my toes, no doubt about that. Ain’t been the same around here since Ross passed.”
Hick noticed the water-logged pickup still standing right in the yard where the tow truck had left it. He swelled with sympathy for the woman.
“You know if there’s anything we can do to help, we’d be glad to.”
She squeezed his hand. “I know that, Hick. You were always such a good boy. Your daddy was so proud of you.”
“Ma’am, if you don’t mind, Adam and I would like to talk to you for a moment.”
She seemed surprised. “By all means. Please, come in.”
The two men followed Claire up the porch steps and into the house. Unlike his sister Pam’s house, where there was always a baseball glove or roller skates lying on the table, everything here was perfectly neat, not one item out of place, not a speck of dust anywhere. It was hard to believe two small boys lived there. They passed by an ancient grandfather clock that stood in the foyer and went to the sitting room. Turning to Adam, Claire said, “Thank you for having Jack over last weekend. He loves being at your house.”
Adam grinned. “He’s a good boy. You’re doing a heck of a job with them kids.”
She seemed to shrink a little. “I wish I didn’t have to.”
Hick sat on a chair, his hat in his hands. He absentmindedly turned it and asked, “Ma’am, if you don’t mind, we’d like to ask you a few questions pertaining to the child we found in the slough.”
Claire’s eyebrows went up. “Oh?’
Adam leaned forward. “With you living so near, we thought you might have seen or heard something. We’re having a devil of a time.”
She folded her hands and placed them in her lap with her lips pursed in thought. “Really boys, I don’t know how much help I can be. There’s always kids up around that end of the slough. Teenagers come up in their cars.”
“What about strangers?”
“Oh, I ain’t seen no strangers wandering around there. I keep an eye open for that, me being alone and all.”
“Has there been anything at all odd up there? Anything out of the ordinary?” Adam wondered.
She smiled a little. “The only thing out of the ordinary is there ain’t been as many little boys fishing this past week. Jack says they’re afraid.”
Hick shook his head. “Kids get the damndest fool notions in their brains. What about these teenagers in their cars?”
“Well, they come up here for … alone time, if you know what I mean. Not just schoolboys, either. Some young men bring their ladies up here, too.”
Hick pulled out his notebook. “Hate to ask you this, Miss Thompson, but could you give me any names at all? Anyone you seen around the slough the past month?”
“I don’t want to seem like a nosy old biddy,” Claire said a little jokingly. “But you know I do keep a watchful eye around here at night. Especially since Ross died. I ain’t particularly comfortable being all alone way out here, but I hate to leave my home.”
Adam reassured her saying, “No one thinks you’re being nosy. Perfectly understandable, you being in the position you’re in. I’d probably be keeping an eye open myself.”
Unconsciously, Hick imitated Claire’s posture, absolutely straight and motionless. She grew up in an age of corsets, and her posture was unbending and rigid. After a slight hesitation, she began, “I seen Buck Hearn and Lida Webber one night last week. Her daddy would tan his hide if he knew, too. I seen Sam Logan’s car, Jimmy Allen was with Rachel Kellum, Matt Pringle was walking with Maggie Benson, and Dick McCarter was with Betty Harmon. I know all those kids, none of ’em would have done what you’re asking about.”
Hick had written down the names without showing any emotion, other than a faint blush when Maggie’s name was mentioned. He wondered if he’d ever get that under control. He looked up after writing and noticed Adam looking at him keenly, but he avoided his gaze and turned his attention back to Claire.
“What about animals?” he asked her. “You got any panthers or coyotes running around you know of?”
“No panthers. Sure, there’s always coyotes, but I don’t see ’em down at the slough.”
“Anything else? Hear anything?”
Claire shook her head. “Johnny’s up there a lot. But he always has been. It’s where he gets his supper.”
“Johnny’s just fishing, right? You didn’t see him prowling around, acting odd did you?”
“Oh no.” Claire began. “Well, of course he was acting odd. It’s Coal Oil Johnny. But nothing unusual.”
Hick read over the list again. Coal Oil Johnny was the town hermit. He lived in a shack way out in the sunken lands and came to town twice a month for coal oil. It was what he used for cooking, heat, and light. He was not likely the person they were looking for, but he might be someone with information. He jotted his name with a notation to interview him. Closing his book, he said to Adam, “You got anything else? That about does it for me.”
Adam shook his head and rose. He paused on the porch telling Claire, “Let us know if you need anything, ma’am. Won’t you?”
Her eyes welled a little and she patted Adam’s shoulder. “I do appreciate all you’ve done for me and the boys. I know Ross would be grateful.”
Finding no one home at the Pringle’s or the Scott’s, the two men drove back to town. Light was beginning to break through the thinning clouds, patches of blue amidst the gray, dissolving before the sun’s brilliance. After a prolonged silence, Adam said, “I’m sorry you had to find out about Maggie that way. I was going to tell you.”
“Tell me what?”
“She’s been seeing Matt pretty steady now for a couple of months.”
”I don’t know how it could possibly matter to me.”
“Dammit Hick, anyone with eyes can see you two belong together. She waited for you and wrote to you faithfully for three years while you were gone, and the best you can do for her is get back and break the engagement. You couldn’t even come up with a decent reason.”
“People change,” Hick remarked.
“No,” Adam argued. “You didn’t change. Boy, if there’s one thing you’re bad at, it’s lyin’. No one gets it … your sister, your mother. You and Maggie were meant to be together. Hell, you’ve been inseparable since you were born.”
Hick looked out the window at the sodden fields. He closed his eyes and the image of a bloody farmhouse flitted before them, frightening in its vividness. He shuddered. “Adam, you wouldn’t understand.”
“Goddammit, I hate that answer! No one understands and no one ever will because you came home and shut the door. Why don’t you tell someone what’s wrong … work it out. You need her, Hick.”
Hick pulled a cigarette from his pocket and cupped a hand over it while he lit it. “She’s moved on, Adam. So have I. Why can’t everyone else?”
“Because you’re either a liar or a fool if you think either of you has really moved on. Don’t you see how her face lights up when you walk into that diner? Don’t you see how her eyes never leave you while you’re there, and how they follow you to the office every morning? Please tell me you’re not that dimwitted, boy!”
Hick leaned back in the seat and took another drag from the cigarette, pulling his hat down far over his eyes. “Well, now she’s got Matt to comfort her, and I’ve got the support of my loving family. Let it go, Adam. For God’s sake, please let it go.”
Neither man said another word until they got back to town, the passive silence thick and heavy, a precarious levee barely holding back a deluge of disagreement.