"The attorney general? When did that happen?"
"Recently. They'll probably come around to interview you. They are going to talk to anyone who might have seen something."
"I didn't see anything."
"You were one of the first ones out of the church, behind me. I remember."
"I told you, I didn't see anything." He made a sound in his throat as though clearing it, but it sounded hoarse and mealy.
"So you didn't see the blue truck speed off?" A light went off in my head—that's where I'd seen that blue truck, the one parked at James's house. It looked like the one that sped off from the church, tires squealing against the hot pavement, 37L402.
"No. I told you. I didn't see anything." He glared at me as though he could chew me up and spit me out. I glared back then left without another word.
*
I drove to the Burger Barn to pick up dinner, and on my way home I saw a young, colored boy who looked about fifteen or sixteen walking down Main Street. He was wearing a hoodie pulled over his head, but I thought I recognized him as one of Marianne's cousins, Sam Massey's son. I slowed down as a red pickup truck went by, going in the opposite direction. On impulse, I looked in my rearview mirror and saw the truck make a U-turn in the middle of the road and speed up, heading back towards my car that was barely moving.
The truck pulled up on the sidewalk behind Sam's son and started blowing the horn. The boy was frightened half to death and took off running, the truck chasing him down the sidewalk past my car. Sam's son ran off the sidewalk, made his way between two houses, then jumped a fence. The red truck got back on the road, in front of my car, drove a block, and turned right. I knew the driver was going to try to head the boy off as he came out on the back road, which was really an alley. I followed the truck.
We arrived in the alley at about the same time. Sam's son stopped running and stared at both our vehicles, mine behind the truck, penning it in. I rolled down my window and yelled, "Hey, Massey. Come on. Get in my car. I'll take you home."
The boy looked from my car to the truck and back again. I guess he decided I was a better option. He ran to the back door and climbed in behind me.
"Remember me? I'm Susie's sister, Sissy." I put my arm across the back of the front seat and looked behind me to back up. Once we were back on the main road, I turned towards Main Street. My tires screeched as I made the turn and slowed down to the speed limit. "You okay?" Of course he wasn't okay. He was petrified.
He didn't answer.
"What's your name?"
"Jacob."
"Well, Jacob. I don't know what to say about those idiots who were chasing you. Does that happen often?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Oh, God! Please don't call me, 'ma'am.' You make me feel old." I was laughing, but he wasn't. "Just Sissy will do." Jacob told me he was eighteen and he had an older brother, Brandon, who was twenty. "Don't you have a younger sister, Chrissy?"
"Yes. She's sixteen."
"Yep. She's my niece's best friend. Do you know Lilly?"
"Yes, ma'am. I'm sorry." He corrected himself and tried to call me Sissy. "Yes, I know Lilly."
"I know your parents. Good people." I tried to make small talk, hoping to calm him. "I'm not sure if you know it, but Marianne is my half-sister."
"Yes. I knew that." He was starting to relax a little. Maybe it helped to know that I had a niece and a sister who were African American.
I drove down South Jefferson Street and saw James on the porch with Daddy. I'm sure they saw my car go by; there aren't many white 1977 Camaros in Jean Ville.
I'll never forget the look on Jacob Massey's mother, Josie's face when we pulled into the Quarters. I wondered if, every time Jacob or Brandon left the house, she worried whether they would come home. That thought made me so angry I almost screamed.
*
When I left the Quarters, I thought about James and Daddy on the porch. I parked my car in the garage under my apartment on Gravier Road and walked behind the houses that were on the east side of South Jefferson, stopping at the fence that surrounded Dr. Switzer's backyard. I sleuthed my way to the Switzers' front yard and stood behind a huge oak tree, laden with Spanish moss, and peeked around it to see that my dad and James were still on the porch, having a serious conversation.
I backtracked a few houses south then crossed the street and sneaked behind neighbors' houses until I came up behind my dad's house. I slithered around the side of the house, its foundation as tall as me, and positioned myself beside the front porch where I could overhear what Daddy and James discussed.
"I'm not sure how that happened," James said.
"If your sister had anything to do with it, she'll be in big trouble." Daddy was rocking hard back and forth.
"Sissy can't do anything. She's a dumbass and can't possibly know the attorney general."
"No, but she knows Borders. I need to have a talk with him, see what he might have told her." Daddy took a long swig of something and kept rocking.
"I'll see him tomorrow and find out whether he's the one who turned the case over to the AG." James must have stood up because I heard feet stomp on the wood planks.
"You tell Borders he'd better not be the one, if he knows what's good for him." I heard the screen door slam and figured James had gone through the house to his car parked out back. I waited and watched the street until I saw him drive by, then I made my way back home, again walking low behind the houses down Jefferson to where it met Gravier Road.
*
That night, sitting on my deck overlooking Susie's backyard, I tried to understand the conversation between my Dad and James. Although there was something that should have turned a light on in my brain, my mind felt blocked against allowing the information to seep in.
I thought about Jacob Massey and how nothing had really changed with respect to how white people in Jean Ville treated Negroes. It made me sick, but I remembered when I had been just as guilty, when I didn't think that colored people were equals, either. Until Marianne, Lilly, and Rodney became family, and it dawned on me that the color of a person's skin had nothing to do with his or her soul.
I heard a vehicle pull up in the driveway in front of my garage apartment. A minute later, a door slammed, and the sound of boots hit the stairs on the outside of the garage. The staircase ended at a deck where the door to the apartment was located. The deck wrapped around the back of the apartment, and I was sitting on the swing, staring at the gorgeous sunset over the trees.
"Hey. How long you been back in town?" Warren came around the corner, walked over to the swing, and kissed me on the cheek. He sat in one of the rockers.
"Just got home. I stopped to see James, then went by Daddy's and the Burger Barn first. Want to split a burger?"
"No, thanks. But I'll have a beer if you've got a cold one." He got up and walked through the sliding glass doors into my apartment. I heard the refrigerator door open and shut, then the sound of the tab popping off the aluminum can. He walked back onto the deck and sat in a rocker. "Did you miss me?"
"Not really. Too busy." I looked at the side of his face and couldn't believe I was still dating this loser. We'd gone steady in high school. He was a football player, I was a cheerleader. Then I went off to college for a couple years, but when I dropped out of school and came home, there was Warren, waiting for me as though no time had ever passed. He'd never left Jean Ville—took a job as a flunky for a surveyor after high school graduation. He and his friends got together on weekends and relived every touchdown, tackle, and interception of every high school football game they'd ever played. It was as though they'd never moved on. I guess, in essence, they hadn't.
Had I? Or was I stuck, too?
"That's not a nice thing to say to your boyfriend." He took a long swig of his beer. "You got plans tonight?"
"Not really. I'm tired. Going to eat my burger and hit the sack."
"You want to see my new truck? It's out front.
"
"Not tonight, Warren. I told you. I'm tired." My voice was laced with anger and aggravation.
"Can I stay with you?"
"No."
"Just like that? No?"
"Just like that. No." I got up, walked into the apartment, pulled the doors together and locked them, then closed the drapes. About five minutes later, I heard his boots clop down the stairs and his truck start up. I looked out the front window and noticed he was driving a new, red pickup. I could have sworn it was the same truck that had chased down Jacob Massey that afternoon.
What was I doing? Living in Jean Ville, dating a loser who chased and assaulted black people? I'm not an introspective person, but I felt it was time I considered my life and made some changes, or I would end up married to Warren Morrow, have a passel of children, and be penniless, uneducated, and miserable.
Chapter Six
***
Moving On
MISS MILLIE WAS surprised to see me when I walked up to her sliding glass window just before 5:00 PM on Wednesday afternoon. I was on my way to New Orleans and had called Robert Morris before leaving Jean Ville to ask if I could drop by for a few minutes.
"Is Mr. Morris expecting you?" She looked at me over the top of her cat-eye glasses and frowned.
"Yes, he is." I smiled a broad smile and winked at her, which caught her off-guard. She picked up the telephone and punched a couple of numbers.
"Miss Burton, sir." She put the phone down and told me to have a seat, then pushed the window sideways to shut it. Her pouting bottom lip said she was upset. She probably thought she'd have to work late because Robert Morris had an after-five appointment with me. I certainly didn't want to mess up her social life.
I waited about ten minutes, and Morris walked into the waiting room.
"Sissy. Nice to see you. Come on back." He held the door opened, and I walked in front of him. "You can go home, Millie. No need to stay." He followed me back to his office, which, by now, I knew how to get to.
We sat at the round table.
"What can I do for you?" Morris leaned back, stretched his legs out and loosened his tie.
"I was wondering how the investigation is going." I put my purse on the table and folded my hands in my lap.
"Well, I don't really know. I don't keep up with every investigation on a daily basis." He went to his desk and picked up the phone. "Chris, can you come to my office before you leave? Thanks." Morris sat back down.
"Whew. Long day. I could use a drink." He took a deep breath and folded his hands across his chest.
The same detective I'd met on my last visit to the AG's office came in without knocking. I remembered his name, Detective Sherman.
"You remember Chris Sherman, right, Sissy? Detective, this is Abigail Burton."
"Please. Call me Sissy." I stood and shook hands with the detective and we all sat at the round table. He told us that he'd been to Jean Ville several times and, so far, hadn't gotten very far with the people who were at the wedding. He talked to Doctor Cappel and Doctor Switzer, and both were helpful in explaining the injuries Rodney and Susie had incurred, but they had no idea who'd shot the two bullets that hit Rodney.
"Have you spoken with my dad or any of my brothers? They were all there." Although James and Daddy both warned me to say out of it, I'd been feeling rebellious and off-center after overhearing their conversation. "Also, Rodney's family, especially those who live in the Quarters near Shadowland Plantation. And Rod’s brother, Jeffrey, was best man. He walked out of the church before I did."
"What did you see, Miss Burton? I mean, Sissy?" Chris Sherman had a small spiral-bound pad he'd pulled from his shirt pocket. He flipped a few pages and clicked the top of a ballpoint pen.
"All I saw was Lilly screaming and a blue truck speeding away. The tires screeched, and rocks flew."
"A blue truck. This is the first I've heard about the vehicle involved. What makes you think there's a connection?"
"I'm not sure. Instinct? It was sitting still, shots rang out, then it peeled out on the pavement."
"How many people were in the truck?"
"I only saw the one sitting shotgun, and I really didn't see his face. There had to be someone driving. So at least two people."
"Did you recognize anyone?"
"No. It was too far away. I barely saw the side of the guy's head." I thought about Tucker Thevenot standing on James's porch, and wondered whether he was the one, but I couldn't, honestly, make that connection. "Have you spoken with Susie and Rodney?"
"Where can I reach them?" He looked down, ready to write what I said.
"They are both in the hospital in New Orleans. I gave Mr. Morris that list of contacts with addresses and phone numbers." I stared at him as though he were some idiot who couldn't read.
"That file is in my office. I'm handling a number of cases." He seemed apologetic, and I felt bad for my snide remark. I gave him Susie and Rodney's room numbers at Ochsner. I mentioned he should talk to Lilly and Marianne, and suggested Jeffrey, again.
"And Joe. Joe Franklin. Lilly's dad. He walked out with me, a groomsman. He lives in New York City, but his contact information is in your file."
"I'll get right on those interviews." He looked weird, as though he was frightened of something. His eyes darted from me to Robert and back to his writing pad.
"Is something wrong, Chris?" Robert must have noticed it, too.
"I haven't wanted to bother you, but we've had some threats." He stared at Robert a couple of seconds then looked down at the table.
"What kind of threats?"
"Notes left on the windshield, slashed tires, red paint on one of our cars. Stuff like that." He stared at Robert without blinking.
"Where?"
"Jean Ville. Both times we were up there." His feet shuffled under the table and beads of perspiration gathered on his forehead.
"I'll tell you what. You go to New Orleans and follow up with the victims and their family members." Robert Morris stood up, which made Detective Sherman stand, too. "I'll take Lieutenant Schiller and Sergeant Montgomery and go to Jean Ville myself. I'd like to visit with Senator Burton and talk to his son, the lawyer. They don't intimidate me." He sat back down, and Sherman left the room. "Sorry, Sissy. I don't mean to talk about your family in front of you."
"Look, that's okay. I'm just glad you're going to try to get to the bottom of this." I leaned back in my chair and crossed my ankles. "I figured something happened to stall things, or I would have heard from you."
"Yeah, well. I have a number of cases, and I haven't followed up on this one as I should have. I want to visit Borders. And DeYoung. Yep. I need to go up to Jean Ville and shake the bushes. And I have a team of state policemen who won't be put off by bullies and threats." He rubbed his forehead and shut his eyes. It was dead silent for a minute or so.
"Look, I'm beat." He opened his eyes and looked at me. It was as though he'd had an attitude adjustment behind his closed lids, and was back to normal. "What do you say you follow me to my house? Brenda is dying to meet you."
"Sure. If you think it's okay." I stood up. He went to the back of his desk, picked up the phone, and dialed a number.
"Hi. Susie's sister, Sissy, is here. The one I told you about." He paused and listened for a few seconds. "Yep. Right here in my office. What about I bring her over for a drink, and you can meet her." He paused again. "Okay. See you in a few." He hung up, picked up his suit coat from the back of his chair, and grabbed his briefcase. "I'm parked out back, a black Saab. I'll pull out on Third Street and you can follow me."
His house was in Spanish Town, on the other side of the state Capitol, maybe five minutes away, but with traffic, it took us ten. The house was an older, frame house that Robert and Brenda had renovated a few years before, and it was beautiful. We sat outside in a fenced-in courtyard made of cobblestones and bricks that reminded me of New Orleans. I could smell the Mississippi River just over the levee, and
every now and then a foghorn sounded in the far-off distance.
Brenda made a pitcher of something with rum and juice, similar to the famous Pat O'Brien's hurricanes, and the three of us chit-chatted about their two children who were in high school, and about Rodney and Susie's progress.
"So, Sissy, I feel as though there's another reason for your visit, although you don't need one." Robert looked at me and winked at Brenda.
"Actually, I need a job. I want to move out of Jean Ville and thought maybe you could help me." I put my drink down and tried to be serious.
"What can you do? Besides sleuthing?" He laughed and took a sip of his drink.
"Mostly, I'm a musician. You have a piano?" I guess I caught them off-guard, but Brenda rose to the occasion and led me inside where a baby grand sat next to the huge glass opening between the family room to the courtyard. Robert stayed in his lounge chair outside, and I hit the keys. First I played some boogie-woogie, then I slipped into, When the Saints Go Marching In, then a version of Beethoven's Fifth. Finally, I played Time After Time, and sang the entire song.
I stood up, took a bow, and returned to the patio.
"Wow! I'm impressed." Brenda had been standing next to the piano the entire time I played and sang. She followed me out and refilled my glass.
"Thanks. I teach piano and voice to kids in Jean Ville. But, really, I want to move away, maybe to Baton Rouge." I sat in one of the iron chairs under an umbrella stuck in the center of a black iron table. We talked a while longer, then their two kids came in.
The Morrises' seventeen-year-old boy, Robert, Jr. whom they called Bobby, looked just like his dad—over six feet tall, brown wavy hair and the build of a football player. He had dark, thick eyebrows, long, curly eyelashes and a regal nose, similar to Michelangelo's fourteenth-century sculpture of David that I'd studied in art history at Centenary College in Shreveport. His lips were full, his bottom lip sort of pouty, and he had a dimple in his cleft chin. When he smiled, two huge dimples, one in each cheek, indented into deep holes and made his cheekbones lift and become even more pronounced.
Sissy Page 9
