Face the Winter Naked

by Bonnie Turner

  An explanation would come soon enough—after the sheriff came and arrested someone. She wasn't sure who shot Clay—everything was hazy—but her husband's gun would have her fingerprints.

  After the shock of seeing Clay in a pool of blood, Lou stayed to help with Mary as LaDaisy answered question after question from Sheriff Gudgell. The heavyset man walked around the room making notes, while another officer snapped pictures of the scene.

  LaDaisy paced the floor, watching the man operate his camera. No piece of furniture nor mark on the floor escaped close scrutiny. Her entire living room, from the faded davenport and chairs to the shabby end tables, would be on record at the police department. Perhaps even printed in the Examiner and the Times. Even if she became wealthy in the future, evidence of her current poverty would be available to anyone who asked. Daniel would hate having his life on display, and his wife a notorious criminal. She sighed. Daniel wasn't here anymore.

  The cameraman took shots of the victim from all angles and got a close-up of the busted mandolin on the shelf. He took pictures of LaDaisy in her ripped dress. When he glanced toward the closed bedroom door, where Ida Mae sprawled on the bed moaning, LaDaisy caught her breath, thinking he might want a picture of her sister in labor. She was ready to fly at him and break his camera over his head if he started in there. But he turned away.

  There was no question about Clay's identity; everyone knew Rufus's nephew.

  Leaving the body to the deputy, the sheriff sat in the rocking chair, pen in hand, occasionally writing on the pad. "Never had much use for the man myself." He glanced at the davenport, where Rufus sat in shock staring at Clay's body. "Beg your pardon, Rufus. I wouldn't wish your nephew harm, but Clay had a way of bringing out the worst in people." He turned to LaDaisy. "Now, Mrs. Tomelin, tell me again what happened. From the beginning."

  He nodded toward the kitchen as the bedroom door opened and Lou headed for the back porch. In a moment, she returned, swinging the white porcelain slop jar in one hand and a five-gallon pail in the other. She barely glanced their way as she hurried to the bedroom and shut the door behind her. He'd questioned the frightened woman when he first arrived, and took her statement as a possible witness.

  "You're absolutely sure the neighbor lady didn't see what happened? She said she didn't."

  "Mrs. Jensen told you the truth. She wasn't here when it happened." LaDaisy sighed. "I've told you a hundred times. Why can't you get anything straight?"

  She was exhausted and tired of repeating herself.

  "No need to get testy," he said. "I'm just doing my job before the medical examiner and the ambulance come to collect the body." Rufus stirred uncomfortably on the davenport. "I mean before he takes Mr. Huff to the police morgue."

  LaDaisy glanced at her stepfather, saw pain and disbelief on Rufus's face. His heavy jowls were soaked with sweat, as were the underarms of his pinstriped dress shirt. She had no feeling for Clay, but his uncle had done her no harm. Besides, anyone who could put up with Vera without pasting a strip of adhesive tape across her mouth deserved a medal. Clay was Rufus's late sister's only child, a son he'd always wanted but never had.

  Rufus returned her look, his head sagging lower on his chest. He closed his eyes as LaDaisy mouthed: I'm sorry, Rufus, but the son-of-a-bitch deserved what he got.

  Sheriff Gudgell tried again. "I have to make sure your statement's correct, Mrs. Tomelin. Bear with me. Start from the beginning and tell me everything. Why was Mr. Huff here?"

  "He's my landlord. He had a right to be here."

  "That's true." He made a note on his pad. "But not every landlord deserves to be shot." He smiled at her, then glanced at the closed bedroom door when Ida Mae screamed. "Damn, that's nerve-wracking. What's Mrs. Huff doing here anyway?"

  "What does it look like she's doing?" LaDaisy snapped.

  He shook his head. "I know you're upset. But I have to find out what happened. You say you shot him?"

  "I guess so. I must have."

  "You must have? Don't you know? Why did you shoot him? Where's the gun?"

  "It—it's in my closet, I'll get it."

  She started for the bedroom, but he stopped her.

  "In a minute."

  He tried to see past Vera as she came out of the bedroom and left the door ajar, her mouth a grim line in her pale face.

  "I'll tell the sheriff what happened."

  "You weren't here," LaDaisy said. "How could you know anything?"

  "Be quiet, LaDaisy. Ida Mae followed Clay here. You know perfectly well. She didn't believe what you told us that day, that he—" She spoke to Rufus. "I'm sorry, Rufus. I don't want to say this. I'd give anything not to have to say this."

  Rufus stood and put his arm around his wife.

  "Whatever it is, say it."

  Gudgell watched the scene with interest, now and then jotting down notes. He looked from one to the other, from LaDaisy to Rufus to Vera. Once he glanced down at Clay's stiffening corpse on the floor.

  Ida screamed again and everyone turned to the bedroom.

  "She's okay," Vera said. "Dr. Wilson will give her a whiff of chloroform. It'll help her relax. The poor dear's worn out, and she's terrified."

  "Her screaming's driving me crazy," LaDaisy said.

  "You'd better sit down," Vera said. "You don't look well. All we need is you passing out on us."

  "Yes." Rufus turned loose of Vera's arm and guided his stepdaughter to the davenport.

  "Oh dear, this is so horrible!" Vera turned to Sheriff Gudgell. "I can't bear to look at him. When are you going to—to take Clay out of here? There are little children who live here. "

  "I'm aware of that," came the reply. "But they aren't here at the moment. I just need to get a few more details."

  "The kids are at Bernie's," LaDaisy said. "She won't bring them till I say to." She turned back to the sheriff. "I'll say it again. I shot Mr. Huff. I shot him with my husband's shotgun. I can get it for you from the closet."

  "You're mighty calm for someone who claims she just killed a man." He frowned. "By the way, you might want to get a lawyer before you say too much."

  "A lawyer?" LaDaisy's face turned ashen. "Am—am I going to jail?"

  "Depends. Why did you put the gun in the closet?"

  "From habit. Daniel—my husband—he kept it locked up so the kids couldn't get it." She glanced around at everyone. "It wasn't murder, it was self-defense. Does anyone believe me?"

  The sheriff nodded. "He's gone now, I believe."

  "Who?" LaDaisy looked around. The officer with the camera was now collecting fingerprints.

  "I meant your husband's gone."

  "Yes, yes he is."

  "Where is he?"

  "How should I know? He just disappeared one day."

  "If he kept the gun locked up, why did you have it out?"

  "I—I told you, for protection."

  "You carry a loaded weapon around just in case someone breaks in?"

  "Yes, I mean no, I—"

  "What do you mean? Are you confused and don't know what happened?"

  LaDaisy's head throbbed. "I'm not confused. You're putting words in my mouth. But—"

  Lou appeared in the bedroom doorway with Mary.

  "She wants her mother."

  Lou handed the child to LaDaisy, and the deputy came over and spoke to the sheriff.

  "Now then," Sheriff Gudgell said. "Uh, I hate to say this when you've got a little one to look after, Mrs. Tomelin. But I'll have to take you to police headquarters for more questioning. It's standard procedure in homicide cases. You'll have to unlock the closet so I can examine the weapon."

  Vera went white as a ghost, and when Ida Mae called out, she hurried back to the bedroom.

  "Homicide?" LaDaisy whispered.

  "For now," he said. "We don't know if it's murder."

  "Yes, I shot him. I'm glad he's dead—" She glanced at Rufus. "But it wasn't murder."

  "What do you mean?"

  "I shot him in self-defense
. That's what Mama was going to tell you. He—he attacked me, tore my dress. I—I hit him with Daniel's mandolin." She indicated the broken instrument on the shelf.

  "Then what? On second thought, maybe you better wait till you get a lawyer."

  "I don't need any damn lawyer. Clay molested me. He violated my body several times this summer." Her words flew out, as though by speaking too slowly, she'd never be able to tell the story. "I knew he'd come again, to collect the rent." She met the sheriff's eyes, then Rufus's. Such pain on her stepfather's face. "I'm so sorry, Rufus. Clay said I had to pay the rent with my —my body, and—" Rufus sat again, leaned back and threw an arm over his face.

  Gudgell cocked an eyebrow. "Is that right? Didn't you try to stop him?"

  "Of course I did! What do you take me for? But he always cornered me when I was alone. I never thought about the gun. If I had, I might've scared him away."

  "But you did get the gun."

  "Yes, but only just today. I thought if he saw it, he'd go away and leave me alone."

  Sheriff Gudgell indicated the corpse with a glance. "Well, he's gone away now."

  Tears spilled out of LaDaisy's eyes onto Mary's hair. She leaned down and kissed them away.

  "So he came by the house yesterday—or this morning?" she said. "I've lost track because of Ida. Yes, this morning. He came by and kept banging on the door to come in, but I wouldn't let him. My children were here. I was afraid. He acted insane, he'd been drinking."

  The sheriff made a note, then looked up. "Why was Mr. Huff mad?"

  "Because Ida Mae found out what he did to me. At first she didn't believe it. They argued and she threw him out of the house." She stopped to take a deep breath. "That's why he was mad. When I didn't let him in, he left. That should've been the end of it, but something told me he'd be back. I told Saul—that's my father-in-law—to take the kids to their aunt's house. I was afraid of Clay." She glanced toward the bedroom door. Ida Mae was quiet now.

  "After Saul and the kids left, I loaded the shotgun and put it out where Clay could see it if he came in. Over there, against the wall." She pointed.

  Lou came back and took Mary.

  "She's wet," LaDaisy said.

  "I'll change her." Lou hurried to the bedroom again, but turned at the doorway. "Poor darling won't get much sleep with all the commotion in there."

  "Put her down in the other bedroom," LaDaisy said, motioning across the room to the other door.

  Lou walked a wide path around Clay's body without looking at it directly and disappeared into the children's room.

  "I only meant to threaten him with the gun," LaDaisy said. "But he came after me when he saw me going for it. He kicked it away. I—I was afraid. He ripped my dress half off—as you can see. I grabbed the mandolin, my husband's mandolin, from the shelf and—and bashed it over Clay's damn hateful head."

  The room grew quiet when she stopped talking. She closed her eyes and waited. When she opened them again, she looked first at Rufus, then at the sheriff.

  "He fell when I hit him and tried to get up. There was a shot. I must've done it, I don't remember. Ida Mae had come in without me knowing. She was hysterical. She needed help. That's what I was thinking about, not that I killed someone."

  She rose, her legs about to buckle. "I'll get the gun now."

  She went in the bedroom, glanced at her sister on her back at the edge of the bed, her legs spread and her whole bottom exposed. Dr. Wilson peered over his glasses at the swollen vulva as Ida Mae moaned softly. LaDaisy found the skeleton key and went quickly to the closet, removed the gun and took it to the sheriff.

  "It'll have my fingerprints."

  Sheriff Gudgell pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and used it to hold the gun.

  "I'll take it with me. We'll run some tests. You can come peaceably now—" He glanced toward the bedroom. "—or wait till your sister has her baby. I don't think you'll run off with your own baby here." He glanced at Clay. "We'll need more information. It doesn't sound like you shot him in cold blood." He smiled slightly. "But I'm not the one to decide that."

  "When will they take ... when will the undertaker come to get him?" She observed Clay's cold body in spite of herself, and bile rose in her throat. "Take him away."

  She turned at a noise from the kitchen.

  "Oh my God. I hope the kids didn't come home yet."

  She ran to the kitchen to find Saul sitting quietly at the table. For a moment she thought her husband had just come home from work. But no, her imagination was getting the best of her. It was only Saul. She hadn't heard him come in, and she guessed he'd heard her confession. She lay a hand on his bony shoulder; he clamped arthritic fingers over it.

  "What are you doing here?" she asked. "You didn't bring the kids back—?"

  "Nope. They're still at Bernie's. But don't worry, they'll be all right." He pointed to the stove, where her canning kettle sat steaming.

  "I'm boiling water," he said, standing. "Making myself useful. It's what they made me do when Martha birthed her babies."

  LaDaisy threw her arms around the old man and rested her head against his chest. She could not contain the tears that now spurted from her eyes and wet the front of his overalls.

  "I thought for a minute you were Daniel," she sobbed. "Oh, Saul, I need my husband."

  He patted her on the back and let her cry.

  "I know, girl. I know."

  Sheriff Gudgell appeared in the doorway with the shotgun. He nodded at Saul.

  "We'll need a statement from you too, Mr. Tomelin."

  "No!" cried LaDaisy. "He doesn't know anything. He wasn't here when Clay came."

  "Maybe he can back up your story." He moved out of the doorway. "I'll be in touch. Don't go anywhere. When your sister's done having her baby, we'll get her story. Oh, and you really should get a lawyer."

  "So you keep telling me," said LaDaisy. "I'll get one when I'm damn good and ready."

  "Suit yourself."

  A short time later, two men from Carson's Funeral Home arrived and transported Clay's corpse to the police morgue. Rufus accompanied his nephew's body to the ambulance, then got in his auto and followed it.

  Ida labored through that day and into the next, gouging her mother's arms with her fingernails as contractions grew stronger. She was worn out, and the baby refused to let go.

  When Vera finally went home to comfort Rufus, LaDaisy took over and assisted Dr. Wilson. She prepared a bed for Ida's baby—not her own child's cradle, but a makeshift bassinet from an emptied dresser drawer. From the layettes of her own babies, she collected soft old diapers, flannel bellybands, long-sleeved gowns, and outing flannel receiving blankets. Cotton swabs, mineral oil, and talcum powder.

  After the police had finished photographing the death scene, Saul and Lou opened all the windows in the house and cleaned up the blood with Lysol.

  Finally, LaDaisy was alone with her baby, her sister, and the doctor.

  And tortured thoughts: People would think she was a murderer. What would become of her?

  Toward evening of the second day, the delivery began in earnest, and Ida Mae found strength to push the baby out.

  "I see its head!" LaDaisy exclaimed. "It's got dark hair."

  Dr. Wilson patted Ida's hand. "Relax, young lady, you're shaking like a leaf."

  "Do you know what the hell you're doing?" Ida Mae yelled as another contraction hit. "Oh my God, I have to go to the bathroom!"

  "No you don't," LaDaisy laughed. "It's pressure from the baby. And Dr. Wilson does this for a living, so of course he knows what he's doing."

  Ida's face turned red as she involuntarily bore down. The doctor delivered the infant's head, then a shoulder, and a few minutes later, its body.

  "It's a boy," LaDaisy said.

  Under normal circumstances, this day would be a joy, assisting the birth of her sister's first child. But LaDaisy was drained of emotion as she observed the infant's dark hair and purplish-red skin. He was a miniature of his father, a
nd she thought he looked like a drowned rat.

  Ida laughed and cried.

  "A boy, LaDaisy. I did it!"

  Dr. Wilson held the infant upside down by his ankles and smacked his bottom smartly, and Clay's son let out a lusty cry. Placing him face down across his mother's abdomen, the doctor methodically tied and cut the cord and painted the stub with Merthiolate. He patted Ida's hand again as it relaxed its bloodless grip on the sheet that covered her upper body.

  "It's all over, young lady. A healthy boy; he has all his fingers and toes."

  Producing a spring scale, he placed the squalling infant on a square of outing flannel. He knotted the four corners in the center, hooked the scale to the knot and raised the bundle.

  "Almost nine pounds."

  As he recorded the figures, LaDaisy wondered if the baby's weight was the same as the gun that killed the father he would never know.

  While the doctor delivered the placenta and disinfected the birth area with a strong Lysol solution, LaDaisy tended her sister's baby. She wiped his face, eyes, and mouth mechanically. She pinned a three-cornered diaper on him. He waved his arms, opened one eye and peeked at her. He sucked his fist. She watched his chest rise and fall, his skin change from purple to pink. Tears bubbled in her eyes as she swaddled him in a receiving blanket and picked him up.

  Suddenly, this child was no more Clay Huff's than any of her own had been. She cradled him gently, weeping with sadness and joy, then placed him in his mother's arms. She leaned over and kissed her sister's sweaty forehead, glad the ordeal was over.

  Chapter 25

  October first dawned bright and sunny. Just before game number three of the World Series started that Saturday afternoon, Daniel handed Chris a handful of change and asked him to buy a newspaper.

  "If you hurry, you won't miss the game. It'll be a while before it comes on."

  Chris gave him a "gee whiz" look and left the hotel room, returning a few minutes later with a rolled-up Times. "Who was your slave last year, Mister Royal Highness?"

  "Watch it, Chris."

  Chris grumbled and turned on the radio, and got nothing but static.