Suspicion of Innocence

by Barbara Parker

  Gail picked up her shovel and dragged it to a spot about ten yards away, where there was a gentle rise in the ground. She put her foot on the blade and wiggled it between loose rocks. A hole eighteen inches deep would be enough. Edith had told her what to look for.

  To fill the silence she spoke her thoughts out loud. "Carlos Pedrosa and Jimmy Panther were the least likely pair to be working together. They'd never have gotten together without Renee. She was the common denominator." Gail tossed a shovelful of dirt aside, then bent to snap off a root. "My theory about Renee is, she was fragmented. Different people filled different needs for her."

  Ben pulled something oblong out of the hole he had dug, looked at it, pitched it away. A brown bottle. It clanked on a rock.

  Gail said, "Jimmy Panther was her spiritual guide. Carlos was dark sexuality. From Dave she got innocent romance. Valentine's Day cards and flowers."

  Ben said, "Is that what happened to you two? Renee turned his head?"

  "No. It wasn't Renee's fault. If Dave and I were still married, it was only force of habit. But as I told Ray Hammell, there was nothing physical between them."

  The knees of her jeans already crusted with muck, Gail got down to look into the hole. Nothing but roots and rocks. With a little groan she stood up, looking around for another place to dig.

  Ben was scraping back a layer of dried, brittle palm fronds. "And what was I? Her patsy?"

  "Her protector," Gail said. "She might have gone to prison without you."

  "Big mistake, covering up what she did." Ben grunted as he lifted a shovelful of rocks. "Should have made her say it was Carlos who put her on the boat. Made some kind of exchange with the prosecution."

  "I don't think he knew she went on that trip."

  "Of course he knew. It was his deal."

  "It wasn't his boat," Gail said. "Ray Hammell's office found out who it belonged to. Nelson Restrepo, a client of Anthony Quintana's."

  "Quintana was involved in that?"

  "No. He wasn't. He explained to me how it happened." Gail paused, wishing she hadn't said this much. "Renee knew how to get access to the boat, because she and Anthony had taken a trip on it together."

  "Renee and Quintana?" Ben looked puzzled for a second, then laughed, stepping on the blade of his shovel. "Christ. Doing both of them. That must have been cozy."

  "Ben, come on. It wasn't like that. Her affair with Anthony was over by then."

  "And how do you know so much about him?"

  Gail hesitated, trying to think of how to word it.

  He gave a half smile. "Don't tell me. You and Quintana."

  She felt her face growing hot, knew he could see it.

  "And still married to Dave."

  "Don't. I mean it, Ben. I'm not discussing this."

  He levered the handle, ripping out a root. ' 'As long as we're playing what if— What if Quintana was the one who planned the drug run? He borrowed the boat from his client, Restrepo. Say he needed a young white American girl to act as a shield. Like hiding cocaine in a baby's diaper. But uh-oh. They got busted."

  Gail stood still, holding her shovel. "No. It was Carlos's idea."

  "You're sure of that."

  "Yes."

  Ben went on. "Say Renee can't let go of Quintana. He's a slick-looking guy, plenty of money, smart. But for Quintana she's a major headache. She's unstable. She might let it slip what kind of business he does on the side. He fakes her suicide. Then when it begins to appear that Carlos killed Renee, Quintana gets rid of him, too, so he can't deny it."

  Gail was shaking her head. "Renee didn't cause problems for Anthony after their affair was over. She was still in love with him, but she accepted it."

  "Who told you that, your boyfriend?" Ben waited, his eyebrows raised. "Honey, I told you. Back when he was giving you legal advice, I said, Gail, don't get involved. Didn't I say that?"

  "This is none of your business, Ben."

  He went back to work. "You know best. What is it with you girls and the Cubanos, anyway? I didn't think you'd get led around by your—" he made a vague gesture toward her crotch "—like your sister did."

  She stared at him.

  After a few seconds he let his shovel fall, then threw his gloves down after it, one then the other. "Oh, lord, Gail. I'm tired. Is that any excuse? Maybe we've been out here too long. I didn't mean to compare you to Renee."

  "She wasn't a slut either."

  He smiled, making an effort, deep creases in his cheeks. "What do you say we sink a couple more holes, then call it quits? I'll take you and Irene out to dinner."

  "No. I want to leave now," she said. "There's no point to this."

  He snapped his Zippo open, shut, open, then lit another cigarette. "You get me out here sweating all afternoon and then tell me there's no point."

  Two gunshots cracked into the still evening air, echoing among the trees.

  Ben said, "That was pretty close."

  Gail shrugged. "Somebody shooting at a road sign on Krome Avenue."

  "Wrong direction."

  "Why don't we just go?"

  He listened for a few more seconds, then went back for his gloves and shovel. "Not yet. You dragged me here, we're going to finish. I'm not doing this again. We'll get this one other area, then go."

  She exhaled. "Fine."

  They walked fifty yards or so, making their way through the scrubby underbrush. Already the light was fading. Gail heard the whine of mosquitoes in her ears, swatted at them. She watched Ben walk, a tall, solid man, the plaid shirt sticking to his back, the shotgun slung over his shoulder, barrel extending past his head. His neck was creased with deep wrinkles. She smelled cigarette smoke and sweat.

  He glanced around, laughing. "You keeping up, little girl?"

  It had always been like this. Gail turning sullen, Ben teasing her for it, making her chum with anger. Renee had known how to play him to get what she wanted. Acting like a ninny, chewing on her thumb, looking at him sideways, giggling. When he got mad, her mouth would tremble and tears would well up in those incredibly blue eyes and spill down her cheeks. Gail had never mastered that little trick. But now she remembered despising Renee for it. Or despising Renee for succeeding at it.

  At the point where the ground seemed to rise again, they stopped. The slope ran twenty yards or more on either side.

  Gail dropped the book bag, put her gloves on again.

  Ben tossed his cigarette away and kicked aside the thick covering of leaves and ferns. He said, "We find anything, I'm going to buy me a couple thousand acres of forest up the state."

  He was in a good humor again, she noticed.

  He laughed. "I bet Irene will try to make me donate it all to the museum."

  Gail shoved a fallen branch out of the way with her foot and began to dig. "I doubt you could buy much land with a few pots and clay masks. Assuming they're even here."

  "Hell, I'm not talking about a bunch of trinkets. I mean a big wooden chest of Spanish treasure. Gold bars. Pearl necklaces. Emeralds and diamonds."

  "Right." Gail stamped on the shovel.

  "Yo-ho, and up she rises." Laughing, Ben held up a gray, pitted jawbone. "Elsie the Cow," he said, then sent it spinning into the brush. He walked a few paces and started another hole. "My granddaddy—your great-grand—told me he'd pay the Indians to come out here and salt this ground."

  "Salt the ground?" Gail wiped her forehead on her sleeve.

  "Way back. Turn of the century." Ben's words punctuated his efforts with the shovel. "They'd bury beads, arrowheads. Couple inches down. Cheap stuff. Grand-daddy would bring tourists in a wagon. Sell tickets. He had this half-Chinese, half-negro guy that would dress up like a Miccosukee. Patchwork jacket, turban with an egret feather."

  "The same upstanding Benjamin Strickland whose immortal, life-size photograph appears in the historical museum?' '

  "The same."

  And the same, Gail remembered, who had looked on while Renee and Carlos Pedrosa were making the streetcar
rock. Renee had said she always wanted to do it in front of Benjamin Strickland. But now Gail didn't think she had meant the man in the photograph. She had probably meant Ben. Flesh and blood and resentment.

  Ben said, "Kind of funny there might have been real artifacts buried here all along, and I'm the last to know it. Your sister didn't see fit to tell me. I'd have given her what she wanted of them. She'd rather go behind my back."

  "I think she was trying to be independent."

  "Nice word for sneaky," Ben said. "For stealing from your family. She's no better than Carlos Pedrosa. Two of a kind." He glanced at Gail. "What's the matter?" When she didn't answer, he set his shovel against a tree trunk. "Lord have mercy." He puffed out a breath, then tried a smile. "You got any more water in that bag of yours? My canteen's dry."

  She bent over, took hers out. When she stood up, Ben put his hand on her shoulder. She shied away.

  He took off the cap. "We never got along, you and me. I tried. I'm still trying."

  "It's not your fault," she mumbled. Her head was beginning to pulse from the heat.

  He finished off the water, the muscles in his throat working, sweat making shiny lines down his neck. She took the empty bottle from him, put it back in her bag.

  When she turned around he said, "You're still mad at me for what I said about Renee, aren't you? I guess I shouldn't have disturbed these romantic notions you're getting about your sister." He picked up his shovel. "Girl was sick. You don't want to see it. She had some very serious problems."

  "What are you talking about?"

  "You know what I'm talking about," he said.

  "Because she touched you the night of Irene's party?" Gail went to stand beside him. "Is that it?" Ben slid the shovel point into the ground, twisted it back, threw the dirt to one side. Gail said, "She was drunk. Or maybe she was making a joke and you took it wrong."

  "A joke?" He glanced at her. "You weren't out there with us. Don't tell me what it was like."

  "You said you dragged her out there to yell at her—"

  "I didn't yell at her."

  "Talk to her, then. Whatever. She was almost thirty years old. Maybe she didn't want to be treated like a child anymore. That's what you and Mother did, both of you."

  Ben's shovel rang on the stones. "Are we going to finish here or not?"

  "I remember when she broke Daddy's new radio. He wanted to spank her but you wouldn't let him. I remember how she clung to you, crying, and you told Daddy to let her be, you'd buy him another one. Don't you see? She learned that you would always take care of her. My little flower. I heard you tell her, 'Don't you worry, Ben's going to take good care of his little flower.' "

  Ben swatted a mosquito off his cheek. "She's dead and you keep talking about her, talk talk talk. You're still so jealous you can't see straight."

  "No." Gail's mouth was dry. "That isn't— No. Not because of that. It was—"

  He gave her a long, quizzical look, then pulled off his gloves, crammed them into a back pocket. "That's it. We're done here. Pick up your stuff."

  Gail didn't move. "The other night. When you came in to say good night to Karen. In Renee's old room. You kissed her. My little flower. That's what you used to call Renee." The patch of sky above the trees dimmed and Gail squeezed her eyes shut. "It wasn't right. I didn't want you to touch her."

  She sucked in a breath through her nose and sat down hard on the ground, leaning over one knee to keep from passing out. Ben's lace-up boots moved closer to her. He asked her what the hell was the matter, but his words seemed to come through a long, hollow pipe.

  Gail swallowed and her throat ached. "I woke up one night. It was . . . after Daddy died. I woke up and went to her room. Mother was gone, I don't know where. I wanted to go inside, but I couldn't. I heard you. I heard you . . . saying things to her. You smell so sweet. Like a flower. So pretty."

  "That never happened! You don't know what you're talking about."

  She laughed, more a moan. "Yes, I do know. I knew it without knowing, and I hated her for it."

  "Filthy-minded bitch. I would never do anything like that. Never. You're as sick as your damn sister."

  "Renee. Oh, God." She rocked back and forth. "Maybe I am. Maybe. You could tell me." Behind her eyes, Renee's face. She could see her clearly now. Renee's blue eyes. The small mouth, going into a lopsided smile. The single dimple. Perfect skin. Gail opened her eyes, made them focus on a snail shell, then a scrap of leaf. The woods were darker, the colors going gray.

  Ben muttered, "Crazy," and his boot tapped her thigh. "Get up, we're leaving."

  Then she heard the dogs baying. Barks, then deep snarls. A gun fired, one sharp crack. A yelp. Then two more, quickly. More yelps. Another shot. Then silence.

  "Somebody's shooting my damn dogs," Ben said. "Somebody's out there."

  Gail stood up on her knees, still dizzy. Ben was listening, head turned to one side. A blackbird flapped away from a pine tree, gave a rasping caw.

  Ben grabbed Gail by the arm and dragged her behind some tangled bushes, then went back out for his shotgun. Crouching low, he slid down beside her, pumped a shell into the chamber. He whispered, "Who did you tell we're here? What do they want?"

  "I don't know." Her breath stopped, then started. "Edith. I told her." She felt an urge to laugh. "I don't think Edith carries a gun."

  "Shut up, let me listen."

  Far overhead came the faint rumble of a jet. Birds twittered in the gathering dusk. Then she could hear the shifting of palm fronds, footsteps. Careful, slow.

  "I told Mother," Gail whispered, her heart leaping in her chest. "I told her I was coming here with you. Jimmy Panther was going to call her this afternoon."

  "Panther." Ben dug two more shells out of his jeans and put them in his shirt pocket. He motioned her toward the ground.

  Gail crawled on her stomach to the other side of the bush, then peered through the thick leaves.

  A man. Dark hair. White shirt, drawn pistol.

  "Anthony?" She scrambled to her feet.

  "Gail! Where are you?"

  Ben yelled, "Drop it!"

  Anthony turned. Ben fired. The impact of the shotgun blast spun Anthony into the trunk of a pine tree. He held on, then dropped.

  Her ears still ringing, Gail screamed, tore through the underbrush. Ben grabbed the back of her shirt.

  "Gail, stop. He's got a gun."

  "Why? Why did you shoot him?"

  "Listen to me. I had to." Ben dropped the shotgun, gripped her arms. "He was going to kill us. He had a gun."

  "No!" Blood was spreading on Anthony's white shirt.

  Ben shook her. "He killed Carlos. We were next. Gail, honey. I had to."

  "Let go!" Gail pulled away, stumbled a few paces.

  Ben swung her to the ground, straddled her hips and pinned her shoulders. She flailed her arms at him. "Gail, listen. Listen. He did Renee, too. It was him. She wanted him, he had to get rid of her. We'll say— Damn it, hold still. We'll say Quintana admitted doing both of them. They'll drop the charges against you."

  "Get off! Ben—"

  "We're family. We can stick together, Gail. We'll all go to Arcadia. It's going to be all right. I swear."

  His shirt was ripped, gaping open. Then she saw it, swinging low on his chest. Gold. A heart. A thin outline of diamonds.

  She whispered, "Where . . . did you get that?"

  He glanced down.

  Gail screamed and tried to roll away.

  Ben's weight was on her, bearing down hard. He was reaching for her hands. "Gail, don't. Don't. You don't know how it was. She gave it to me. Out in the yard. She threw it at me, said take it back."

  "Liar! She had it when Dave drove her home!" Gail sobbed. "My God. Mother didn't buy it for her. You did. She wanted it and it cost too much. You gave Mother the money. Renee told me that night, her birthday. She knew where it came from. Said don't tell. Don't tell mamma. She was twelve years old!"

  "You don't know how it was. You don't know
. Gail, she came after me."

  "She was a baby!" Gail hit him in the mouth with her fist. "Bastard! You killed her! You killed my sister! You did that to her!"

  He pinned her wrists beside her head. His mouth was dark with blood. "Listen to me. You don't know how it was. Please. She knew what she was doing. She wanted me to give her things. Gail, please. I wasn't her father, not her uncle. It was okay. She let me. She wanted it. And I kept her out of trouble. I took care of her and she used me. For years. Years."

  "All right." Gail let her body go slack and gasped for breath. Her chest burned. "Yes. I know how she was."

  Ben was weeping openly now. "She shut me out. I saved her from prison and she shut me out. That night in the backyard she said she was going to tell. Ruin me if I touched her again. As if it was my fault, what she did. Gail, please. She was bad. Bad."

  "Yes. I know." Gail watched him. "We're family. I can't tell. I won't."

  He sat back on his heels, his cheeks wet. "Honey, we'll get through this."

  "Yes." She slid her legs out from under him. "And Carlos. He deserved it."

  Ben nodded, wiping his eyes on the heels of his hands. "I had to. He said I better change my mind back about the property. He said Renee told him things. She told him what we did. Then he said I killed her. He didn't know I had to. I had to."

  Trembling, Gail rose to her feet. Ben looked up. And his face slowly changed.

  He leaped for her.

  She staggered toward his shotgun, grabbed it by the barrel and swung. She heard the crack of wood on bone, felt the impact up her arms. He fell slowly, twisting.

  Gail slung the shotgun away and raced to Anthony. In the twilight the stain on his shirt looked black. He moaned when she touched him.

  "Anthony! Get up!" She took his face in her hands, saw the blood on it. He opened his eyes. "Get up! Anthony, please."

  "Where is he?"

  "Over there. I knocked him out."

  "Kill him."

  "What?"

  Anthony grimaced. "Find my gun. Kill him. Do it."

  Gail looked back at Ben. "I—It's all right, he's not moving. Come on, it's getting dark. We have to get out of here." She put his arm around her neck, grabbed his wrist, and made him stand.