“Just like when Ridley came busting up here, like he was somebody, Mr. Big Shot, in his six-hundred-dollar suit, comes in my office and tells me and Kay he knows what’s going on and we got to stop. Hell, he didn’t know crap about what was going on! A little bit about the money flowing through his precious office, a little bit about Kay’s wife and the girl’s names on deeds. Hell, he didn’t know nothing.”
Dodd rolled down the window and spat out onto the highway.
“But he was trouble. If he kept squawking his mouth around, other people who could see beyond their noses would figure it out. So when I said to Kay, ‘Let’s kill him,’ it was my decision that counted. My word. You understand?”
“Yes, I understand,” Sam said softly.
Dodd grew more animated. They were driving right through the hamlet of Monroeville, around the old courthouse, past Millie’s. The lights were out. Sam wondered for a moment what Millie did for amusement in a town like this. Dodd killed people. Saunders made money. But what did a red-haired midget waitress who was thirsting for excitement do? Did she take truck drivers home with her? Did she run into Atlanta to party? Or drive north, with other women’s husbands, up toward Apalachee Falls?
That’s where they were headed now.
“So when he stormed out of here,” Dodd continued, “puffed up, full of himself as if he were a judge delivering a verdict and telling us we’d better shape up and fly right, better clean our acts up, we followed him. Jumped in this very car and followed him up to the falls. Hell, he never even spotted us. Never looked back.
“We parked a little way down. I was carrying my Magnum. We’d make it look like a break and entry in his cabin. Easy, in and out. But there were two cars. We peeked in the window, and there was the girl. All in an uproar. Crying and shouting.
“I looked back at Kay. See, I didn’t know who she was.
“‘Want to take her out, too?’ I asked.
“‘No!’ he said. ‘That’s my daughter.’
“He didn’t really seem upset about that. Had this funny smile on his face.” The sheriff shrugged. “Maybe he knew what was going down all along.
“Anyway, we waited for just a couple of minutes, and the girl, Totsie, came flying out the door, reached in her car, and came up carrying a pistol. Then Ridley came chasing after her. They were headed straight up the path to the top of the falls.
“I motioned to Kay and we jumped back in the car. We were waiting for them at the top when they got there.
“The girl was in much better shape. Kay was slower, winded. She was doing some fool thing with the gun, like she was going to kill herself, but you could tell she didn’t really want to, was just bluffing. But Ridley didn’t know that. And then, when he stepped in to take the gun away from her, that’s when I took my shot. He fell over the edge of the falls just like a sack of potatoes.”
“And Totsie?”
“Well, I guess she thought she’d done it, didn’t she? She went to pieces. Wailing and screaming like you never heard. Then she pulled herself together, ran back down the path, and drove off in her car.”
“And you haven’t seen her since?”
“No. Not until tonight, when you all drove up to her daddy’s house.”
Sam’s blood chilled. That was then, the tale he’d just finished telling. And this was now. This was her turn.
They were about five miles north of Monroeville now. Suddenly Dodd swung off onto a narrow road. It was black, Labrador black, coal black, black as death.
“Where are we going?”
“Uh, uh, uh.” He waggled a finger at her like a schoolteacher.
“Please,” she added.
“I want you to meet some friends of mine,” he said. “You like dogs, don’t you?”
*
Dust rose from beneath the heavy tires. Beyond the high beams was nothing but more road. Then the headlights fell on a small house, its front porch sagging. Sam heard dogs barking. Their cries grew louder at the car’s approach.
She twisted, trying for the hundredth time to edge her crossed hands to the doorlock.
“You’re just going to hurt yourself,” Dodd said without even turning his head to look at her. “You can’t unlock it anyways. I have the controls. Just be patient.” He pulled the car under a big tree and turned off the engine. “I’ll get you out in just a second.” He got out of the car.
“Hee-ah, boys!” he called to the barking dogs, who keened even higher at their master’s voice.
Then he walked around the front of the car and opened Sam’s door. He pulled her out, balancing her by her shoulders, then grasped the back of her neck and pushed her forward.
“They’re going to know,” she warned him, giving over all thought of trying to cajole him.
“Know what, missy?” he said, chuckling. “There ain’t going to be much left to know when the dogs get through.” He pushed her right up to the edge of the hurricane fence that surrounded a dog pen. It was tall, with barbed wire across the top. As the dogs hurled their bodies against the fence it clanged, the sound punctuating their howling like an anvil playing counterpoint to the hounds of hell.
“And what there is, we’ll drag out. Bury somewhere”—he gestured—“out there in the woods. Or maybe we’ll throw it in a croker sack and take a drive over to Lake Lanier. Couple of big rocks, and that sack’ll disappear in the deep water. That’s what happens to ladies what poke their noses in where they don’t belong. Even pretty ladies.”
“People know I’ve been here,” Sam said. “I left word. They’ll come looking for me. Looking for you, Buford.”
“I like that,” he said, pausing for a moment and then jerking her around to face him. “You never called me by my first name before. I like the way you say it. Say it again.”
She was silent.
Once again he leaned down and forced his tongue into her mouth.
“You son-of-a-bitch,” she spat when he released her.
He laughed. “I like ’em feisty, too.”
Then he pushed her to her knees.
“You know about pit bulls?” he asked.
She twisted sideways, but he was ready for her. He still had a hand on her neck. Then he was on his knees, holding on. She kicked, but it was like kicking a wall. He loomed above her, straddling her as she twisted beneath him, her arms locked beneath her back. Her head was within inches of the fence now. The dogs were slavering on the other side, screaming in her ears. She could feel their wet breaths. They were dying for the taste of her.
“They’re fighting bulls,” Dodd told her. “I train them on a treadmill to be tough. Lock them by the collar to the treadmill and make them work till they’re foaming at the mouth, till they puke. Builds muscles and guts.
“We have fights for money about once a month. Once a bull clamps on, he don’t let loose. Not even when the blood stops spurting. They can’t hear you anymore once they taste the blood. They just hold on. You have to hit ’em sometimes to get ’em to let go even when the other dog’s dead, hit ’em with a crowbar.
“If they do let go before that, if they turn chicken, lose heart, I shoot ’em. Or kick ’em to death. No point in feeding a dog like that. Sets a bad example for the others, if you know what I mean.
“Hee-ah, boys!” he called again. The dogs screamed back. The sound of Dodd’s voice was driving them into a frenzy.
Throughout this monologue, Sam hadn’t stopped struggling.
He lowered his face until it was almost touching hers. “It makes me hot when you move like that.” He reached down and jerked up her skirt. “Now, this part isn’t going to hurt.”
“This part is,” said a voice from the darkness.
Dodd sat up abruptly. His mouth fell open. He jerked Sam to him with one hand and reached for his revolver with the other.
“Don’t even think about it!” the voice said. “Hands up!”
Dodd wavered.
“Up!” the young woman commanded.
It was Totsie’s
voice! Totsie Kay was standing there, arms forward like a wedge, legs apart.
She stepped closer. “I’m very impatient. And my mama trained me to be a hell of a shot. Let Sam go. Now.” Her voice jumped on the last word.
Dodd was still hedging his bets. He held on.
Totsie adjusted her aim by a hair and fired. Just to the right and behind them in the darkness, a dog screamed, then gargled blood.
“You bitch!” Dodd roared. “Bastard! You killed my dog!”
“I’ll kill you too if you don’t let her go. Move!”
What a piece of work you are, Totsie Kay, Sam thought. What a gutsy piece of work.
Dodd tried another weapon, his tongue. “You killed your boyfriend, bitch. No matter what happens here, you’ll fry for that!”
“No, you didn’t, Totsie!” Sam cried. “Don’t listen to him. You didn’t kill Ridley. He did!”
“Shut up!” Dodd growled.
“I know,” Totsie said softly, speaking to Sam. “I know.” She managed a wry grin. “When I pulled my gun out of the glove compartment tonight, I realized it was fully loaded. It hadn’t been fired. I never shot it at the falls.”
“You killed him!” Dodd insisted.
Totsie’s voice rose again. “You shut up! I told you to let her go!”
Dodd held on.
“You bastard! This is your last warning. I’m counting to two. One.”
Still he didn’t loosen his hold.
“Two.”
Totsie’s gun jumped twice.
Buford Dodd screamed and slid to the ground, where he moaned and twitched, but he didn’t rise.
“Totsie!” Sam scrambled up awkwardly and ran toward the girl, who was still holding the gun in both hands, frozen in a firing stance.
Totsie dropped the gun and threw her arms around Sam.
“Oh, my God! You saved me!” Sam cried.
“You saved me!”
Buford Dodd, shot neatly through both knees, mewled and twisted in the dirt. “Help me! Help me!” he pleaded.
Totsie turned. “I ought to kill you,” she spat. Then she reached down and picked up her pistol.
“No, Totsie!” Sam cried.
“Oh, I’m not going to waste the lead,” Totsie replied, leaning over Dodd. “I just want to make sure he holds still while I find the key to those cuffs.”
Sam hadn’t realized that her wrists were still locked.
Totsie turned Dodd’s hips and found what she was looking for on his belt.
“I’m dying!” he groaned.
“No, you’re not,” said Totsie. “I wouldn’t think of letting you do that. I want you to live for a long, long time. Crippled, crawling like a baby. Begging for somebody to help you up. Asking nicely. You’re going to learn to say pretty please, Mr. Dodd.”
Eighteen
There was almost nothing that Peaches liked better than a party. She’d been humming around her kitchen for two days, plotting and planning, sautéeing and simmering.
Now the dining room table was laid with the white cutwork linen luncheon cloth, the gold-rimmed Spode, and the pistol-handled English silver. Miriam Talbot, who was to be one of the luncheon guests, had sent over a huge bouquet of her old-fashioned pink, cream, and yellow roses, which Peaches had arranged in a fat crystal vase on the sideboard.
“I’m in here, dear,” George called when Samantha tapped on his door. “Come and get me.
“My, my,” he said when she drew close enough for him to smell her perfume. “Aren’t you a vision in yellow? It’s perfect with your hair. You look not a day over nineteen.”
Well, that was an exaggeration. But she knew she looked good. She’d set out to do so. After all, this was a celebration. She hadn’t realized until she was already downstairs that the dress she was wearing was very similar to one she’d worn when she was just a girl—or had she?
She smiled at George. “And you’re looking pretty gorgeous yourself.”
He did cut a handsome figure in his beautifully tailored white spring jacket with the gold buttons bearing the crest of Yale, his alma mater, and his navy slacks. A trace of pink in his tie was just the touch to set off the color in his cheeks.
“Too bad you’re not going to have a lady friend here today to see how spiffy you look,” she said.
“How do you know I’m not?”
Sam stopped for a moment and ran down the guest list. “There’s you, and me, and…” She paused. “Miriam. Miriam Talbot! Are you teasing me?”
“A gentleman never teases in affairs of the heart,” he said, smiling.
“Why, George!”
“Why, what?”
Then Horace announced the lady in question on the intercom, and they went out to greet her.
Miriam was beautiful in a baby-blue dress of old-fashioned dotted swiss, which was perfect with her eyes and snowy hair. She smiled as George kissed her on the cheek.
“My dear,” she murmured.
Beau was right behind Miriam. Well, he’d worked on the case. Sam had had to invite him. His silver hair was still damp from his shower. Sam narrowed her eyes as he beamed at her. He was too handsome to be up to any good in a gray and white seersucker suit and a red bow tie.
“All you need is a boater,” she said with a laugh.
With a flourish, he produced from behind his back a straw hat of that very description, wrapped with a navy and red band. “Thought maybe I’d try to convince you to go for a spin in a canoe later.”
That’s what they’d done on their first date, gone for a canoe ride. She shot him a warning look.
“I love your dress. Awfully pretty.” Then he grinned that grin, and she knew that he hadn’t forgotten the yellow sundress either.
“Let’s sit out on the porch and have a drink while we wait for Liza,” George suggested. “I want to show off my new wicker furniture, and it’s such a pretty day.”
“A perfect day,” Beau said to Sam, taking her arm as they strolled out to the porch, “for some storytelling. Now, I want to hear all the details, from the very beginning.”
“Now, Beau,” his mother chided, “maybe Samantha doesn’t want to talk about all that at lunch.”
“Mother, there is nothing that Sam Adams likes better than telling a good story.”
“Yes, there is,” her uncle disagreed. “Writing one.”
“And that was a doozie that appeared on this morning’s front page.” Beau tipped the hat, which he was still holding, toward her. “Was Hoke pleased?”
“Yes.” She grinned. “In a begrudging kind of way.”
“Gin and tonic, please,” Beau said in answer to Horace’s silent query. “So, you got your corrupt sheriff and the answer to the Ridley mystery all rolled up into one. Couldn’t have asked for it neater, Sam. But come on, give us the straight skinny, the stuff you didn’t write for the paper.”
“Well…” Sam settled into her chair and looked around at her audience. “I’ll tell you the part about Forrest Ridley before Liza gets here. There’s no need for her to know all of this.”
They nodded.
“Kay Kay did send the invitations to the party at the Ridleys. She got the idea from a story that Forrest had told about a practical joke he played when he was a law student.”
“Her prints were on the follow-up note,” Beau confirmed. “It was easy, once Sam told us who we were looking for.”
“But why?” Miriam asked. “Why would a grown woman do a thing like that?”
“Because she knew her daughter was having an affair with Forrest Ridley. That was part of it. She wanted to shake him up. But mostly, I think, she did it because she hated Queen.”
Miriam asked her next question with raised eyebrows.
“Queen was having an affair with her husband, Edison.”
“My word!” Miriam cried. “That’s all so sordid.”
“Mom’s led a very sheltered life.” Beau patted her on the shoulder.
“As well she should. And we’ll keep it that way.” Ge
orge smiled at Miriam, and then down at the magnificent new string of pearls she was wearing. He still had an excellent eye, for a man who was going blind. His latest gift looked beautiful on her.
“I don’t think that affair between Queen and Edison had been going on awfully long, but long enough for Kay Kay to get wind of it,” Sam continued. “And Queen knew about her husband and Totsie, which hurt her pride more than anything else—which was one reason she got involved with Edison. But when Liza started asking questions about his being away—at which point he was actually already dead—Queen just wanted to put a lid on it. She figured he was with Totsie somewhere, and his absence gave her a chance to spend more time with Edison. Of course, Edison really wasn’t such a catch. I think that money, not women, was his game, just as Kay Kay said. But for Queen, besides revenge, there was the appeal of all that money. Don’t think she didn’t notice that Edison was doing awfully well.”
“You mean you don’t think she loved him,” Miriam said.
“I’m not sure I think Queen Ridley ever loved anyone except herself,” Sam replied. “But she sure picked wrong with Edison. What with the accessory-to-murder charges, not to mention the drugs and the land deals, it’s going to be a very long time before Edison Kay is a free man again.”
“I never did like that man anyway,” Miriam sniffed.
“Me either,” said Peaches, who had come in with a plate of roasted pecans and cheese straws.
“I didn’t know you knew him,” Sam said, surprised.
“I know what I know,” Peaches sniffed.
“I should have just asked her who the murderer was in the first place,” Sam said to George after Peaches had left the porch.
“I always do,” her uncle agreed.
“Well, why didn’t you ask her this time?”
“I didn’t want to mess in your business.”
“Go ’way.” She slapped at him.
“Don’t you think Liza knows all this?” Beau asked. “About Queen and her father and Totsie?”
“I think she suspects. And if she wants to know the details, she’ll ask. I think she’s protecting herself right now until she’s through grieving for her father.”
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