by Catie Rhodes
“Jesse told me I was present at my father’s murder.”
Hooty drew in a deep breath.
“You knew, right? Everybody but me knew, right?”
Hooty gripped the wheel and wouldn’t look at me. “I wish he hadn’t told you. Your grandmother will be fit to be tied.”
“What’s the big secret? Why didn’t they use my testimony to clear Jesse?”
“Do you remember any details of what happened?” Hooty pulled over in the parking lot of a closed gas station.
“I know Jesse didn’t do it.”
“But do you know who did?” He took off his seatbelt and faced me.
I tried to remember the day my father died, tried to picture what happened right before the awful moment when someone killed him. I tried with all my might.
Hooty grunted and dug in his console, handing me a plastic packet of tissues. “Your nose. There’s blood.” He watched me clean myself. “This is why we quit asking you questions. My father used his powers as a judge to suppress your presence at the crime scene. Your uncle agreed not to make you testify on his behalf since you remembered nothing.”
“The sheriff didn’t insist?”
“You don’t remember Joey Holze’s father, do you? He made his son look like law enforcer of the year. He didn’t care, long as the case got closed.”
“The witch Tubby Tubman hired speculated both Jesse and I were somehow spelled to forget.”
“My religion does not make room for such beliefs.” Hooty took his keys from the ignition and weighed them in his hand. “That said, my life has taught me not to close my eyes to something without carefully examining it. Did she say more?”
“She thought the memory was still in my head, locked away from where I could easily access it.”
“If this is true, and you could find a way to access it, you’d know the identity of our troublemaker.”
I shivered. “He or she is way more than a troublemaker. But yes.”
Hooty stuck his key into the ignition and started the car. He pulled back onto the busy highway without speaking. We drove for several miles.
“I have a suggestion, but I almost don’t want to say it because it would be a horrible thing for you to put yourself through.”
“Say it anyway. If our troublemaker, as you call them, releases the curse from the treasure, we’re screwed anyway.”
“Start with the case file at the sheriff’s office.” He let out a deep sigh and shook his head. “It’ll have the crime scene photos. Those alone may unlock your memory.”
I took out my cellphone and called Dean. He answered on the first ring.
“I am so glad you called. I owe you an apology for last night. My behavior was completely uncalled for.”
“Mine, too. We need to talk about it, but I’m with Hooty.”
“Oh? What’s up?”
“I need a favor. I want to see the case files for my father’s murder.”
“Wh-uh-why? Knowing what your uncle did won’t help you. It’ll just upset you.”
“I need to know. I’m pretty sure it’s part of the Texas Public Information Act. If I need to go through Rainey—”
“No, no. Save your money. I’m getting off shift in a few minutes. Meet me at the SO.”
Hooty dropped me off at Memaw’s where I picked up the Nova and drove to the sheriff’s office. I waited in my car until Dean rolled up in his cruiser. He had a brief conversation with his patrol partner, Brittany Watson, pointing at me. She gave me a little wave and took off inside. I climbed out and met Dean at the front door. He approached me warily but held out his arms for a hug. I went to him, and he kissed me. I almost forgot why I wanted to do anything but meet him at his house for a late day tryst. He broke the kiss first.
“Please accept my apology. I’m letting the stress get to me and taking it out on you.” He stroked my cheek with his thumb.
“I shouldn’t have taken the bait. Let’s forget it.” I lit up a cigarette. Dean watched with a pained expression on his face.
“Smoking’s tough on your heart, sweetie. Do me a favor and think about cutting back. We’ve been talking about having a baby. You’ll have to quit then anyway. Don’t you want to get a head start?”
Dean liked fixing things—people, animals, situations. He sincerely wanted to help. This wasn’t the time. I dragged hard on my cigarette, enjoying the burn of smoke at the back of throat.
“I’ve been thinking about your request to see your father’s case file. Are you sure you want to? I hate to think about you looking at it.”
“If we’re going to have kids, I need to know what I want to tell them about my daddy and Jesse.” Truth was, I’d told Dean no more than an edited version of my reproductive health. When he said if I wanted kids, he wasn’t getting any younger and wanted to get started soon, I simply nodded. I figured I’d climb the mountain only if I had to.
Dean nodded, his deep blue eyes thoughtful and suddenly sensitive. He took my arm and gently led me inside the building, motioning to Brittany to join us. She gave me a quick hug, which I returned, feeling old, old, old because I used to babysit this young woman.
“Deputy Watson, this citizen wants access to the Paul Mace murder case files, which is her right by law since it is a closed case. I’ll walk you through the process.” Dean went into teaching mode, and I allowed him to settle me at his desk. I zoned out, letting the activity around me buzz my mind numb. The sound of raised voices pulled me back to earth.
“What’s she doing here?” Sheriff Joey Holze limped toward me, leaning heavily on the cane he’d started using the last few months. The gossip grapevine said his diabetes, exacerbated by his obesity, had affected his feet and might cause the loss of his toes if he didn’t watch out. “Y’all finally find something to arrest her for?”
He guffawed. Everybody in the room ignored him. Everybody, that is, except his son, a lousy lawman who only kept his job because of workplace nepotism. I kept my face empty of expression, remembering the time Joey Holze told me he’d love to see me in jail right next to my murdering uncle.
Dean came from the back of the office, face set and legs pumping fast to get him between Joey and me. “Sheriff?”
Joey turned to Dean. “Thought I told you not to bring her in here. Meet her somewhere else if you got to associate with her.”
“Sheriff, she’s here as a citizen of Burns County, requesting to see the Paul Mace murder case files. We can’t refuse her.” Dean, bless his heart, was still in teaching mode. Joey reddened, and his hand tightened on his cane. For a second, it seemed like he was gearing up to raise it and hit Dean. I sort of hoped he would. It would expose the meanness inside him for everybody to see.
“I know what the damn law is,” he hollered. “I been practicing it since you was smoking dope and chasing girls.”
Dean closed his eyes. I knew he was counting to ten, a trick he’d learned from me. When he opened them, he smiled and straightened.
“Of course, sir. Sorry about that. We can’t find the Paul Mace file. There’s no record of it being checked out, either,” Dean said.
“So?” The sheriff jutted out his chin, looking for all the world like a bull about to charge.
“Do you happen to know where it might be? Sir?” The cords in Dean’s neck stood out. He’d told me his opinion of Sheriff Joey’s law enforcing skills enough times for me to figure he wanted to jump up and down and demand answers.
“Well, hell no I don’t.” I’ve seen TV police talk about knowing someone was lying and always wondered what they meant. No more wondering for me. Sheriff Joey knew exactly what happened to my father’s case file. “Who really cares? Every Mace I’ve ever known was about one step above white trash.”
Dean opened his mouth and closed it with a pop, his face turning red and a vein in his forehead thumping.
“Get her out of my office.” Joey leveled a thick finger at me. “You ain’t sheriff, but I am, and I want her trashy bee-hind out of here.”
<
br /> I stood, gathered my purse, and walked out of the sheriff’s office. I could have stayed, could have made Dean defend my honor, but the election was soon. If Dean won, Joey would be out of the office for good. If he didn’t, well, Dean would probably be out of a job and none of it would matter anyway. Footsteps pounded behind me, and Dean caught up to me. He put both hands on my shoulders.
“I’m sorry. Usually he’s gone home by this time of day.”
“He knows where the files are,” I said.
“I know. I know. But what can I do? Unless I can prove he has the files or did away with them, I’m stuck.” He opened my car door. “In a few days, everything will be different. One way or the other. Even if I lose, I’ll be glad. Not a day goes by without him telling me how honest he’s being by letting me keep my job.”
“He’d look like a tyrant if he fired you. Can’t believe he’s got sense enough to know it.” I got into my car, wincing as a wave of stale heat hit my face. Sweat oozing from my pores, I started the car and used my cigarette lighter to turn the air conditioner on high so the knob wouldn’t burn my fingers. Dean leaned into the car and trailed his fingers down the back of my neck. The usual heat ignited in me, but the whereabouts of those files kept me from really getting into it. I could conduct an internet investigation of my father’s murder, but it would just be newspaper articles and gossip—in other words, what other people thought happened. I wanted to see exactly what the sheriff’s office found at the crime scene, who they talked to, and what those people said.
Dean continued stroking my neck, probably mistaking my pondering for hurt feelings. “I’ve got a little paperwork to wrap up inside, but why don’t you meet me at my place? A couple of hours?”
I forced myself into the moment and put my hand over his.
“I’d like to spend some time with you.” The heat in his eyes melted me. “Some alone time.”
My brain short-circuited. Memaw’s health had dictated the physical side of our relationship for the last couple of months. The idea of spending a few uninterrupted hours in his rundown house almost made me forget why I’d come to the sheriff’s office in the first place.
“Two hours?”
Dean nodded, and I started my car. He waved and went back inside the building, where sharing space with Sheriff Joey Holze must have been more hellish than the August heat. I sat in my idling car, enjoying the blast of the air conditioner and thinking of ways I might be able to find out more about the sheriff’s investigation of my father’s murder. The official papers were obviously lost to me. I decided to go with an internet investigation and put my car in gear. My cellphone rang. I put the car back in park and dug it out of my bag.
Julie. I’d forgotten about the message I left her. I answered.
“Good news. I found the box. One of my distant cousins has it. He doesn’t sound real interested in letting go of it, but he’s got back taxes due on his property. You want to go see him?”
“I’ll be at Silver Dreams in five minutes.” I intended to get this guy’s address off Julie and go use whatever means needed to get the box from him. I sent Dean a quick text message.
Sorry, babe. I’ve got to cancel. Maybe another time?
He didn’t reply.
13
On the short drive to Silver Dreams antiques, I worked through my strategy.
This cousin of Julie’s might be ready to get rid of the box to cover his expenses. But I wouldn’t hold my breath. Considering how long this family had held onto the thing despite the horrible fortune they’d experienced, however, I expected the opposite reaction.
There were two ways I could play it. On the bottom of the box was an image of the same raven I wore tattooed on my arm. I still had the picture of Priscilla Herrera as the tattooed lady on my cellphone. Her matching tattoo was blurry but visible. It was, at best, shaky proof of our shared blood. It might work, but only if Julie’s cousin already wanted to get rid of the box.
The second ploy had a better chance of working, but I didn’t want to do it in front of Julie. If all else failed, I’d use my freakishness—the same stuff I’d inherited from Priscilla herself—to scare this guy into selling me the box. If he even half believed his family’s bad luck had originated with the box, I figured I had a good chance.
I swung into a paid parking spot in front of Silver Dreams and walked inside without feeding the meter. I hoped to be back in my car and on the road before I got a parking ticket.
I almost ran right into Barbie. She smiled and threw her arms around me, squeezing me so hard my back popped. I pushed away from her, resisting the urge to snap at her not to touch me.
“You excited about the final debate tonight?” She wore a cheap button on her blouse endorsing Joey Holze. Following my gaze, she giggled and clapped her hand over it. “He and I were friends back when I lived here, and he personally asked me to wear one. You know me. I can’t say no.”
Thinking of the men revolving through her life, I felt my lips stretch into a nasty smile until I realized I did pretty much the same thing before I met Dean. Cheeks heating, I crossed my arms over my chest and slumped.
“So you and Julie are going on a buying trip? You don’t strike me as an antique lover.” She scrunched up her face, somehow keeping her smile intact while she did it.
“I have some expertise on this one item.”
Barbie waited for me to explain, but I turned away from her, looking for Julie and thinking about shouting for her. I might have done it had the shop not been full of middle-aged yuppie tourists.
Julie thundered down the stairs from the loft, her purse in her hand.
“You don’t have to waste the time to go with me,” I said. “I can get his address and go by myself.”
“He made it clear he wouldn’t talk to anybody other than me about the box. It’s been in the family since—well, you know.” Even with estranged, distant relatives, Julie hesitated to call them grave robbers.
I closed my eyes and shook my head. Can this possibly get more complicated? Julie never hesitated to hire me for odd jobs. Though I suspected Eddie used their friendship to convince her to try my services, I’d done everything I could to earn her trust. She gave me a steady twenty hours a week work in her shop during tourist season. We got on well. She once told me, however, she was really surprised and impressed how down to earth I was considering the rumors she’d heard about me. If I played this wrong, she might never speak to me again, much less hire me. No telling what she’d do to me socially. I might never get hired for day labor again in Burns County.
“You ready?” She motioned to the back door where she kept her delivery truck. Why on earth would we need that big, old behemoth? Barbie hurried to the counter and grabbed the huge water bottle Julie kept with her all day and gave it to Julie who nodded her thanks.
“I need to move my car, or I’ll get a ticket. Meet you out there.” I gave Barbie a half-smile and hustled my bacon outside.
I found Julie waiting in the passenger seat of the delivery truck.
“You mind driving, baby? I barely got any sleep last night. I am so sad about Eddie.”
There wasn’t much I could say. I climbed in the driver’s side, reminded myself about the huge blind spot on the truck, and started it up.
“Why take this thing?” I had to yell over the engine’s roar. The box isn’t that big.”
“I’ve got to make it look legit.” Julie held up both hands. “He runs sort of a curio business. If we show up bulldozing him about the box, he’ll probably throw us out.”
It was going to be a long morning.
We got on State Highway 59 and boogied south for fifty miles. The delivery truck drove like a tank with no power steering. Within ten minutes, my arms felt like overcooked pasta and my hearing had a permanent hum from the vehicle’s constant rattle. Julie somehow dozed off and slept all the way to Panola County, waking to direct me off the highway and through a maze of farm roads until we reached her cousin’s house. I stop
ped short of pulling into the driveway.
“How long’s it been since you saw this guy?” I couldn’t take my eyes off the tableau before me. I’d never seen anything like it and hoped to never see anything like it again.
“I met him a few times at family reunions.” Julie looked as shocked as I felt. “She turned in her seat and peered at the other properties on the narrow, white sand road. “This has to be the right place. Sign says ‘Mahoney Antiques and Rarities.’”
I pulled into the driveway, bracing myself as we hit the first pothole, worried my head would hit the delivery truck’s roof. Mahoney Rarities and Antiques turned out to be an unpainted frame house, the front yard filled with rusting hulks of antique cars and farm implements amidst doorless refrigerators, tangles of scrap iron, and dangerous, sharp junk camouflaged by the overgrown, dry grass. The most eerie decoration by far was dozens of decapitated doll heads impaled on the chain-link fence circling the house.
We surveyed the tangle of junk in the front yard, and Julie pursed her lips and shook her head.
“It’s just salvage. I thought he might have some real antiques, way he talked on the phone.”
I turned my head to stare at her. I thought we came here to get Priscilla Herrera’s curse box. Julie seemed to have woken into a different reality after her nap. She unbuckled her seatbelt, moving slowly and deliberately. We climbed out of the truck.
The doll heads drew my gaze. Mildewed and cracked from exposure to the intense Texas sun, the light wind made them move like bobble heads. Staring at them too long made me feel dizzy and sick. I swiped a cold sweat off my face and tried to tear my gaze away. I couldn’t. One doll’s eyes opened, displaying human eyes which followed my movements. Cold fingers crawled up my spine.
“You need to make up your mind we probably won’t walk away from here with the item Eddie wanted. It’s been in our family for years and years, and he didn’t sound too interested in letting go of it.”
Then why are we here? She couldn’t be interested in playing “remember when” with this dude. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have waited so long to come see him. Had she really thought this would be a big antique buy for her?
