by Sharon Sala
“No puppies. Just your favorite ice cream!”
“Yay!!! Cookie dough with chocolate chips?”
“Yep, and three spoons. One for you and two for me.”
She laughed again. “You are such a pig, Daddy. One for me, one for you, and one for Nana.”
“Oh. Okay, it’s your treat. I’m just the delivery boy.”
He took the lid off the pint then grabbed a clean washcloth from the shelf by the sink, wrapped it around the carton and handed it to her, along with a spoon.
He made a production of bowing toward Amelia to give her the plastic spoon as if he were a page at court presenting silver to a queen.
“Mother dear, your spoon.”
Amelia met his gaze with a show of bravado, although it was obvious she was at a loss as to what was going on. She’d expected anger, not this.
“Thank you,” she said.
As soon as he’d forced her to meet his gaze, he immediately shifted focus and ignored her.
“Is it good, baby?” Justin asked, smiling at the joy on his daughter’s face.
Callie rolled her eyes, nodding slowly as she let the first bite melt in her mouth.
Justin winked as he dug his spoon into the carton and scooped out a big bite, leaving Amelia to her own resources. As far as he was concerned, she could use it to eat ice cream, or shove it up her ass.
Amelia took a small bite and then slipped it between her lips, but it might as well been medicine. There was a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach that the other shoe was about to drop. She listened to the continuing chit-chat between father and child, well aware she was an obvious outsider to their funny banter. She was debating with herself about calling Newton to come pick her up when her cell phone suddenly rang.
Finally.
She’d been waiting for Graham Ring to call her back all day. But when she saw Caller ID and realized it was just her hair stylist, she let the call go to voicemail.
Justin saw her frown. “If you want another bite, Mother, you’d better dig in. Looks like Callie’s about to finish it off.”
“Yes, here Nana, get another bite,” Callie said.
Amelia shook her head. “Thank you, darling, but I’ll pass. I’ve been expecting a call all day. Now that your father is here, I’m going to step out for a bit and check in.”
Justin waved his spoon in the air for punctuation. “Oh, hey! Was it a call from Graham Ring? I’m sorry I didn’t mention it sooner. It seems we both had the same idea this morning. He filled me in. I told him I’d pass the info along.”
Then he smiled.
Amelia froze. The smile. The only reason he would be happy was if Poppy Sadler was actually his.
God in heaven. What do I do now?
Justin tossed his spoon in the trash and then turned so that Callie couldn’t see his face. Although the tone of his voice light, there was no mistaking the warning on his face.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “You’ve done more than enough. I’ll take it from here.”
Her chin went up in fighting mode as her eyes narrowed angrily, but she too, maintained a normal tone of voice.
“Fine. I’m going to give Newton a call. I believe I’m ready to call it a day.” She gave Callie a quick smile. “You don’t mind, do you, darling? Nana is still a bit shaky from yesterday.”
“It’s okay, Nana. Besides, I’ve got my new tunes to listen to and my tummy is happy.”
“That’s my girl,” Justin said. “Then I’ll leave you to rock out on your own and I’ll give you a call before I go to bed tonight. Okay?”
“Sure, Daddy,” Callie said, as she dug her ear buds out of the drawer and plugged them into the IPod. She waved goodbye to them both and settled back against her pillows with her foot bouncing beneath the covers in time to a song only she could hear.
Justin turned to Amelia. “So, Mother. It seems we’re excused. I’ll walk you down.”
She shrugged, refusing to admit defeat. “If you wish.”
“Oh, I wish,” Justin said, as he gripped her firmly by the elbow and all but shoved her out of the room.
They maintained their courtesy to each other all the way down the hall and until they boarded the elevator. Then the moment the doors went shut, Justin had his mother in the corner.
“I want his name and where he was from.”
“Wade Lee Tiller. Newport.”
The elevator doors opened. Justin walked off, leaving Amelia behind.
“Wait,” she called. “This isn’t the lobby.”
“The air is foul in there. I’m walking the rest of the way down.”
Amelia blanched.
The doors went shut – a symbolic ending to a relationship already in ruins.
****
John parked his truck in the driveway and killed the engine. They were home, but Poppy couldn’t think what to do next. Today had shattered what was left of her sanity. If she moved, she was afraid she would collapse.
John glanced at her profile then got out and opened the passenger side door. Without speaking, he physically lifted her out, then put his arm around her shoulders and walked her into the house.
While they were still at the church Gladys had come down to the house to let the florist drop off all the potted plants. Everything else had been left at the cemetery. The room looked like the mortuary, but without all the weird smells.
“Oh man,” John mumbled. “I didn’t know they would bring this stuff here.”
Poppy looked down at her clothes. The black dress she was wearing had been one of her mama’s. It hadn’t fit particularly well, but it served its purpose. Only now it was over and she wanted it off.
“I have to change.”
“Yeah, me, too,” John said, and headed for his room while Poppy went to hers.
As soon as she was alone, she stepped out of her shoes, unzipped the back of the dress, let it fall to the floor, then crawled between the covers and closed her eyes. If God was merciful, she would die in her sleep. If not, when tomorrow came, she was going to have to face going through this all over again when Jessup was buried.
A short while later John knocked on her door.
“Poppy. Are you hungry? Would you like something to eat? You haven’t eaten all day.”
When she didn’t answer, he peeked in. “Poppy?”
“I want to sleep, Johnny. Just let me sleep.”
He closed the door gently then headed for the kitchen in his sock feet. He needed to think, and he thought better without an empty stomach.
Hours later, and after fielding a dozen phone calls from acquaintances extending their condolences because they hadn’t been able to attend the service, he finally turned off the ringer, locked up the house and went to bed. Like Poppy, he’d had all he could take of today.
Surely to God tomorrow had to be better.
****
Prophet Jones had a burden he needed to share. He’d witnessed a crime. He considered it his legal, as well as God-given duty to tell what he’d seen. But since he didn’t trust the police, it had taken him a few days to figure out what would be right. It wasn’t until he’d seen the funeral procession taking Helen Sadler’s mortal remains to the cemetery that he figured it out. It was logical. It was all about telling the proper people in the right order. He prayed about it all night, and when the sun came up over the Little Man, he headed for Coal Town.
****
It was after 8:00 before John woke. He lay without moving, listening to see if he could hear anything that would tell him Poppy was up. He didn’t want to go banging around in the kitchen when she needed to sleep. He got up to go to the bathroom and as soon as he opened his door, he smelled coffee, which meant the answer was yes.
After a quick trip across the hall, he went back to get dressed, then joined her. He half expected to see her still in her robe and gown, but she was dressed – granted in old jeans and a faded long-sleeved shirt, but it was proof enough that she was willing to face the day.
“Hey, sister.”
Poppy turned. He saw shadows under her eyes, but her gaze was steady.
“Hi Johnny. How do you want your eggs?”
“Two over easy.”
“You do the toast.”
He smiled. “One or two?”
“One for me. Two for you and one to grow on.”
He pulled the end of her long ponytail. “Some things never change, do they, honey?”
“That’s what Mama always said to Daddy when he made toast.”
John nodded. “I remember.”
She cracked eggs into the skillet and for a few moments reverted to silence. It wasn’t until she was taking up his eggs and adding bacon to the plate that she spoke again.
“What do we do now?” Poppy asked, and handed the plates to John.
“What do you mean?” he asked, as he added toast and carried them to the table while Poppy went for the butter and jam.
“Mama’s been buried. Daddy’s in the morgue.” Poppy sat down and covered her face with both hands.
Just when John thought she was going to burst into tears she looked up. There was a small, crooked smile on her face.
“Sorry. That sounded like the beginnings of a really bad country song.”
He laughed. “Oh my God, you are good for my soul.”
Poppy couldn’t laugh, but she felt better as she buttered her toast. “I guess what I really want to know is when are you going back to Atlanta?”
“Not until I help you bury Dad, that’s for sure.”
“I know... but after that. Do we just get on with our lives and hope the police find out who killed Daddy? Do I try to find out who got Mama pregnant? What do we do?”
“Pass the salt and pepper.”
She scooted the shakers toward him. “Well?”
“I don’t know what you want to do, but I’m eating breakfast. Then we’re gonna move those damned flowers and potted plants out of the living room, at least most of them. We’ll figure it out as we go, okay?”
It was better than what she’d been thinking, which was nothing. Every rational thought in her head had gone missing.
She didn’t want to know who had donated the sperm that made her. She wanted to go back to the beginning, when all she’d had to do was deal with finding a killer. She wasn’t ready to deal with the fact that they could be one and the same.
They ate in silence for a few minutes until John got up to put his third piece of bread in the toaster.
“I don’t know why you don’t just make three to begin with when you make the others,” Poppy said.
“Cause then it would get cold and the butter wouldn’t melt. Do you want one?”
She shook her head. “Did you look to see if the paper was on the porch yet?”
“No.”
“I’ll check,” she said, and strode through the house to the front door.
She swung the door inward then took a quick step back.
“John. John!”
“Yeah, what do you want?” he yelled.
“Come here, please.”
He eyed the toaster and then jogged out of the kitchen to see what she needed, only to come to an abrupt halt behind her.
“What the hell?”
Prophet Jones was standing on the steps.
Even though it was nothing more than the morning sun at his back, he appeared to be glowing.
Prophet pointed at them. “You are Jessup Sadler’s children.”
John put his hands on Poppy’s shoulders. “Yes we are.”
“I saw your father struck down by the Devil’s hand. I have his footprints in my pocket.”
John flinched. I’ll be a son-of-a-bitch, Aaron was right.
Poppy was stunned. “You witnessed my father’s murder?”
Prophet pointed to the heavens. “As God is my witness, yes I did.”
“Why haven’t you gone to the police?” John asked.
The old man threw up his hands and began to dance around on the porch as if his shoes were on fire.
“They are corrupt. If I tell, they will do what they did before. They will let the Devil buy his way out and justice will not be served.”
Poppy’s heart began to hammer. If this was true, this was exactly what Mike Amblin needed to hear. But how to convince the crazy old man was another issue.
“Have you eaten this morning?” Poppy asked.
Prophet’s rage settled so fast it was almost as if it had never happened.
“Why, no, ma’am. I have not.”
“I can make you an egg and bacon sandwich, if you like.”
“I would appreciate that,” Prophet said, then looked nervous that they might expect him to go inside. He hadn’t been inside a building in so long he wasn’t certain he knew the rules any more – but he did remember there were rules. “I will set out here to eat.”
“That’s fine,” Poppy said. “My brother, John will wait with you.”
She gave John a look, as if to say, don’t let him get away, and then flew back into the house. Within three minutes she was back with the food and a hot cup of coffee laced with cream and sugar in the biggest mug they owned.
She handed him the food and then stepped back, expecting him to wolf it down like the animal he appeared to be. But he surprised her. Instead he seated himself on the top step, put the plate on his knees, and then bowed his head and said a blessing. That’s when they remembered he’d been a preacher. Maybe he wasn’t so far from God after all.
Poppy waited until he’d gotten down a good half of the sandwich before she spoke.
“Mr. Jones, I’m very grateful that you came. I understand your concerns, but I want you to know that my brother and I have a very good friend on the police force who is honest, diligent, and hard working. His name is Mike Amblin.”
“I don’t like cops,” Prophet repeated.
“You would like Mike,” John said, adding to Poppy’s praise. “He’s our friend. He’s trying very hard to find out who killed our father.”
Poppy was so anxious to convince him that she had to fold her hands in her lap to keep them from shaking. “What if we call him to come here? Then you can tell him what you saw in front of us. That way no one can deny what you said because we’ll be witnesses.” She could tell he didn’t like it, but before he could argue, she fired another question at him. “Do you like pie? I have pie. I have chocolate and apple. Would you like a piece of each?”
Prophet looked at her as if she’d just told him she wanted to give her soul to God.
“I do like pie. A piece of each would be fine since you offered.”
“I’ll be right back,” Poppy said, and flew back into the house and went straight to the phone. The detective’s card was lying beside it. Her hands were still shaking as she made the call, then it rang three times before she heard his voice.
“Homcide, Detective Amblin.”
“Detective Amblin… uh, Mike... Prophet Jones is sitting on my front porch eating an egg sandwich and I’m about to give him two pieces of pie. He said he witnessed Daddy’s murder. He says he has the Devil’s footprints in his pocket. I don’t know what that means, but I think it might be important. He doesn’t trust police. I don’t know why, but I think he’ll talk to you if John and I are witnesses. Can you come?”
Mike’s head was spinning. They’d been looking all over for the man and then Poppy offers him up with an egg sandwich and a piece of pie.
“We’re already on the way and if he has anything good to say, save a piece of that pie for me.”
The line went dead. She raced to the kitchen, cut two pieces of pie, grabbed a fork, and ran back.
Prophet was swallowing the last bite of his sandwich when she traded one plate for the other.
“How about some more coffee?” she asked, and then grabbed the cup before he could answer and flew back into the house.
Prophet was too entranced by the pie to answer.
“This is a fine sight,” he said, and picked up the fork
.
“A fine sight, indeed.”
“Yes sir,” John agreed.
Poppy returned within moments, slid the cup down beside Prophet, then sat down in one of the old metal lawn chairs and looked toward the bridge. She wasn’t certain how long it would take to get from the precinct to her house, but she hoped they hurried. She didn’t know how often this old man ate, but she was sure it wasn’t regular and nothing like what he’d just polished off. If she fed him anything else, she was afraid that he’d be sick.
John glanced at her over his shoulder.
She nodded.
He gave her a thumbs-up and then continued to talk religion with Prophet while he ate.
Within a couple of minutes Poppy began to hear a siren and suspected it was Mike. She hoped he didn’t drive up to her house like that and expect the old man to stay put. The sound got closer and closer and she caught a glimpse of flashing lights from a car driving onto the bridge and then all of a sudden the sound ended. Less than a minute later, she saw Mike’s dark sedan turn the corner at the end of the block and come flying down the street. That was when her anxiety disappeared. In her mind, Mike would fix it, just as he’d been doing ever since they’d met. In the worst of times during the past few days, Mike Amblin had been her savior.
“Are they cops?” Prophet asked, pointing his fork at them as they came up the walk.
“Yes, but just our friend, Mike and his partner,” John said.
Prophet frowned, but there was still pie on the plate and he wasn’t leaving that behind.
Poppy walked to the edge of the porch.
“Hi guys. I’m really glad you could stop by. Do you know Mr. Jones?”
Mike caught on immediately that she was playing down their arrival. “Well, I know who he is, but I’ve never had the pleasure of an official meeting,” Mike said, and immediately extended his hand. “Mr. Jones, you know me, right? I’m Detective Amblin and this is my partner, Detective Duroy. I understand you have some valuable information you need to share. You don’t know how happy we are that you were willing to come forward.”
It was the straightforward approach that won Prophet over.
