He hurled the decanter against the stairs where it shattered and put his hand on himself, groaning in his pleasure. He wanted release and it was amazing to him. Last time, he had felt so bad after. He’d been sick as a dog, down on his knees. But wait. What was that sound, something small from outside. He jerked his hand off himself. Beth? Was it Beth? He crossed the foyer, flung open the front door. He would take her, here on the floor of the veranda, or out there in the sweet-smelling grass, heavy and bent with summer rain.
“Beth!” he shouted. And then louder, higher, “Oh, Bethie, darlin’. Come to Daddy.” The thought of her underneath him, his hands on her, his fingers inside her--God, she made him insane. He was panting now and slick with sweat and need. He stumbled going down the stairs, righted himself before he fell. Made himself stop and listen. Caught the sound of-- What? A sob? Her breath on his neck? The wind?
He walked a few steps down the drive. If she’d been smart she’d have taken his car. Keys were in it. But she hadn’t wanted to leave, he thought. No. She wanted him to chase her. She’d always liked that. Little cockteaser. He wondered if she remembered how easily he had taken her before no matter how fast she ran or where. He wondered if she realized he could never let her go. Not now. Not after tonight.
“Beth!” he shouted. He was losing patience. He didn’t want games; he wanted her. Noise poured into his brain, more of it and louder, pounding the walls of his skull. He shouted for her again and listened.
Ah. There. He could hear her now calling him from down the drive, toward where the nigger bitch lived. He went in that direction. Stopped. Called out, “Bethie?” And the grin was in his voice like the hot, sweet taste of her was in his mouth. Yeah, he heard her answering him. He caught a glimpse of her, too, the gleam of a bare white thigh, the full pearled contour of her breast, there in the woods behind that nigger’s cabin. That was her; he was certain of it. He went in that direction plunging into the trees, heedless of the wet, only wanting to get to her, to have his hands on her, to plunge himself inside her.
She would remember then what they’d had, been, together, and she would not want to go. She would not want to leave him. She would understand that he couldn’t let her get away. Not a second time.
Chapter Sixteen
“Maizie.” Beth called her name softly as she stepped into the front room of the cabin. It was empty.
“Where is she, Mommy?” Chrissy whispered.
“I don't know, honey.” Beth kept Chrissy's hand in hers, hesitant to move. Then she heard a low moan coming from the back of the house. “Maizie?”
“Here, child. In here.” Her voice was so weak, scarcely more than a disembodied sigh. She was lying half on her bed, her feet dragging the floor.
Beth crossed the room quickly, her heart jammed in her throat.
“Hep me get up on here, can you?”
Beth took hold of Maizie's knees and lifted them onto the mattress. She lay back, breath coming in rapid, shallow swells. A thin layer of sweat coated her smooth brown face.
“Is she sick?”
Beth smoothed the cap of Chrissy’s curls distractedly as she bent over Maizie. “Is it your heart?”
No answer, not that Beth needed one. She touched Maizie’s cheek, her neck beneath her ear and she could feel Maizie's pulse fluttering beneath her fingertips, a rapid discordant arrhythmia. She caught Maizie’s gaze. “What are we going to do? You need a doctor, but your car's gone. Where is it?”
Maizie’s hands fluttered upward. “What you an' this child doin' out this time of night? Where's Mr. Charlie?”
“Oh, Maizie. I don't want to tell you.” Beth pressed her knuckles against her mouth.
Maizie's grip on Beth’s arm tightened. “What’s that man done? Tinker. What's he done?”
Beth closed her eyes feeling the pull of hysteria and bit hard against an urge to fall in with it. She sank to the side of the bed.
“Tell me.”
“He--he killed Mama. Ch--choked her and threw her down the stairs. I s--saw him.”
Maizie groaned.
“Something's wrong with him. He's acting crazy.” Beth hugged her middle, rocking slightly, and settled down a bit when she felt Chrissy clutch her leg.
“I been so afraid a this,” the old woman panted. She struggled to sit up. “Got to go there, get to Miz Lucy.”
“No, Maizie. It’s too late.”
She fell back. “Tell me it ain’t so. It’s a nightmare. I gon wake up now.” A great sob broke from her chest, and she shuddered, but suddenly, her jaw went slack. The color bled from her flesh until it was the color of ash.
“Maizie? Maizie, don't.” Beth took Maizie's shoulders in her hands. “Don't you dare go away on me now.”
Beside her, Chrissy patted her knee and whimpered, but Beth was scarcely aware. She tapped her fingers against Maizie’s cheeks. “You've got to help us. He knows I saw him. Oooh, you stubborn old woman,” she squealed as her hands flew from face to neck to wrist searching for a pulse. “Don't you die on me, too.”
Chrissy began wailing. “I want Daddy. Where's Daddy?”
Beth pulled the child to her side. “Chrissy, you have to be quiet. Please.”
“Hush, both of you.”
At the sound of Maizie’s voice, Beth whipped around, words spilling. “Thank, God! Are you all right? You're scaring me. You don't look right. You need a doctor. Mama's dead--” She bit her lip.
Maizie raised shaky hands to Beth shoulders. “Are you sure?”
“They were arguing. He was shouting, saying terrible things, calling her names.” Beth paused. “She was pregnant, Maizie. Did you know?”
Maizie pinned Beth with a hard stare. “This got somethin' to do with the farm, with him gettin' the farm, you mark my word.”
“He said he'd kill her if I got too close so I stopped.” Beth sagged over her knees, mumbled into her palms, “But he killed her anyway. I couldn’t stop him.”
Maizie's hand stirred the hair on the crown of Beth's head. “Honey, you see he can't let you go. You gotta get away. You and this child gotta make a run. Get to the sheriff in town. Take my car. Keys are on the hook by the door.”
“But your car's not here. It's gone.”
“What you mean--?” Sudden remembrance lit the old woman's eyes. “I let Charlie take it.”
“Charlie?”
“He stopped by here a while ago. I gave him some tea. We talked an’ I tol’ him to git on home. He didn't come back?”
Beth shook her head. “He overheard me and Mama talking about Jason, what happened, you know, and--”
“He tol me. His pride’s hurt, honey. I 'spect he needs time, prob'ly drivin' 'round right now, maybe done stopped in some bar, havin' hisself a drink. But he'll be back. That man loves you. I saw it in his eyes.” Maizie touched Beth's cheek.
“Can you get up? We should go. We can’t let Jason find us here.”
“Honey, ain't no way I'm gettin out this bed tonight. I'm plumb wore out.”
“Beth?”
Jason’s shout crashed into the tiny bedroom, careening around the dark walls.
Beth fell to her knees pulling Chrissy down with her.
“You in there with that nigger, darlin’? Better come on out now.”
Maizie pushed her. “You got to get up and go. Now!”
“But we can't leave you.”
“You got to. I'll hold him up 'long as I can.”
Beth rose with Chrissy in her arms. “I'm afraid of what he'll do.”
“He scared of me. Scared if he touch me, some of this black'll rub off on him. Go on now.”
Beth stood hesitant, debating. Seconds ticked. What if Charlie were to come back? She started to ask Maizie, but the scrape of Jason's boot heels sounding as close as Maizie’s front door cut her thought, her breath.
Maizie whispered, “Lordy, Tinker's on the porch! Quick!” She rose, coughing, onto her elbow and gestured. “Get out the window, yonder. It's the only way.”
Beth’s mouth dried. “That’s more than a ten foot drop to the ground back here.”
“You got to do it, honey. Jus' go and don't think about it.”
Taking Chrissy into her arms, Beth went to the window and stared down. Chrissy's arms and legs were wound tightly around her; her face was buried in Beth's neck. After a moment, the damp need in her small frightened sobs penetrated the hide of Beth's panic and despair like nothing else could. Her child was dependent on her. There wasn't anyone else. Except for Maizie, there never had been.
Beth glanced back at the old woman who had been more mother to her than Beth’s own mother had ever been. “I'll be back with help,” she promised, and flinging up the window, she pushed out the screen.
“Don't worry none 'bout me,” Maizie said. “I ain't scared a Tinker. If I had the strength I b'lieve I'd kill him with my bare hands after what he done and be pleased if the Lord would take me right after. I wished I'd done took care a that man a long time ago.”
Beth threw one leg and then the other over the sill, and holding Chrissy, dropped to the rain-soaked ground. They landed hard; Beth felt her ankle twist painfully underneath her, but somehow she managed to hang onto her daughter, to get back on her feet. She limped into the trees that rimmed the back of Maizie’s property. She didn’t look back. If she had she would have seen Lamby where he lay abandoned on a bed of pine needles, one shiny button eye trained to the sky.
Chapter Seventeen
Outside the grandstand, the rain had stopped. Moonlight glazed the top edge of the darkened tote board and glistened in the grass of the infield. Charlie turned from the simulcast monitor cheerfully slapping his open palm with the folded edge of his racing form. His handicapping had paid off.
His “four-legged son” as the cowboy referred to Goodtime Charlie, had won by a head over Island Bird. Cowboy had bet “Charlie” too, and they went together to the window to collect. The cashier, an old man with a couple of front teeth missing, doled out Charlie’s winnings without a glance, but when Cowboy handed his tickets over, he glanced up, did a double take and hollered, “My Gawd! Where you been, boy?”
“Over at Delta. Got a sister in Louisiana. Went to visit. Now I'm retired I got a lotta time on my hands.”
The cashier nodded. “I hear ya'. But I'd never believe you was outta the racing business for good.”
“You're right, it's in my blood. Can't stay away for long.”
“You take care now, you hear?” the old man said. “Don’t be a stranger.”
Charlie took a closer look at the cowboy as they walked away, thinking he should have guessed from his height, his slim build. “Seems like you're more than just a familiar face around here.”
“I've done a little riding in my time.”
“And here I’ve been calling you Cowboy all night.”
“I’ve answered to worse.”
“So, are you famous?”
“You played the ponies awhile you might have seen my name a time or two,” he said.
They sat at the table. Cowboy was drinking another beer. He used the bottle to gesture at Charlie. “Seems like you're having a pretty good night.”
Charlie glanced up from the racing form. “Can't complain, but this one coming up is my last. I don’t want to push my luck.”
“What are you looking at?”
“Can't make up my mind.” Charlie studied the page and finally settled on a ten-to-one long shot named Morning Bagel, betting four hundred dollars that the horse, a four-year old filly, would win.
“Why not?” he said to Cowboy when they resumed their places in front of the simulcast monitor. “I'm on their money. And if I lose, I'm definitely headed for the house.” He assumed his stance. He faced the screen, but he wasn’t concentrating. It didn’t register when the horses were loaded into the gate. He didn’t note the action when a colt named Nasty Little Baby broke out in front with Morning Bagel settling into second on the rail.
His stare drifted, his mind put Beth in his focus. He thought of how she’d cried as he left her ... real tears ... and begged him not to leave. The idea of Beth begging and crying was just ... unreal was the only word he could come up with. Charlie ran his hand over his hair. A sense of unease rode through him, illogical, foolish, like that old black witch woman Maizie and her dire warnings.
“Looky there!” The cowboy was jostling his arm and gesturing at the screen. “She's making her move. See her? Ole Willie's got the whip out. He ain't takin' no for an answer. That's for sure!”
Charlie came to himself, whispering, “Go!” under his breath. “Go, Bagel. Go, Bagel....” Louder now, he repeated the litany. Chipped bits of turf flew from beneath the horse's hooves as she surged along the inside rail. With the finish line looming, she came abreast of Nasty Little Baby, winning by a head at the wire. Charlie let out a whoop and turning to the cowboy high-fived him.
“So, I guess you'll be heading out now?” Cowboy was at his elbow when Charlie pocketed his winnings.
“Yeah. That's it for me. I’ve left my wife and little girl alone long enough.”
“Well, it was good meeting you.” They shook hands, then Cowboy said, “I know you said you didn't know how long you'd be around, but why don't you write down where I can get hold of you? If I get onto something good, I'll call you.”
Charlie shrugged and pulled out the wad of losing tote tickets from his jeans pocket. The top one had Miss Clawdy's name on it. “You got a pen?”
“Yeah.” Cowboy dug in his pocket.
“I dropped fifty bucks on this nag,” Charlie said.
“At least it’s good for something,” Cowboy answered.
“I don't know the phone number.” He glanced up at the cowboy. “But you can probably get it from information. It's a farm out near Wither Creek. The Clayton farm. My wife's mother owns it.” He wrote that down and Lucy's name.
Cowboy said he knew the town, knew an old boy out there had a stable.
Charlie handed the ticket over, and the men shook hands again.
On his way out, Charlie tossed his racing form into the trash along with the rest of the loser tickets, and as he headed out the door, he was whistling.
Chapter Eighteen
Jason flipped the light switch beside Maizie’s front door. Nothing happened. Electricity was still out. He peered into the gloom. Goddamned if he’d stand here playing fucking cat and mouse with these bitches all night.
“Beth?” He moved from the front room into the hallway. “Better come on out.”
“Beth ain't here, fool.” Maizie’s voice drifted at him.
He moved toward it, stepped over the threshold of her bedroom doorway. He could just make out the old woman’s bulk on the bed beyond. He felt the weight of her gaze as if it carried the burden of eternal damnation; he felt the hair rise on his scalp and it pissed him off. By god he was sick of her, goddamned spooky nigger bitch.
“I know what you done, Tinker. Beth tol’ me ‘bout her mama. Least there’s one good thing, you gonna burn in hell for sure now. I don't got to work on it no more.”
“Where is she?” Jason took a step closer to the bed.
“You're a dead man. Certain forces been summoned by what you done. You may walk yet awhile, but in the end there ain't no gettin' free a the Judgment.”
“You think that jungle voodoo shit's going to stop me?” Jason went right up to the bed now and stood beside it, staring down at her. He talked above his fear, the panicked buzz loose and jolting in his head. “You want to get up off that bed again, you better tell me where Beth is.”
The old black woman’s expression twisted with hatred and something more that made him want to look away, but he didn’t.
“You scared, Tinker,” she said, her eyes narrow with knowing light. “You smell like fear. You ain't--”
Jason grabbed her shoulders, raising her off the bed. “You got two seconds to tell me where Beth went.”
“She took my car and went for the sheriff, fool. I 'spect we'll be
hearin' a siren any time now.”
“I never heard a car engine.” Jason dropped her, and she fell with a grunt back onto the bed.
Still she managed a soft hoot of disdain. “Maybe that noise in your head done made you deaf as well as insane.
Jason put his hands to his ears. How did she know?
“I know a lot ‘bout you. I know your mama weren’t no angel. She treat you bad, twist you up in your head somethin’ fierce. I seen what she done in here.” Maizie tapped a place between her eyes.
Jason stepped to the bed and warned her, “Don’t you talk about my mother.”
But Maizie’s gaze on his was serene; he felt trapped in it and in the liquid flow of her voice. “You like one a them rabid animals now,” she said and her words were a comfort. They answered something in him, something about the mystery of what he sensed was wrong inside him. She said, “There ain’t no cure for what ails you. None a that re’bilitation gon hep you. You need puttin’ down, Tinker. You need to be put outta your miz’ry.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Jason stepped away wanting to be done with her.
“Miz Lucy was pregnant. Did you know it? You done gone and kilt your own child.”
He wheeled. “What are you babbling about?”
“Ain't the first time, is it, Tinker, that you kilt someone? An' killin' ain't the half of it. You goin' to hell for sure.”
“You’re a liar!” he shouted. “She was too goddamned old,” he said, but more quietly now. He rubbed his eyes feeling swamped with despair, a child’s bewilderment. He looked at the old woman in the bed, stared into her eyes that were deep black pools. He wanted to go to her, to lay his head on her ample bosom and cry. She would undo the bad things, make the bad stuff in his head go away. She'd do it for him.
The Last Innocent Hour Page 8
