Mississippi Noir

by Tom Franklin

  Fifteen minutes later Anna Langley took an armload of purchases to the cashier, who looked to be about a hundred years old. They exchanged pleasantries about the fine weather and the guilty pleasures of fast food (but, thankfully, no comments about the Night Stalker), then she paid up and pushed through the door into the sunlight.

  She was annoyed to find that Woody had left the car unlocked. She tossed most of her purchases inside—several bags of peanuts and chips and pastries—and stuffed a six-pack of Sprite into the cooler they had put on the backseat. Neither Woody nor Mary was anywhere to be seen. Mary’s duffel bag and purse were gone as well. Anna hoped they hadn’t been stolen. There was such a thing as being too trusting, she thought.

  Anna locked the car, headed back inside, described her traveling companions to the cashier, and asked if he’d seen them. He told her he had spotted Woody through one of the east windows, walking across the highway toward a stand of pines awhile ago, and had seen the young lady heading out there after him a few minutes later. That made sense, Anna thought; Woody was a photography nut, and couldn’t resist taking pictures of almost anything, and Mary had probably spotted him out there and followed him after visiting the restroom. But if so, where were her purse and duffel bag?

  “If you go over there,” the old-timer said, “tell ’em to be careful—there are some dry washes and open wells around here, and things like that would be hard to see underneath all the grass and bushes. Most of it’s private property, but there ain’t no fences to tell you so. I’d hate for your friends to drop off the face of the earth.”

  “I imagine they’d hate that too,” Anna said. But she doubted Woody would have any problems there. He had grown up traipsing through the backwoods.

  She thanked the cashier and walked back out into the sunshine. After crossing the road and trudging through a weed-choked field with a sharp eye on the ground ahead of her, she spotted Woody’s blue windbreaker in the distance. Sure enough, he was snapping photos right and left. At the very edge of the trees was a tall, ancient windmill, its rusted blades turning in the breeze while accomplishing nothing at all. Something was rubbing against something, though, and with every rotation came a high-pitched noise: eeee-urrr, eeee-urrr, eeee-urrr. It was a metallic, irritating, and infinitely sad sound.

  “Where’s Mary?” Anna called.

  Woody looked up. “She hopped on the tornado to Oz. Found a better ride.”

  “What?”

  “An old couple, she said, on their way to Tupelo. Told me she met them in the parking lot. That’ll get her farther than we’re going, and besides, they had a bigger car.” He frowned and pointed to a spot near her feet. “Watch out—fire ants.”

  Anna sidestepped to safe ground. “Probably the folks I saw inside, awhile ago,” she said. “I’m surprised, though, that she didn’t at least say goodbye.”

  “She wanted to, but her new traveling buddies were ready to leave. I walked over to help her load her stuff into their car and they took off.”

  “Didn’t she come out here with you?”

  “Nope. When she found her new chauffeurs, she waved and hollered at me till I noticed her, then I hiked back over there to see her off and came on back. I’m getting some good pictures.” He looked at his watch. “You took awhile in there.”

  “I bought some more provisions. I thought there’d be three of us.” Anna was a bit surprised to find herself sad that Mary had deserted them. “At least we swapped cell phone numbers.”

  “Sorry she left,” Woody said, going back to his photos, “but it’s her loss. Now we can have all the snacks to ourselves.”

  Anna looked around. The ground was damp, but grassy and covered in pine straw. “Why don’t we just eat lunch out here? You hungry yet?”

  He grinned. “I’m always hungry.”

  “Stay here and do your camera thing—I’ll fetch the vittles. Give me your car keys.”

  “It’s not locked.”

  “It is now,” she said. “I locked it.”

  He dug his keys from his pocket and tossed them to her. “Just don’t go over there,” he added, pointing off to the south. “Poison ivy.”

  “There are worse things out here than poison ivy and fire ants.” She told him about what the cashier had said to her about hidden wells and gullies.

  “Danger,” he announced, drawing an imaginary sword, “is my middle name.”

  * * *

  Going back to the parking lot seemed a shorter trip than before. A good thing, since the temperature was steadily rising. When Anna arrived at the car she unlocked the driver’s-side door, started to pop the trunk to get the picnic basket, and remembered she needed her sunglasses. She thought a moment, then recalled that she had tucked them into the glove compartment. She hopped in, leaned across the middle console, reached into the glove compartment for her glasses—and froze.

  Right in front of her, perched there in the compartment on top of Woody’s road maps and gas receipts and her sunglasses, was a bright green bracelet. Mary’s bracelet. Anna stared at it a moment, her mind reeling, then blinked and glanced across the road. Woody was still taking pictures.

  Anna shut the glove compartment and stared straight ahead through the windshield. Her pulse was hammering in her ears.

  What the hell is Mary’s bracelet doing here?

  She decided she would ask Woody that question—but immediately changed her mind. Taking long breaths, she replayed the situation as Woody had described it. While Anna was in the bathroom Mary had come outside, spotted the other travelers, maybe spotted a Lee County license plate—Tupelo is its largest town (would she have known that?)—and decided to switch horses. Woody was supposedly already across the road, poking around in the pine forest. All that was understandable, and certainly possible. It could have happened. But none of it explained the bracelet in the glove compartment. I never take it off, Mary had said.

  It also didn’t explain the fact that the cashier had told Anna he’d seen Mary walk across the highway and field to join Woody, something that Woody told her didn’t happen. Woody said Mary had remained on this side of the road, and had signaled to him when she was ready to load up the other car.

  Anna swallowed, and forced her mind in another direction. A direction that terrified her.

  What if Mary hadn’t found another ride? What if she had come back out and instead noticed Woody over there in the trees and walked over to join him, as the cashier said she’d done? What if no one else was around to see what happened then? What if—

  What if she had fallen into a well?

  That, of course, hadn’t happened. But . . .

  Anna felt ice-cold fingers tickle her heart.

  What if she’d been thrown into a well?

  What if Woody had then lied about her catching the other ride?

  Anna thought back to what Jack Speerman had said earlier: the killer was probably big, and powerful. Woody was six three, and more than two hundred pounds. A former football player. And what better place to hide bodies than in an abandoned well? Maybe she was in there with the three other victims, right at this moment.

  What if Woody Prestridge is the killer everyone’s searching for? My God, Anna, think about what you’re suggesting here!

  But could it be? Woody had been acting strange lately—she’d figured it was just the pressure of his new sales job—and he also spent a lot of time traveling the state. He obviously knew these stops along Highway 25. And Anna had been in the restroom and in the store buying goodies for a long time; there would’ve been plenty of opportunity for him to do away with Mary, steal her bracelet, hide it in the glove compartment, and then take her belongings from the Toyota and toss them into the metal trash bin. Or forget the trash bin: he could’ve tossed them into the hole after her. No one would’ve noticed. The old couple Anna had spotted earlier, inside the store, were the only people she’d seen since arriving, besides the cashier. Thinking about it now, she remembered that Mary had been the one to ask to take a br
eak here—but if she hadn’t, Anna wondered, would Woody have found another reason for them to stop?

  On the one hand, this kind of thinking was crazy; she couldn’t imagine Woody doing something like that. But the truth was, she couldn’t imagine anybody doing it. And somebody was.

  She looked again at the closed glove compartment, pictured the bracelet inside.

  Suddenly Anna knew what she had to do. Call me if you need anything, Jack Speerman had told them, just before they’d left him at Wendy’s. And she had written down his number.

  * * *

  Anna dug her phone and notepad from her purse and stepped around the far side of the building. No one was out there except a mangy dog sleeping in the shade. She punched in Jack’s number and held her breath while she listened to the ringing.

  “Speerman,” a voice said.

  “Jack, this is Anna Langley. Woody Prestridge’s friend.”

  “Sure, Anna. What’s up?”

  She hesitated. So far this was just speculation, she reminded herself. Nobody had been accused, nobody had been hurt. But that was about to change.

  “I think I might be in trouble,” she said.

  “What do you mean?”

  She swallowed hard. “I’m at a gas station on Highway 25”—she gave him pinpoint directions—“and I think someone . . . someone here . . . might be the guy who’s making these women disappear.”

  “What?”

  “There’s no time to tell you everything now, but I think . . .” She stopped, took some more breaths. “That girl who caught a ride with us? Mary? I found something of hers, something she would never have parted with. And she’s vanished.”

  “What are you saying, Anna?”

  “I don’t know. I think I’m saying she might be dead.”

  The phone went silent.

  “Jack? Are you there?”

  “I’m here. And you know my next question.”

  She rubbed a hand over her face, forced her voice to stay calm. “You want to know who did it.”

  “Do you know?”

  She started to tell him her suspicions, then stopped. He and Woody were old friends; he wouldn’t believe her. Not on the phone. “No,” she said. “Not for certain.”

  Another silence. Then: “Where’s Woody, Anna? Is he okay?”

  “His cell phone battery’s dead,” she lied. “He’s here, though—he told me to call you.”

  “Anna, you think it could be him. Don’t you?”

  She paused. “I don’t know.”

  “Okay. Okay, I’m on my way.” She heard, in the phone, the sound of hurried footsteps.

  “We’re across the highway from the gas station. In the trees near an old windmill,” she said. “How long will it take you?”

  “To get there? Twenty minutes.”

  “Should I call somebody else too?” Now she could hear his car door opening, and then the roar of a motor.

  “No, I’m coming. Keep an eye on him, okay?”

  She disconnected and stuffed the phone into her pocket. Put both palms over her face and stayed that way a minute, then rubbed her eyes with her forefingers and stood up straight. Whatever would happen would happen, she told herself. She walked back to the car and took the picnic basket out of the trunk. The cooler and the goodies she left in the car for later, although she now wondered if there would be a later.

  On an impulse, she opened the driver’s door again and groped underneath the seat until she located the padded steel club Woody had shown her earlier. She tucked it into her left shirtsleeve and buttoned the cuff to hold it tight and hidden.

  At least she had a weapon.

  * * *

  After several long, deep breaths, Anna got out of the car and lugged the picnic basket across the field to where Woody was waiting. Actually, to where he was still snapping photos. If he’d just killed someone he was being pretty nonchalant about it. Above their heads, the windmill turned, tireless and eternal: eeee-urrr, eeee-urrr. In other situations, the grating sound would probably have driven her crazy. As it was, she had more pressing issues to think about.

  She put down the basket, wiped sweat from her forehead, took a look around—

  And saw it. Not far past where Woody was standing. A brick-rimmed hole in the ground, about five feet across. Several rotten boards lay in the undergrowth to one side. From what little she could see, the brick walls were chipped and blackened and the opening was half-hidden by clumps of what looked like Virginia creeper. Five leaves each, not three like poison ivy. Not that it mattered. A little itch wouldn’t matter much to someone falling down that pit.

  Woody glanced at her, and followed her gaze. “Looks like you were right about the abandoned wells.”

  But this one wasn’t totally abandoned, she noticed. There was a rough path leading east from the edge of the well, and what looked like a single narrow tire track rutted the muddy ground. Something had been hauled to the well, and recently. Her first thought was a body, but she had another idea, one that made a lot of sense. If there was in fact a body in the well—or more than one—it would be stinking to high heaven. Unless something had been dumped in on top of it. And for that task, what would work better than good old dirt, and what better to carry dirt in than a wheelbarrow? Because that’s what had been used to make the single rut beside the well.

  She raised her eyes and studied the rest of her surroundings. No other clues presented themselves. Off in the distance, in the same direction as the tire track, what looked like the gray-shingled roof of a house rose above the trees. No doubt it faced an unseen road, somewhere farther off to the east.

  Woody’s voice snapped Anna out of her musings. “Something wrong?”

  She blinked, looked at him, and forced a smile. If you only knew, she thought. “Just wondering where to set up the feast.”

  “Here, I’ll help you.”

  “Aren’t you worried about being late for the game?”

  “It won’t start till two thirty,” he said. “Plenty of time.”

  They chose a clearing twenty feet from the well, although Anna was much more aware of its presence than he seemed to be. After he’d spread out the blanket she unloaded the sandwiches and thermos bottles and sat with her back to the distant gas station, barely visible from here. She’d decided it was more important to watch Woody than to try to watch the parking lot for Jack’s arrival. Woody insisted on taking a picture of her sitting on the blanket with the picnic gear spread out around her, then he sat down as well and dug into his lunch. Her stomach was doing backflips. She’d never been less hungry in her life.

  She was trying to decide whether to try a sandwich, at least for appearance’s sake, when Woody said, “Aren’t you gonna eat anything?”

  She felt her face heat up. “Guess I’m a little uncomfortable. What if we’re trespassing?”

  He looked amused. “We’re not. I know the owner.”

  She blinked and glanced at the distant rooftop. “Of the house over there?”

  “The land too. I should’ve told you—”

  Suddenly her cell phone buzzed. She dug it out of her pocket and checked the display. No name was shown, and she didn’t recognize the number. Keeping her eyes on Woody, she held the phone to her ear.

  “Anna?” a voice said.

  “Yes?”

  “It’s Mary. Mary Patrick.”

  Anna felt her heart leap in her chest. Mary?

  “Sorry to call out of the blue like this. I sort of need a favor.”

  Anna was breathing hard. She couldn’t believe it. Sister Mary Patrick is alive. “Where are you?” she managed to say.

  “I’m at a McDonald’s in Louisville”—she incorrectly pronounced it Louieville, like Kentucky—“having lunch. The folks I’m riding with stopped here. Hope you don’t mind that I cut out on you.”

  “No, that’s fine,” Anna said, trying to keep her voice steady. She pictured Louisville on the map in her head: Mary wasn’t far away. “What favor do you need?”
>
  Anna looked at Woody, who was happily eating his turkey sandwich. He’s innocent, Anna thought, her eyes brimming with tears. Thank God. Thank God I was wrong. And she knew what Mary was going to say before she said it.

  “Anna, I think I lost my bracelet, the green one, when I took my stuff out of the car. I remember snagging it on the door handle. I know it’s a long shot, but I was wondering—”

  “Woody found it,” Anna said, loud enough for Woody to hear.

  He looked up at her, his eyebrows raised. Anna pointed to her wrist and silently mouthed the words Mary Patrick. It took a second, then he understood and nodded and said, around a mouthful of turkey and cheese, “I found it after she left, put it in the glove compartment. Forgot to tell you.”

  Anna turned her attention back to the phone, and to Mary’s gushing thanks. “You’re most welcome,” Anna said. “This is turning out to be a crazy day.” As the thought struck her, she added, “Your address is on the card you gave me. I’ll mail the bracelet to you soon as we get back.”

  “Great. I sure appreciate it, Anna. And hey—thanks again for the ride.”

  They exchanged goodbyes and Anna disconnected. She felt light enough to fly. One friend was alive and well, and another was innocent and exonerated. An incredible weight had been lifted from her shoulders.

  Just as she was about to confess everything to Woody, including her ungrounded suspicions, she realized she should call off the reinforcements; after all, Jack Speerman was on his way here at this moment. Already feeling guilty about the false alarm, she picked up her phone and was about to punch in Jack’s number when the phone buzzed in her hand. She checked the display and saw that it was Mary again.

  “Anna? Sorry to be a pest, but I just remembered something. Could you just give that bracelet to Jack when he gets there? He can bring it to me.”

  Anna frowned. “Jack?”

  “The patrolman. He’s on his way there, right? He said he’d be back soon, and my ride says they’ll be glad to wait, so—”

  “Wait a minute,” Anna cut in. “How’d you know he’s coming here?”

  “I overheard him talking to you on the phone awhile ago. He called your name when you phoned him about your car trouble.”