Grayton Winds

by Michael Lindley

  Sensing that all of this was extremely awkward I tried to move the conversation in a different direction. “Sheriff, how are you coming with the Howard boy’s case?”

  The peace officer stood more upright, as if he was now officially on duty and considered his comments for a few moments before he hesitantly said, “Actually, there are a couple of new developments.” He declined to elaborate, but said some new information had recently presented itself and he was following up on the leads.

  Seeing this was going nowhere new I told Eleanor that Lila Dalton was the owner and manager of the Beach Hotel, which she seemed to think was extremely exciting. She went on asking Lila question after question about the operation. Lila reluctantly indulged her and I pulled Crowe aside and asked, “Lucas, really, what can you tell me about Seth?”

  “The kid had more enemies than you can imagine,” he replied. “That’s all I can honestly tell you just now.”

  Lila and Eleanor had finished their exchange. Lucas Crowe took Lila’s hand and they continued on to the beach. As Eleanor and I walked back up to the road to the Headley’s place, we saw Sara and Melanee up on my porch. More awkward introductions, was all I could think as Eleanor and I walked up to join them. Again, I introduced Eleanor as my friend and again I received the expected pinch on the arm. Sara Dalton was quite pleasant and explained her daughter had wanted to come over to feed my little bird friend, Champ. Not unexpectedly, Champ was ever present on the porch rail and Melanee was excitedly handing him tiny morsels of broken bread crumbs. Then the bird squawked at me like I was interfering with his feeding schedule.

  Eleanor broke the uncomfortable moment among us all by saying, “Sara, we just met your mother and her boyfriend, the sheriff, going down to the beach.”

  Sara nodded. Her face remained impassive and emotionless as she answered, “The sheriff has been a good friend.”

  I also sensed that Sara was trying too hard to be cordial and then her daughter made everything even more prickly by asking, “So Mathew, do you really love her?” Her comment caught me off guard. I wasn’t ready to answer, certainly not under the present circumstances.

  “Do I love Eleanor?” I said, repeating the question to gather more time to either bail myself out or figure how to change the subject. I noticed everyone was paying close attention to what my answer might be. My heart and my mind were racing to actually answer the question for myself. Certainly, I was attracted to and enjoyed being with Eleanor Whitlock, but was there more to it than that? In my heart, I knew I had been in love before and I knew the intensity of the emotion. There was something different here, not necessarily better or worse, just different. The feelings for a young nurse in France had faded only a little over the past years; the raw memories of my short time with Hanna Wesley still vivid and painful. Finally, without really knowing the consequences of my words, I said, “Yes, I do love Eleanor, she’s a wonderful girl.”

  Sara looked at me and managed a smile and I tried to read the expression on little Melanee’s face, but she turned away toward Champ to feed him another crumble of bread. Eleanor, on the other hand, responded with a grand show of affection and a big hug and kiss on my cheek.

  Sara reached for her daughter’s hand. “We really need to go, sweetie,” she said. Melanee protested, but Sara was insistent they needed to get back over to the hotel to help with the lunch preparations. I watched the two of them walk off and my thoughts were mixed emotions of delight they were together and Melanee had been reunited with her mother, but also a lingering sadness that even together, they were still mostly alone in the world and both had a difficult road ahead.

  Eleanor had to be back at work that night at Palumbo’s club and I offered to drive her into town. Along the way, we spoke occasionally about passing sights or things happening at the club, but nothing about my earlier expression of love, which I found both troubling and relieving at the same time. I really didn’t want to explore the sentiment expressed in any more detail, at least for now. I did find myself looking over at this woman next to me and in one moment being totally mesmerized by the loveliness of her face and the incredible proportions of her bare legs stretching out from the hem of her dress on the car’s seat; while in the next, thinking I really knew very little about her. We seemed to be plunging too fast into this relationship. Again, I thought of Hanna and how certain I had been about my emotions and feelings for her, right up until I realized how misguided that had been. So how did I really feel about Eleanor Whitlock? Passion and love can prove to be far different fellows, as I had learned in previous affairs of the heart. In the end, before we pulled up in front of her house, I rationalized in my mind why shouldn’t I take comfort in the arms of this woman? If all of the emotions around that weren’t terribly clear right at the moment, certainly all such things would sort themselves out eventually.

  I walked Eleanor to the door and we kissed goodbye.

  “Can you stay in town tonight?” she asked.

  “Sure, I’ll see you down at the club later,” I said, and she kissed me again before going inside.

  I drove down the beach road in Panama City, looking out at the few shops and small hotels along the way and people walking along the road. Having been away from Atlanta for so many months, even this little town was beginning to seem crowded and bustling; the flurry of activity certainly a contrast to the tranquil existence I now lived in Grayton Beach.

  One of the shops along the strip suddenly caught my attention and I hit the brakes hard and turned into the parking area. I walked through the door of the storefront and my senses were assaulted by the sounds and smells of animals of all sorts. The pet shop seemed abandoned, other than the many furry, feathery and finny creatures that all seemed to react wildly to my arrival. Then a little man came out through a curtain in the back. He was quite small actually, barely able to see above the counter he now came around. His hair was graying, nearly white in fact, and thinly sparsed across the sunburned dome of his head. The features of his face reminded me of a dog breed, a specific name and breed that escaped me. A boxer perhaps, I thought later. Heavy jowls on the sides of his face seemed to pull his lower lip down revealing an uneven line of stained teeth. When he spoke, the animals seemed to calm and listen as well. “You look like you need some assistance,” he offered.

  A short while later I walked out of the store with exactly what I had hoped to find.

  When I arrived at Palumbo’s later that night the place was characteristically packed to the seams with people of all walks of life; many I now recognized from my previous visits. Palumbo was holding court as usual at his regular table over in the corner, a position that afforded him a clear view of who was coming and going. His bodyguard, Anthony, was standing near the door again making sure all was safe and secure for his notorious boss. I decided to leave Palumbo to his entourage and I sat down at the bar. Eleanor noticed me come in. She came over and greeted me affectionately. All I could think was she would jeopardize her tips for the evening if she aligned herself too publicly with me in the club. She hurried away to one of her tables. My drink came and I sipped at the whiskey, looking at my face in the mirror behind the bar. Then there was another face there beside me and I turned to see Sheriff Lucas Crowe standing next to my stool. I held my hands out as if to be cuffed and said, “I confess, I’ve been drinking some very good hooch. Are you going to take me away?”

  Crowe laughed hard and then looked around at the club and all its patrons. “I don’t have near enough handcuffs, son.”

  “Is it appropriate for me to offer to buy an officer of the law a drink, under the circumstances of the Volstead Act and your duty vows and such?”

  He didn’t laugh this time and simply said, “Just buy me a damn drink, Coulter.” When it was delivered and he had taken a thirsty draw from the cup he looked out across the crowd again, his eyes coming to rest on Palumbo. “Your friend and his ape over there,” he said, now glancing toward Anthony, “seem to have extremely solid
stories for their whereabouts during the time Seth Howard was killed.”

  I was honestly relieved to hear Willie Palumbo was no longer a suspect, but the sheriff’s next comment nearly knocked me off my stool. “I do know Mr. Palumbo’s wife had been having a little action on the side with the Howard boy.” I tried not to overreact and struggled to seem surprised. “Yeah, he was banging Palumbo’s wife,” the sheriff said. “If the old crook didn’t kill Howard, he sure as hell would have if he’d found out. I also heard about the fight they had down at the beach during the engagement party.”

  I assumed Lila had finally decided to share all she knew about the situation. I thought immediately how critical it was Palumbo never learn of her role in giving this information to the police. I had to trust Crowe would be discreet. I asked the obvious question, “So you’re sure Palumbo had nothing to do with this?”

  Crowe nodded in the affirmative as he took another sip from his drink. “You probably know Howard and his dad were running moonshine.” I shook my head no. “Yeah, guess there wasn’t enough money just raising those damn pigs. I got several families across the county making shine. None really appreciate the work of the others, if you know what I mean.”

  “So, you think the liquor business got him killed?” I asked.

  “Pretty damn good chance.” Then Eleanor walked up. I watched as Crowe made room and then took a long appraising look up and down. “Well, hello Miss Whitlock,” he said, taking her hand. I was surprised he remembered her name. Eleanor smiled back and then I noticed she was trying to get her hand back from the sheriff. When she managed to free herself, she told us Palumbo wanted us to come over and join him at his table and then she was off again.

  Crowe finished his drink in one long swallow. “I gotta go.” I could see why he wasn’t particularly interested in socializing with Palumbo. “Give the old bastard my regards,” he said, and then he walked toward the door. I watched as Anthony stepped aside slowly for him to leave the club. Then I looked over at Palumbo. He was watching me and nodded with his head for me to come over. When I reached the table, he pushed out a chair next to him. As I was sitting down, a young couple who had been sitting there had gotten up to leave. They lifted their glasses in a toast to Palumbo as they walked away.

  “How you doing, son?” he asked, and didn’t wait for an answer before he continued. “Keeping some interesting company these days.” He was looking at the door Sheriff Lucas Crowe had just departed through.

  “Crowe tells me he’s convinced you had nothing to do with Seth Howard.”

  “He better damn well believe it,” Palumbo said.

  “Did you know Seth and his old man were running moonshine?” I asked.

  “Shit yes,” he responded with a snort and a laugh. “Damn amateurs, but yeah, I even brought a little of their supply into the club, but it ain’t worth a damn.” He wiggled in his seat to get more comfortable and then he leaned close. “Been looking for you, Mathew. My friends in Atlanta got in touch with me today. They’ve got a line on your sister’s husband up there. Seems he took off to Miami. They know where he’s staying down there.”

  I looked at the old gangster and just had to marvel at the reach of his contacts and connections. I tried to remain calm as I thought about Desmond Raye on the run in Miami.

  “You should let me talk to your old man,” Palumbo said. “He and I can work out the details on this. That sonofabitch, Raye, will have his ass back in Atlanta served up on a platter in no time.”

  As I listened to Palumbo’s offer of assistance I had to ask, “Willie, why are you going out of your way like this?”

  “What, you don’t want my help?” he said with an irritated growl.

  “Don’t misunderstand. I appreciate what you’re doing, but don’t you have enough going on to keep you busy?”

  Palumbo smiled and looked out across his crowded club. “It’s business, kid,” he said. “I’ve always got time for business.”

  As the evening progressed and the liquor continued to flow, the prospects of spending the night here in town with Eleanor Whitlock seemed even more attractive. While Palumbo continued to chat away about this and that, I couldn’t help but watch her work the room, moving gracefully among the crowded tables, laughing with the customers and slapping away hands that tried to get a little too friendly. The tip jar she carried on her tray was spilling over with bills. Occasionally she would stop to check on us and usually whisper something in my ear about what she had planned for us later that night back at her place. She was just walking away again when I noticed one of the bartenders coming up to Palumbo and handing him a note. He unfolded it and read the message and then turned to me with a different expression. Suddenly the jovial look on his face faded and he leaned over to speak to me above the din of the crowd. “Your sister’s on the phone in the back, kid. Sounds like your old man’s sick.”

  A few minutes later I found myself in the backseat of Palumbo’s car, Anthony up front driving us out of town. Palumbo had offered to have his man take me to Tallahassee to try to catch a train into Atlanta in the morning.

  When I had picked up the phone it was difficult to hear and Maggie was crying, but eventually she was able to tell me my father had been found slumped over his desk unconscious earlier that evening. She was down at the hospital with our mother. The doctors seemed to think he had suffered a severe stroke. They had been able to stabilize him, but he had still not regained consciousness. I didn’t hesitate for a moment in telling Maggie I would be there as soon as I could.

  Eleanor had seen me heading toward the door and stopped me. When I explained what had happened, I was surprised to see her eyes well up and then a tear fall down her cheek. I asked if she would take care of my car and the present I had purchased earlier that day. She hugged me and said she would miss me and to please hurry back as soon as I could. The taste of her kiss was still lingering as I looked out at the bright lights of Panama City fading behind us.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Maggie met me at the train station in downtown Atlanta the next day. It was nearly five in the afternoon and the long trip had been dreadful from the beginning. The summer heat intensified inside the tight cabin of the train and even with all of the windows down it was stifling. As we pulled through one small town after another and on through endless farms and hilly woodlands across southern Georgia, I kept thinking about my father and how we had left things between the two of us. My emotions reached from deep sadness and fear he may die and we would never be able to make it right between us, to a guilty feeling of acceptance the old bastard had got what was coming to him.

  In the waiting room at the hospital which was just a mile from our home we met my mother who had not slept since they had brought my father in. She looked a terrible mess and the fear in her eyes was unsettling to see. After long embraces and tears, she said, “He’s been showing some improvement. He opened his eyes an hour ago and seems to be aware when people are in the room.” She paused. “But he still hasn’t been able to speak or even react to anyone.”

  Maggie led me down a long corridor and a nurse who was working on some papers outside my father’s room nodded it was okay for us to go in. The room was dimly lit with the shades pulled down tight. The antiseptic smell of the place was overpowering. My mother and sister stood back as I walked up to the bed. My father was lying there with his eyes closed, a sheet covering only his lower half as the room was terribly hot. I was startled to see his face looked as if it had aged ten years overnight and his skin had a gray, ashen cast. I reached out slowly and placed my hand on his arm. It was cool and clammy feeling. I leaned in close and whispered, “Pop, I’m here. It’s Mathew.”

  His body stirred some and then I watched as his eyes opened slowly like he had barely enough energy to lift his eyelids. At first he looked straight up at the ceiling, but then very slowly his gaze turned toward me. Our eyes met and he just stared at me with no change of expression for a few moments. I squeez
ed his hand and said again, “I’m here, Pop.”

  The deep wrinkles along the outer edges of his eyes seemed to tighten and then one corner of his mouth started to quiver. He was able to will it to turn up just ever so little to show a weak smile. Then I could feel the weak grip of his hand tighten some. It looked like he was trying to speak, but couldn’t find enough energy to form the words. I pulled up a chair and sat down next to the bed, taking his hand again. Maggie and my mother said they would go find something for us to eat.

  I ended up spending the entire night sitting there by the bed and woke the next morning with my head lying on the sheet next to my father. When I realized where I was I tried to stand. A pain shot through my neck and back from the odd angle I had slept. I managed to stretch out the kinks and looked down at my father who was still asleep. Through the night and fitful periods of dozing I kept thinking about what this all meant to the family and to the business. My brother Jess was sadly gone and my father’s other lieutenant, his son-in-law Desmond Raye, had turned on us all. Maggie and my mother had never shown any interest in the business, which ultimately led this trail of management succession back to me. I found myself racked with guilt when I thought angrily about where all of this had now put me. The last place I ever wanted to be was moving into the position and responsibilities of my father. I had absolutely no interest and after the events before I left Atlanta, I was sure in my conviction I would never be a part of that world again. It wasn’t just my abhorrence of the violence that now seemed to inundate my father’s world, but oddly, some vague notion all of this was just so needless. Yet, how could I abandon my family at a time like this? What kind of man would just walk away and say, sorry, not interested?