I looked at her, my eyebrows beetling. “How do you know that?”
“He told me. The same time he told me his name. That day you made us take you out there.”
I shook my head in amazement.
“Is he really following us?” Ashara asked. “I mean, maybe he’s just out for a drive or something.”
“Past the old Powell place. I’m sure,” I said.
The SUV slowed behind us as it passed the Powell house, but didn’t stop. Instead, he picked up speed and caught up with us.
Ashara drove quickly through the back streets, heading toward Main Street. “Maybe he’ll leave us alone once we get downtown,” she said hopefully.
The SUV tailed us for a few minutes more, and then abruptly turned off onto another side street.
“Oh, thank God,” said Ashara. “He’s gone.”
“Thank you, Jesus,” Maw-Maw added in a fervent tone.
I was just about to add my own prayer to whatever celestial being might take interest in a stranded ghost chick, when suddenly the SUV cut out of a side street right in front of us, slamming to a stop.
Ashara hit the brakes so hard she practically stood up on them and, at the same time, twisted the wheel to avoid hitting the SUV.
She missed it; instead, her front tires bumped over the curb and hit the lawn of the house on the corner.
I’ve got to hand it to her: that girl is one tough driver. If I’d been behind the wheel, we would have stopped right there, and there’s no telling what Howard would have done to us.
Not Ashara, though. As soon as she felt the tires hit grass, she spun the wheel back around and hit the gas as hard as she’d hit the brakes. The back tires squealed and the front tires threw up a shower of grass and dirt, but the car moved, twisting past the SUV and screaming down the residential street.
I saw Howard’s face, ugly and red with anger, as we drove past him.
I flipped him the bird.
Okay. So it was crude. But he couldn’t see me anyway, so what did it matter?
“Now,” I said to Ashara. “Now we go to the police.”
“And say what?”
“Report what just happened. That you and your elderly grandmother were out for an evening drive and a crazy man tried to run you off the road.”
“What if the police tell him who I am?” she asked.
“He already knows,” I reminded her. “And I think it’s time we start working on getting him on the police radar. So to speak.”
Ashara nodded and took a deep breath. “Okay.”
The balding officer who took Ashara’s report at the local police station seemed more than a little bored with and skeptical of Ashara’s story, but at least he filled out a report, taking down Howard’s license plate and a description of the SUV.
“So what happens next?” Ashara asked.
The cop shrugged. “No one was hurt, so there’s not much we can do.”
“He tried to run me off the road,” she said indignantly.
“And we’ll send an officer out to speak to him about it. But unless you can come up with a witness--“he paused, glancing at Maw-Maw, “another witness,” he corrected himself, “then all we can do is issue him a warning.”
Ashara sighed. “Fine. Thanks for all your help.”
“Try not to sound so sarcastic,” I hissed at her. “You want these guys to take you seriously.”
She spun on her heel and marched out of the police station, leaving Maw-Maw to hobble out after her.
“It just makes me so damned mad,” she fumed as she got Maw-Maw settled into the car. “I guarantee, if it had been a black man running a white woman off the road, that cop would have been a whole lot more helpful.”
I nodded. “You’re probably right. But right now we have to accept every little bit of official help we can get.”
“That shouldn’t mean that I have to swallow my pride and go beg some policeman to help me.”
“And you didn’t. All you did was file a report. So let’s leave it at that for now.”
Ashara got into the driver’s side and slammed the door.
“Fine,” she snarled, looking at me in the rearview mirror. “But as soon as we’ve got enough on that murdering motherfucker to lock him away forever, we’re going straight back into that station and I’m going to shove it in that asshole’s face.”
“Agreed,” I said.
“Ashara,” Maw-Maw said reprovingly.
“I’m sorry, Maw-Maw,” Ashara said. “It just makes me so angry to get treated like that.”
“I know it does, honey. But he’ll get his. Don’t you worry.” She folded her hands over her stomach complacently.
Ashara huffed out a breath and shook her head.
“Let’s just go back home,” she said.
“Not your place,” I reminded her.
“I know, I know.” She shook her head. “We need to wrap this up soon--I’ve got to get back into my house and get some more clothes.”
* * * *
“Have you heard from Stephen?” I asked Ashara as we walked back into Maw-Maw’s.
She shook her head. “Not since last night. He was still here when I got home from work, but he didn’t stay long. I think that visit to Rick McClatchey really shook him up.”
“I think it was the first time he’d really thought about what it would mean for Rick to get convicted of this crime,” I agreed.
“You think maybe I should call him or something?” Ashara asked.
“It’s up to you, but I would if I could. He’s trying to help us and now we have new information that he doesn’t have.”
“I think you ought to call him. He’s nice. Especially for a white boy,” Maw-Maw opined.
Ashara rolled her eyes and pulled out her pulled out her cell phone and tapped away. When did they trade numbers? I wondered.
“Hey, Steve,” she said. “Ashara. We’ve found out some more stuff if you want to hear about it.” She waited in silence for a moment. I could hear Stephen talking but couldn’t make out the words.
“Yeah, well, the killer tried to run us over tonight,” she said. Again, I heard Stephen’s voice, this time pitched a little higher.
“No. We’re all okay,” Ashara said. “Okay,” she said after another short silence. “We’ll be here.” She flipped the phone closed. “He’s finishing up something at home, and then he’ll be over.”
When Ashara answered the door, Stephen stepped in and gave her a quick one-armed hug.
“You doing okay?” he asked.
“Yeah,” she said. “You?”
“I’m not the one who just almost got run over by a crazed killer,” he said.
“Not yet,” I muttered.
“I’m hoping not ever,” he said with a sidelong glance at me.
“Hello, Miss Adelaide,” he said, leaning over and giving her a peck on the cheek. “I brought you these.” He brought his other arm out from behind his back and flourished a bouquet of colorful flowers at her.
“Oh, you sweet boy,” Maw-Maw said. And I swear she simpered at him. “Ashara, you go get the vase down from the cabinet over the refrigerator and put these in some water.” She held the flowers up to her nose and breathed in deeply. “Mmm,” she said. “I always did love me the smell of flowers.”
“Kiss up,” I mouthed at Stephen behind Maw-Maw’s back.
“I heard that, Callie Taylor,” said Maw-Maw.
I blinked, surprised.
Ashara came back with the vase and, once the flowers were arranged to Maw-Maw’s satisfaction and placed on top of the television where she could see them from her armchair, we all took turns telling Stephen what had happened in his absence.
He let out a low whistle when we’d finished. “So now he knows that we’re on to him,” he said.
“Or at least that something’s up and it involves Ashara,” I said.
“That worries me.” Stephen’s eyebrows beetled and he frowned as he looked at Ashara.
“N
ot half as much as it worries me,” she said.
“I just don’t know what we can do about it right now,” I said, my voice showing my frustration.
“Well,” said Stephen decisively, “I don’t think there is anything we can do right now. Have y’all eaten dinner yet?” he asked.
I blinked at the sudden change in topic.
“No, we haven’t,” said Maw-Maw.
“Well, then,” said Stephen, “let’s order a pizza and forget about all this for right now. We’ll come back to the problem later, after we’ve all had something to eat and some sleep.”
He looked up at me suddenly with a horrified look on his face.
“Oh. Callie. I didn’t mean . . .” he stopped, searching for a word.
I laughed. “Trying to apologize to the eating-challenged?”
He blushed.
“Don’t worry about it,” I said. “I’ll just sit here and enjoy the company.”
In the end, I enjoyed the smell of the pizza almost as much as the company. Maybe a little more. We were all subdued, worried about what was going to happen next, how we were going to keep everyone safe from Howard until we could pin Molly’s murder on him.
None of us came up with any sudden inspirations, though, and when the pizza was gone, Stephen got up to leave.
“I’ll walk you to your car,” Ashara said.
“No,” Stephen and I said in unison.
“You’re the only one whose name Howard knows,” I reminded her. “If he even happened to drive by and saw you here, then he’d know how to get to your grandmother.”
Ashara groaned.
“She’s right,” Stephen said. He reached up and brushed a curl off her shoulder. “You’re safer inside. Stay here. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He turned and let himself out of the house.
“What was that?” I asked Ashara as she bolted the door behind him.
“What was what?”
“That business with the hair.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. He’s just a nice guy.”
Maw-Maw and I looked at each other and snickered.
“You two are horrible,” Ashara said. “I’m going to bed now. You should too, Maw-Maw.”
“No, baby, I’m not tired yet,” Maw-Maw said. “I’m going stay up and watch me some TV. I don’t got no sweet thoughts of a pretty white boy to rock me to sleep.” She grinned evilly at Ashara.
Ashara rolled her eyes again. “Fine,” she said. She stalked down the hall and into the third bedroom, slamming the door behind her.
“Just a nice boy,” Maw-Maw snorted.
“Sure he is,” I said, heading toward the guest room I had claimed as my own.
I heard Maw-Maw cackling behind me as I drifted into that floating fugue state that I was beginning to think of as sleep.
Chapter Fourteen
I awoke--or at least, came to consciousness--sometime in the early hours of the morning. I could hear Maw-Maw snoring loudly in her room and when I poked my head through the door of Ashara’s room, I saw that she was curled into a tight ball under the covers, just her dark reddish-brown curls peeking out.
I wandered through the house for a little while trying to decide what our next move should be. Howard’s attempt to waylay us the night before had worried me more than I had wanted to let on. I paced back and forth in the living room, trying to put all the pieces together.
So Clifford Howard and Jeffrey McClatchey had somehow conspired to split a bunch of money in a safe deposit box belonging to a Mary Powell, but to which both the McClatchey brothers had access. But only Rick McClatchey had the key. Mary Powell was related to a man who had probably been murdered in the 1940s by men related to Clifford Howard.
I suspected the money in the safe deposit box was somehow connected to the 1940s killing of Jimmy Powell, but I couldn’t figure out why Clifford had killed Molly McClatchey. I had no idea where the McClatcheys fit into this at all.
I was still pacing back and forth when Maw-Maw came out of her bedroom wrapped in an old blue terry cloth robe, her hair already tucked into its bun, pieces already escaping to frame her face.
“How’s an old woman supposed to sleep with you making all that racket in here?” she asked irritably.
“Racket?” I asked in stunned amazement, looking down at my feet. “I’m floating six inches off the ground. I haven’t touched anything. How could I be making a racket?”
“Hmph,” the old woman said--which really didn’t seem to be much of an answer to me--and stumped off to the kitchen. I heard her start the coffee pot.
“Well,” she said, coming back in a little later, steaming coffee cup in hand, “you might as well sit down and talk about what’s got you so riled up. I’m awake now.”
I suppressed a grin and told her everything I’d been considering.
“Well, now,” she said, setting her coffee to one side and leaning her head back against the headrest of her recliner, “let’s see.” She hummed a little to herself, her eyes closed.
Finally she opened them again. “Well, Mary Powell--Jimmy’s mama--wasn’t never the same after he disappeared. She took to spending all her time at home. Before that, she had herself plenty of friends. But my mama said that Jimmy’s loss just took all the heart out of Mary.” She shook her head, her mouth twisted to the side.
“You said there was a daughter named Mary, too, right?” I asked.
She nodded. “Now she was a scandal.”
“Really?” I leaned forward from my seat on the couch.
“Yes, ma’am. She and her mama had opposite reactions to losing Jimmy. Her mama hid out in her house, wouldn’t hardly do nothing. But little Mary--she must’ve been about seventeen at the time--got even worse than she had been, running around with all kinds of boys, drinking, smoking, generally acting up.”
“And her mother didn’t do anything to stop her?” I asked.
Maw-Maw shook her head. “Not at first. Mind you, she had always been a wild child, and her mother hadn’t done nothing about it then. When Jimmy came home, he tried to stop her, but it was tough row to hoe with that one. She never did take to being told what to do.”
“But later?”
“Well.” And now Maw-Maw was also leaning forward in her chair, her voice dropped low to tell the secret of a sixty-year-old scandal. “Not all too long after Jimmy disappeared, Miss Mary left town. Her relations here put it out that she was going to go live with some cousins out in Georgia, but we didn’t none of us believe it.”
“So where do you think she went?” I asked breathlessly, completely drawn into the story.
“She was gone just a little over eight months,” Maw-Maw said, leaning back in her chair and nodding complacently, “as those of us was counting figured it. Just about the right amount of time to have herself a little one and then come on home.”
“Did she bring the baby back with her?” I asked.
Maw-Maw let out a bark of laughter. “Not then. But it weren’t but a few months after that a Powell cousin comes to town and asks if Mrs. Mary--little Mary’s mother--could take care of this baby she, the cousin, just ain’t got the means for. As if Mary had any more money than anybody else. We all knew it was Miss Mary’s baby, but we all pretended we didn’t.”
I leaned back in my seat, too. “Wow. So whose baby was it? I mean, who was the father?”
Maw-Maw shook her head. “Never did know for sure. Some white man, though, to look at the boy.”
Ashara came walking through the doorway into the living room, yawning and grimacing. “What are you two in here talking about? Can’t you let a person sleep?” She glared at us briefly, yawned again, and staggered toward the kitchen.
“Neither of you are really morning people, are you?” I asked.
Maw-Maw just shook her head. “Never was able to get that child out of bed. Even when she was a tiny baby, her mama would have to just about lie on top of her to get her to be still enough to go to sleep at night. And once she was asleep
, she didn’t want nobody waking her up.” She smiled.
“What happened to Ashara’s parents?”
Ashara walked in with coffee in hand.
“My daddy left when I was just little,” she said. “I hardly remember him.”
“He never was no good,” Maw-Maw said, her mouth tightening up.
“And Mama died of breast cancer five years ago,” Ashara said.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
Ashara shook her head. “It’s okay. It was hard, but I’ve still got Maw-Maw.” She took her grandmother’s hand and squeezed it.
“So what were you talking about?” she asked, sitting down on the other end of the couch and curling her feet under her.
“Miss Adelaide was telling me about the Powell family.”
“Yeah?”
So Maw-Maw repeated it. As I listened to it again, the barest hint of an idea began to tickle at the back of my mind.
“What happened to the baby boy?”
“Well, when little Mary finally settled down and married one of the Washington boys, the little boy stayed on with her mother. Guess Miss Mary’s new husband didn’t have no interest in having her first little one around. Seemed to put the heart back into Mrs. Mary, to some degree, anyway. He growed up to be just almost as pretty as his uncle Jimmy had been.”
“Then what?”
“Well,” she said, squinting her eyes as she thought. “He went off to Atlanta and married himself a white woman. That was in the seventies, you know, and it was a bit of a scandal, but those two sure did love each other.”
“And they had kids?” I asked.
She tilted her head. “Well. I guess I don’t rightly know.”
I stood up and brushed a kiss toward Maw-Maw’s cheek. “Thank you, Miss Adelaide. You’ve been a big help.”
She patted me on my own cheek, her hand sliding halfway into my face. “I’m glad, Callie, honey.”
I turned to Ashara. “You’re going to have to call in sick today,” I said.
“I can’t,” she said indignantly. “I’m not sick.”
I sighed. “There is a crazy murderer out there who knows where you work and might just be waiting for you there. You can’t go to work. You can’t even leave this house in your own car. You have to call in sick at least until we get that guy off the streets. But I’ve got some ideas about that, so if you’ll just quit being so damned stubborn, ignore your own work ethic for one day, and come help me, we might be able to fix it so that you never have to call in sick ever again.”
Waking Up Dead Page 11
