Above the Waterfall

by Ron Rash

  “Your cell phone or a different one?” I asked.

  “Mine.”

  “You remember the last time they talked?”

  “Is today Friday?”

  “Yes.”

  She counted back on her fingers.

  “I’m pretty sure it was Tuesday.”

  “Okay,” I said, “but if that cell phone’s not at the pawnshop, I’m coming back.”

  “I took it on Wednesday. The man in there, he’ll tell you so. It’s blue and has a chipped place on the corner. If he sold it, that’s not my fault.”

  I took a pen from my pocket.

  “I’ll need your password.”

  “S H I L O 1 8.”

  I wrote the password on a piece of paper and tucked it in my shirt pocket.

  “Is that how you spell your name?”

  “Except for the numbers.”

  “But it’s not your real name?”

  “No,” she answered. “But if I get a free pass like you claim, I don’t figure you need the real one.”

  “Fair enough,” I said.

  She looked ready to say something else but hesitated.

  “What?” I asked.

  “None of this would have happened if Darby had been given what was his by right.”

  “Which was?”

  “That old man’s land,” Shilo said. “It’s done promised to Darby but the old fool won’t give it over.”

  “What’s Darby wanting it for?”

  “Him and that other fellow was going to sell it.”

  “To the resort?”

  “He didn’t tell me who to,” Shilo answered. “Darby just said if that old man had sold the land a few years ago, it’d have brought a bunch more money and Darby wouldn’t have had to share a dime of it.”

  “So Darby thought if his uncle got arrested, he’d get the land?”

  “I don’t know. Darby just said that him and the other fellow had things figured out and I didn’t need to know anything else about it.”

  Because Trey kept later hours on Friday, he wouldn’t be at his pawnshop yet, so I called his house. I asked about the blue phone and he said he still had it. It’s important, I told him. Trey said he’d meet me at his shop.

  “I told you he had it,” Shilo said.

  Darby’s truck was parked outside, so I gave it a quick look. A five-gallon can was in the bed, a price sticker still on it. I lifted the can and smelled not kerosene but gas.

  Thirty-four

  “Becky?” Then after a few more moments, my name called again. I shift my body to peek between the board slats. A piece of straw drifts down, then another. Gerald steps farther into the barn and stands beside the loft ladder. He has two cups of coffee in his hands.

  “I saw you come in here a few minutes ago,” he says, looking up as he speaks. “Last night, the way I acted. To treat you that way, after all you done for me. It was wrong. I’m sorry.”

  For a few moments the barn is completely still.

  “Anyway, I brought you some coffee. I’ll leave it here by the ladder if it’s your rather, but you could sit on the porch with me and drink it. That’s what I’d like, you sitting with me on the porch.”

  I wait a few more moments, then slowly get up. I wipe the straw off my shirt and pants and climb down.

  “I made it fresh,” Gerald says, and hands me a cup.

  A barn swallow swoops in, dips low, then lifts. The chevroned wings fold and it settles in the nest. Gerald stares at a tangle of tools—shovel and hoes, sickles and pitchforks. Some lean but most are long fallen, metal and helve imprinting the straw.

  “This barn’s some mess, ain’t it?” Gerald says.

  “I’d be glad to help you clean it up.”

  Gerald shakes his head.

  “No reason to,” he says softly.

  We walk out of the barn. Gerald moves slow and holds the handrail as he steps up to the porch.

  “Are you all right?” I ask as we sit down. “Do you need your pills?”

  Gerald shakes his head and for a few minutes we look out at the mountains and sip our coffee.

  “Those speckled trout we saw in the pool,” Gerald says when he sets his cup beside the chair, “that kerosene didn’t kill them, did it?”

  “No, they’re fine.”

  “Good,” Gerald says. “There’s something I need you to do for me, okay?”

  “Of course. What is it?”

  “I got it in my will to have that cremation done to me. Agnes said it goes against the Bible, that you’re supposed to wait for the resurrection whole and in the ground proper buried. But the part of William that come back from the war, it wouldn’t fill an apple crate. If God’s got a mind to hold that against William, then he’ll have to hold it against me too. I’ve got plenty to account for in my life, but if that one tips the scales against me, so be it. What I’m asking Becky, it ain’t in the will. Those ashes, spread them on Agnes’s and William’s graves, but keep a handful to put by the pool where them speckled trout are. Right there on the sand. You’ll do that for me, won’t you?”

  The phone inside rings but Gerald doesn’t get up, motions for me not to either. Then my cell phone buzzes and it’s Les. I walk into the yard and answer. Les asks if I’m with Gerald and I say yes.

  “I found out who made the call,” Les tells me, “and she admitted it.”

  Moments pass but I don’t speak.

  “Are you there?” Les asks.

  I manage a soft yes.

  “I’ve still got a couple of things I don’t understand, but I wanted you to know there was a call.”

  “It proves Gerald didn’t do this, doesn’t it?”

  “Not quite,” Les says, “but I’ll know more soon.”

  I go back on the porch and tell Gerald but he doesn’t say anything.

  “Don’t you understand, Gerald?” I tell him. “This is all but over. People will know the truth. Everyone, not just Les and me.”

  “That is good,” Gerald finally says. “But I’m tired, Becky, too tired to care anymore.”

  “Of course you’re tired,” I say. “Anyone would be after what you’ve been through. But you can rest up this weekend and you’ll be fine.”

  “Maybe so,” Gerald says.

  “We’ve got lots more things to do, starting with getting that garden harvested and cutting more wood for the winter. You’re not going to make me do all that by myself, are you? You know I’m no good with a chain saw. I’d probably cut my arm off.”

  For the first time, Gerald smiles. It’s a weary smile, but it’s real.

  “I’d be a sorry sort of fellow to let that happen.”

  “You would,” I say, and nod at his cup. “I’ll go in and get us a refill.”

  “Sounds good,” Gerald says, but as I take the cup from his hand, he holds on to it. “But what I asked you to do, you’ll do it?”

  “Yes.”

  Thirty-five

  Trey was waiting in his truck when I turned in. He unlocked the door and I was about to follow him when he stopped me.

  “You better wait here a minute, hoss,” Trey said, opening the door wider so more light came in. A piece of what looked like kite string was tied to the inside doorknob. The other end crossed the floor to a round shape beside the display case. As my eyes adjusted to the dimness, the coiled body, triangle head, and pale rattles emerged.

  “You thought I was bullshitting about that fellow being out, didn’t you?” Trey said as he crossed the room, giving the snake a wide berth as he retrieved the phone.

  “This one?” Trey asked, handing me the blue cell phone and the charger wrapped around it.

  “Yes,” I said, my thumb finding the chipped corner.

  I looked at the rattlesnake, which had not moved since we’d come in. The string was knotted to the neck ring.

  “How do you get it back in the aquarium?”

  “Oh, that’s an easy thing,” Trey said. “Just pin his head with my snake stick, undo the slipknot, and
grab him behind the neck. Getting him out is the devil of it.”

  “Mind if I hold on to this phone a day or two? If we need to keep it, I’ll make out a requisition form.”

  “Don’t bother,” he said. “I only paid seven dollars. Think of it as a retirement present.”

  Trey followed me outside.

  “Ben Lindsey came in yesterday afternoon,” Trey said.

  “To check if anything Robin took had shown up?”

  “No, to sell his high school ring. He took it off right in front of me and laid it on the counter. He kept his finger on it a few moments, like we were playing checkers, then pushed it toward me. I don’t usually notice things like that, or at least try not to. Ben said he’d be bringing some other things soon.” Trey shook his head and grimaced, then set his hand on the doorknob. “I did give him more than a fair price for that ring, but I still felt like shit taking it.”

  Trey went inside and I drove on to the courthouse, parked but didn’t get out. I figured I’d have to charge the phone first but I pressed the power button and it lit up. I tapped in the password and checked the recent calls. Numbers lined up smooth as slots. The last number was Gerald’s, the one before and after it the same number, an 828 area code. But not the resort’s number.

  “Charlotte called right after you left,” Ruby said when I entered the main office. “They had a body at the morgue they thought might be Robin Lindsey, but they just called back and it’s not.”

  Ruby shook her head.

  “I don’t think Ben Lindsey could have stood it if it had been. The way that man looked when he came in here on Tuesday.”

  “I know,” I said and went into my office where Darby sulked like a schoolkid waiting for the principal. Jarvis was in my chair, reading a Field & Stream. Jarvis started to get up but I motioned for him to stay.

  “You got no right doing me like this,” Darby said. “He ain’t even told me why I’m here.”

  I took the cell phone out of my pocket and Darby’s face went slack.

  “Your Rocky Top girl sold it to Trey Yarbrough for seven dollars,” I said. “That was smart of her, don’t you think, instead of throwing a perfectly good phone in the river? She also told me you had her call Gerald.”

  “I don’t know nothing about any of that,” Darby said.

  I stared at him for a few moments. In little more than a month, the meth had whittled him down considerably. Eye sockets more hollow, jaw and cheekbones sharper. Even his greasy hair. It now swept winglike over his ears, bringing to mind skulls carved on old gravestones or sewn on biker jackets.

  “You can’t inherit Gerald’s money for any reason other than death. You were told that but I guess you’re so drugged up you forgot.” I turned to Jarvis. “You guess that’s it?”

  “Heck,” Jarvis said, knowing what I was up to. “He doesn’t even know what the word inherit means.”

  “I know he’s got to be dead first,” Darby sneered.

  “Then why did you do it?” I asked.

  “I ain’t saying another word till I’m lawyered up.”

  I nodded at the blue cell phone.

  “The calls and numbers are in there, including one that came in at 8:10 on Tuesday night. I’m going to find out who that number belongs to. Even if the other phone is in the river, I’ve got the number and I know someone who can track it down real quick. So here’s the thing, Darby. You can tell me whose number this is and what all of this is about and be the one who the judge knows cooperated, or you can let your partner play that card.”

  I tapped the power switch on and read the number out loud.

  “I’m going to press CALL in one minute, Darby, and if I do I’m picking up every rain check and IOU I’ve got with the prosecutor’s office. They may put you in Guantanamo before I’m finished.”

  Darby rubbed a hand over his forehead, like he was trying to summon a genie, or at least a good lie. A fingernail and thumbnail clicked against each other on his free hand. He gave a slight nod, then clenched both hands in his lap and met my eyes.

  “I done it so the old bastard would hurry up and die,” Darby said.

  I looked at Jarvis, who shrugged his shoulders.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “You ought to,” Darby said, giving me a weak smile. “It was partly your idea, Sheriff.”

  The chair squeaked as Jarvis got up.

  “I’m going to get a cup of coffee,” he said. “I’ll be back in twenty.”

  “I ain’t claiming your boss is in on it,” Darby said, but Jarvis walked on out and shut the door behind him.

  “What are you getting at?” I asked.

  “What you told C.J. Gant about old folks like Gerald, how they don’t last long once you get them out of their house and in a new place. He said you were right about that, so C.J. figured if the arrest and trial didn’t kill a man who’d had two heart attacks, then for sure jail or a nuthouse would.”

  “C.J. Gant?” I said. “The same one who worked at the resort?”

  “The one and only.”

  “You’re lying,” I said. “You’re only saying that because Tucker fired him. Don’t you dare try to drag C.J. into this.”

  “Drag him into it,” Darby snorted. “He come to me, not me to him. It was all his idea. I was fucking coerced, ain’t that the word for it? He came the other night to my house. Of course he stayed out in his car, like he was too good to come in. Asked me how I’d like to get my inheritance in eight months tops, and a decent price for the property to boot.”

  “This is really about Tucker wanting to get that land, not C.J., isn’t it?”

  “Hell no,” Darby said. “Tucker don’t want that land. Dumbass Gerald let that gravy train roll on down the line two years ago. C.J. said he’d help me get at least half a million. Claimed folks still wanted to buy land up here but you had to know how to find them.”

  For a few moments I didn’t speak. Everything was off-plumb. It was like a movie where the dialogue’s out of sync, a movie I was in, though I damn well wished I wasn’t, because, slowly, what seemed out of sync became less and less so.

  “Why?”

  “Why what?” Darby asked.

  “Why would C.J. help you?”

  “Why?” Darby said, looking at me incredulously. “Goddamn thirty percent is why. He’s a crafty son of a bitch. He told me Gerald could live ten more years easy, just out of pure stubbornness. He’s right too. It’d be just like Uncle Gerald to keep himself alive to spite me. So I asked what if his plan didn’t work. If he ain’t dead in eight months, you don’t owe me a dime, he told me. Made it like a bet. Of course, I ended up doing all the real work, like lugging that kerosene up there. All he done was tell me where the resort’s cameras were. If I knew I could sell that land on my own, and quick, the way C.J. claimed he could, I’d have said the hell with him.”

  Darby bit his lower lip, cursed softly.

  “We should have done what I said.”

  “What was that?”

  “Burn Gerald’s house down. Matter of fact, I was all for doing that first but C.J. said this was safer, no arson investigators, or risk of being spotted at Gerald’s place.”

  “You’d have done it with Gerald in the house?”

  “No need for that,” Darby said. “We’d have waited while he was off to town or church, made it look like it started in the fireplace. Like I told C.J., soon as Gerald saw it he’d have keeled over right then and there. He’d figure God or something was getting back at him for burning William’s house down. But even if that didn’t do it, he wouldn’t be living in that farmhouse no more. If the fish kill didn’t work, that was what we were going to do next. It would have been the sure thing to put him in the ground.” Darby shook his head and sighed. “If we’d have done it that way, we’d already have a FOR SALE sign in the ground.”

  Thirty-six

  A snapping turtle hauls itself toward the stream. Not a short journey: the shell’s gray mosaic dusted brown. To this meadow from
where? A smaller stream? Or some miles off, a drought-drained pond? I think of my grandfather in another meadow years ago, a divining rod trembling in his hand. Right here, he’d told his neighbor. I’d been with him that day, but had there really been water? If I was told, I have no memory of it.

  Soon Gerald and I will be on his porch stringing beans and filling a washtub. We’ll ponder the mountains, watch the woolly worm’s coat to see how cold the winter will be. Watch fog saddle the mountainsides white. Soon.

  I look at what I’ve written and watch the turtle move through the grass, over the spoon dip of the trail, into woods soon slanting toward water.

  From the dying drool of a farm pond

  where deep-most dock legs are dry,

  let it plod through field and pasture

  to find lasting water, let it pulse

  the creek pool’s muddy heart,

  then rise, a slow becoming,

  like a bruise summoning

  its own harsh beauty

  and survive

  If not today then soon, gray clouds will gather. Let it come so I might hear leaf splats, watch the wet blotch, taste on my tongue, feel on my face the pentecost of petrichor.

  And afterward:

  as the storm moves on

  rain trickles off

  the leaves

  like an afterthought

  Thirty-seven

  When Jarvis came back, I had him take Darby downstairs and put him in a cell. No paperwork yet, I said. I told Ruby I needed to be left alone and shut my door. After twenty minutes I’d thought and rethought things enough to make a choice. I spent the next hour making phone calls and typing up a confession, then told Jarvis to bring Darby back upstairs.

  I pointed at a seat and closed the door. Darby set his left leg over his right knee, then began scratching his ankle. Thinking of that bag of crystal Shilo was dipping into at that very moment. Or at least his body was thinking about it. But then I saw it wasn’t meth bugs. Darby’s sock had a hole and his fingers tugged at the cloth to conceal it. Sent to prison twice for theft, then trying to kill his own uncle, but a worn-out sock was what shamed him.