Southern Cross

by Jen Blood

  “But there hasn’t been anyone since then,” I said. “Those are the only two?”

  “So far as I know,” Buddy agreed. “I went through our records lookin’ for anything. Seems as though it would’ve made an impression if somebody had seen it before.” He looked at me. “You know where that mark come from? The original cross, I mean?”

  Solomon was all ears.

  “Yeah,” I said. I put the photos back and closed the file.

  “Where did it come from?” Solomon pressed.

  “Reverend Jesup Barnel,” the deputy said. “We told you, he’s got some… odd ideas about the ways of the Lord.”

  “So, is Barnel still working the same circuit?” I asked before Solomon could pursue the next logical line of questioning.

  “Not so much no more,” Buddy said. “His health’s gone south, but he still does tent meetin’s when he can. There’s one out in Miller’s Field tonight. It’s a hike, but worth the gas if you ask me. He puts on quite a show.”

  “And the rattlers,” I said. “Are they part of that show?”

  “Not officially,” Buddy said. “Snake handlin’ is illegal in Kentucky now, ‘course. But everybody knows he skirts around it, brings ‘em out for those middle o’ the night, invitation only services out to his place, like he used to run.”

  I’d heard enough. I sat up, nodding across the room. “All right. Since I’m apparently not about to drop dead of rattlesnake fever, somebody toss me my pants.”

  Buddy looked to Solomon, no doubt hoping she’d talk some sense into me. But Solomon’s never really been that girl. She shrugged.

  “He’s been here eight hours—there’s not much chance the venom’s gonna hit his bloodstream unexpectedly at this point. I’ll be watching if it does, and I’ll just bring him back.” She fetched my clothes and tossed them on the foot of the bed. “I’ll grab us some coffee while you get dressed.” Her gaze slid back to the files, now in Buddy’s hand. She shook her head. “Leave it to you to piss off someone crazier than Will Rainier.”

  Buddy looked at me inquiringly after she’d left. “It’s a long story,” I said. The understatement of the century.

  Chapter Five

  SOLOMON

  After his harrowing misadventure with impotent rattlesnakes, Diggs and I got back to the Durhams at ten o’clock the next morning. Wyatt’s funeral wasn’t until two, and we’d passed the window in which Diggs was most likely to swell up and die from his snake bite. Since I hadn’t gotten any sleep to speak of since leaving Maine, I apologized to anyone who may have been expecting sparkling conversation, grabbed my dog, and retired to the Durhams’ attic guest room.

  I lay on the bed beside Einstein and idly scratched his fuzzy belly. He groaned, stretching out his front paws while one of his hind legs kicked into gear when I hit a choice spot. It would be so much easier to be a dog. I thought of Diggs cradled in my arms last night, his heart racing. My heart racing. Unlike the nightmares I’d been having for the past six months, though, at least with the snake bite I could do something when he was in danger, instead of just standing there, frozen, like I always did in those freaking dreams.

  Einstein turned his head and lapped lazily at my jaw.

  Yeah... definitely easier to be a dog.

  I retrieved my cell phone and dialed Juarez. He answered on the second ring, though it was the middle of the work day.

  “Hey, baby,” he answered. He always answered that way—or he had since we’d started dating, anyway. Terms of endearment aren’t usually my thing, but I was getting used to it. It didn’t hurt that Juarez made ‘baby’ sound just a little dirty when he said it.

  “Hey,” I said. “Is this an okay time?”

  “Just catching up on paperwork,” he said. “Perfect timing.”

  “Sorry I didn’t call last night. Things got a little… crazy.”

  “I figured they would. Don’t worry about it. How’s Diggs?”

  I hadn’t lied when I told Diggs me coming to Kentucky was Juarez’s idea. In fact, he’d kind of insisted on it.

  “He’s all right,” I said. “You know Diggs. He’s solid as a rock, right up until he’s not.” I tried to figure out how to broach the subject of the rattlesnake attack. Funny story: how much do you know about pit vipers?

  “And you’re doing okay?” he asked.

  “Yeah, I am. I’m actually getting ready to take a nap.” I hesitated. Open, honest communication isn’t usually my thing, either. “I just wanted to hear your voice.” I rolled onto my back, still holding the phone to my ear. “Tell me about your day.”

  We did this a lot. Juarez isn’t a phone sex kind of guy, but with the smooth voice and the subtle accent, he really missed his calling. Since we were still working out the whole long-distance thing between Maine and D.C., most weekday evenings for the past three months had been spent on the phone. Lately, I found myself craving the sound of his voice at bedtime. Jack Juarez: Human Xanax. May be addictive, but no groggy drug hangover in the morning.

  “Erin?” Juarez said after a few minutes. I forced myself back to some state of coherence.

  “Yeah,” I said.

  “Were you sleeping?”

  “No… not yet. Almost.”

  “I should go, then.” He paused. “You think you’ll be back in Maine by the weekend?”

  It was Wednesday. The funeral was today… I wasn’t sure how much investigating we’d be doing into Wyatt’s death after that, though.

  “I think so,” I said. “I’ll let you know as soon as I have a better idea. Why? You miss me already?”

  He laughed. Juarez has a great phone laugh. “I always miss you, baby. Be safe. I’ll talk to you soon.”

  We hung up. I slept.

  When I emerged, the house was unexpectedly quiet. Eventually, I found Danny—the miscreant son Wyatt and Mae had named after Diggs—sitting on the front porch alone. For a kid with no actual Diggins blood in him, he really did have an uncannily Diggs-like vibe. Not that he actually looked like Diggs, mind you. But clearly there was some hero worship going on there:His shaggy blond hair was gelled within an inch of its life, his rumpled suit was a size too small, and he held a joint in his left hand. He looked up, startled, when I opened the front door.

  “Uh—sorry,” I said. “I was just looking for Diggs.”

  He made no effort to hide the weed, though he did have the decency not to keep smoking it while I was standing right there.

  “He’s just gettin’ dressed. He said I could ride with y’all. Hope you don’t mind.”

  “No, of course not.”

  “Good,” he said, nodding. He patted the seat next to him. “Come on out. Diggs’ll be along. It’s too dang stuffy in there.”

  He was right about that, anyway. I’d already changed into my funeral clothes, so there wasn’t a whole lot else I could do with the next ten minutes until Diggs wandered down to join us.

  Einstein loped out into the yard with one of the resident hound dogs. They sniffed butts, he graced the hound with one of his best play bows, and they raced off together. There were clouds on the horizon, and rain was in the air. I took the seat Danny had indicated. He offered me his joint.

  “Just to take the edge off,” he said.

  It was tempting, but I’ve never been much of an enthusiast myself. Diggs smoked enough for both of us back in the day.

  “No, thanks. You sure you should be out here in the open with that?”

  “Everybody’s already headed on out to the church,” he said. “Except you and Diggs, I mean. And I knew you guys’d be cool with it.”

  I wasn’t sure how accurate that was as far as Diggs was concerned anymore, but who was I to burst the kid’s bubble?

  “So,” he continued. “Is it true what happened last night? Somebody really locked Diggs in with them rattlers?” He looked more curious than horrified. That could have been the pot, though.

  “Yeah,” I said with a nod. “It was nuts. You have any idea who would have done some
thing like that?”

  He took a long hit from his joint, held the smoke in his lungs, and then put it out and pocketed the roach before he responded. His eyes were glassy, splintered with red veins.

  “Diggs made some enemies when he was here before,” Danny said. “I was just a kid then, so I didn’t pay too much attention. He was just ol’ Uncle Diggs, you know? But the stories are still around—Mama doesn’t even know we’ve heard half of ‘em. How he knocked boots with the sheriff’s wife and then was out on the front lawn of the Motel Six butt naked. Plus everything that happened with Reverend Barnel...”

  “What did happen with Reverend Barnel?” I asked.

  Danny considered that for a minute, clearly torn between loyalty to Diggs and the high of being the one in the know.

  “Forget it,” I said. “I don’t want you to betray any confidences, kid.”

  “I ain’t no kid,” he said lightly. “I got a truck. I got plenty of girls for any night I choose. I got a band, even—and we’re good, too. Play out down to Nashville and Memphis, Louisville and Lexington.” He looked at me knowingly. “But good job makin’ me feel like a loser just so I’d spill Diggs’ secrets to feel like a big man.”

  “I thought the weed might slow you down,” I said with a rueful smile. “Maybe you wouldn’t figure my angle.”

  He shook his head with exaggerated disappointment. When he looked at me, there was a predatory gleam in his eye. He was a good looking kid, and he knew it: the kind cougars the world over would stand in line for. I’ve never been much for younger men, though.

  “Don’t give me that look, Dimples,” I said. “I’ve got enough problems with your uncle. Now, what do you know? Let’s have it.”

  He saluted gravely. “Yes, ma’am. Well, when he lived here before, with Aunt Ashley, I know him and the reverend got into it a couple times. Diggs was always writin’ articles about Barnel’s church, you know? And he went to a couple of his services, rip roarin’ drunk, and Sheriff Jennings had to haul him off.”

  “Why does he hate Barnel so much, though?”

  “Same reason my mama loves the guy so much, I reckon,” Danny said. For the first time, he looked uncomfortable. “Anyway, that seems more like a story Diggs should tell you himself. What happens at Barnel’s camp… that changes a body. It’s not so much a story you want other people tellin’.”

  “You sound like you speak from experience.”

  I might as well have suggested he was secretly into wearing his mom’s lingerie. He looked at the ground, shaking his head.

  “Just telling you what I’ve heard,” he said. “That’s all.”

  Diggs came out a minute later, freshly scrubbed and sporting jacket and tie. Being a manly man, he’d of course scorned the hospital’s recommendation of crutches—though he’d bizarrely been fine with George Durham’s old man cane.

  “You moving in on my girl?” Diggs asked when he came out, eyeing Danny.

  “First off, I’m not your girl,” I said. “And secondly… he was just giving me a little dirt on you, as a matter of fact.”

  “Dirt? On me?” Diggs asked, wide eyed. “Pfft. None to be found.”

  “Well, except for that summer you and Daddy—” Danny began with a spark in his eye.

  “Hey—all right, you proved your point. I think we best be on our way.” Diggs sniffed the air knowingly. “But first, what’s that I smell? It’s vaguely familiar. Smells like…”

  “Teen spirit?” Danny said. Wiseacre.

  “Smells like weed, shithead,” Diggs said. “And if I catch you smoking it on your Mama’s front porch again, I’ll kick your ass six ways to Sunday.”

  Danny nodded. Clearly, it wasn’t the reaction he’d expected. So much for Uncle Diggs, frat brother in arms. “Yes, sir. Won’t happen again.”

  “Good,” Diggs said. He held out his hand. Danny took it, letting Diggs pull him up. “Now, come on. Put some eye drops in, and let’s do this thing.” He draped his arm across Danny’s shoulders and looked at me. “You ready, Sol?”

  “Go on ahead—I just have to grab something, I’ll be right there.”

  I went in, settled Einstein and the other dogs inside, and grabbed my purse. When I came out, Diggs and Danny were walking together, heads tilted toward one another. I had one of those brief, not-at-all advisable flashes of What Might Have Been between the two of us. If that night when he’d learned I was marrying Michael had gone differently… Of course, he’d already started using by then—not to the degree he did later, but he was on that road. And he was drinking. And lying. Most likely, if we’d tried to make something happen then, we would have imploded way more spectacularly than he and Ashley ever did. Our friendship was strong, but I doubted it could have withstood that.

  He was four years’ sober now. A changed man in any number of ways, from the one I’d known back then.

  “Get the lead out, ace,” Diggs called back to me. “We’re not getting any younger here. You coming or what?”

  Okay, not totally changed. I set my tumbling thoughts aside and made for the car. Danny got in the back despite my protests, and Diggs gave me a cryptic smile as he put the car in gear.

  The sky was getting grayer, though it hadn’t started raining yet. We’d been driving maybe ten minutes when I noticed Diggs checking the rearview again. We were on a rural road, only a few cars in any direction. It made it very easy to spot the dark blue sedan with tinted windows keeping pace a couple of cars back.

  I fisted my hands in my lap, feeling the bone-deep fear that had become a constant since Black Falls. Diggs caught the movement.

  “We’re being followed,” I said quietly.

  He nodded, not even bothering to deny it. “I know,” he said grimly.

  Chapter Six

  DIGGS

  Justice Baptist was a little white church at the end of a short dirt drive on the outskirts of town. I knew as soon as we rounded the corner and the church was in sight that something was wrong. The parking lot was packed, the road lined with cars, and people had started parking in the field out back. I wasn’t looking at them, though, my attention caught by a crowd gathered in a clearing across the road.

  A cluster of a dozen men, women, and children stood at the church property line holding signs and chanting nonsense. Danny leaned toward the front seat, straining to see through the windshield.

  “What’s going on over there?” he asked.

  “Go on in the church and get settled,” I told Danny and Solomon. “I’ll be right there.”

  The kid wouldn’t be so easily dissuaded, his attention still fixed on the demonstrators. “Is that Reverend Barnel?” he demanded. He got out of the car before I could answer. Solomon and I tore after him as he strode toward the crowd. I caught up to him and grabbed his arm.

  “Get in the church—you hear me? Now. I’ll handle this.”

  “I don’t need you to handle it.” Danny tore his arm away. “I got it.”

  I could hear the chanting the closer we got. At the center of it all was Reverend Jesup T. Barnel. Even now, I felt the cold, bowel-clenching fear I’d known as a boy around him.

  “The Lord is gathering his flock,” he preached. “The end is upon us—judgment time is here, brothers and sisters. Wyatt Durham was found wantin’. How many more will the Lord smite before the fires consume this land of ours?”

  Danny pushed through the onlookers. “What the hell are you doin’ here, old man?” he demanded. “You ain’t got no right being within a hundred miles of this place. My daddy was a good man.”

  “Your daddy strayed,” Barnel said. He was a barrel-chested old man who hadn’t aged well, his face slack and his coloring a deep, unhealthy red. “And you know it full well, son. We’re just here to warn anybody who comes near, just what we’re facin’ right now. Somebody put your daddy in the ground for the sins he done against the Almighty.”

  “Somebody oughta put you in the ground, you old bast—”

  I grabbed Danny before all hell broke
loose, and physically dragged him back to the church while Barnel shouted after us.

  For the first time since I’d set down in Louisville, I felt myself slipping.

  Between the two of us, Solomon and I managed to wrangle Danny into the church. Once he was inside, I walked away for a minute—away from Barnel and his flock, away from the church, up the road toward freedom. Solomon walked alongside, eyeing me with concern.

  “I could beat that guy up for you if you’d like,” she said. “The crazy old preacher, I mean. Juarez taught me some moves. I’m not saying I’d come out on top ultimately, but I’d probably give him a run for his money.”

  I laughed, a breathless rush of air that felt better than anything had all day. “Maybe later.” I walked another few feet. A cold drizzle started, but I couldn’t bring myself to go back. Solomon laid her hand on my arm. She gave me a solid smile. Rock steady when it really counts—that’s my Solomon.

  “You can do this, Diggs.”

  I nodded. My palms were damp, my suit too warm despite the chill in the air. “I know. No sweat, right?”

  We turned around and headed back. The air smelled like damp earth and fresh rain. I thought of Wyatt and me, leaping streams and crashing parties as kids. Our freshman year, rooming together at Columbia, when Wyatt left every party early to call Mae while I bitched him out for passing up opportunities to sleep with the hot coeds throwing themselves at him.

  I don’t want whatever those girls are sellin’. I pictured him, always a head taller than anyone else in the room. Broad-shouldered and powerful, with a sense of empathy that ran deeper than anyone I’d ever met. Women loved Wyatt. They’re too skinny. Anybody’s that skinny, it’s bound to make ‘em mean. I don’t want my girls mean. That’s the difference between you and me.

  That’s the only difference? I’d asked, grinning.

  Well, that and I dress better. Other than that, we might as well be livin’ in the same skin.