Frankie Graham was slumped behind the counter in the Three Bs reading another novel. He greeted me with a wry grin. “You’re back. Have you found her?”
“No, I’m afraid not yet.” I held up the drawing of Luther Potter. “Have you seen this guy?”
He took the sketch and studied it. “Yeah. I have.” He met my gaze with a steady one of his own. “I didn’t know his name. Did he take Pleasant?” He put a marker in Go Set a Watchman and put it aside.
“Why do you ask that?”
“He used to show up here when she was shopping. At first I thought it was just coincidence, but days would pass and I’d never see him. He never did anything. Pleasant would arrive, and he’d be here ten minutes later.”
“Was he stalking her?”
“I can’t say for certain. It was odd, though, and she noticed it and confronted him.”
“What did he say?”
“He just laughed at her and made some crude remarks about her pregnancy and how no guy with a sex drive would be interested in her in the condition she was in. He made her feel creepy, though. When he was in the store, she would ask me to walk out to her car to be sure it started. Who is he?”
“His name is Luther Potter. He has a criminal record.” I debated telling him about Potter’s attempts to get something for “cramps” for a woman. Frankie cared for Pleasant, though he was adept at hiding his feelings. The implication in Potter’s visit to the midwife was clear—that he had a woman relying on him for help. His criminal record did not reveal a man who had a lot of compassion.
“Do you think he took Pleasant?”
“I can’t say. He is a person of interest, though. Do you recall what Luther Potter drove?”
“A black truck. I don’t remember the details.” Frankie gripped the counter to keep himself under control. “He was crass. He implied things about Pleasant. He said things that made us both believe he would hurt her.” He’d gone completely pale. “If he has her, there’s no telling—”
“We don’t know that he’s involved. What do you remember about the hit-and-run back in October? The farmer who was killed on Highway 12.”
Frankie calmed a bit as he recalled the incident. “Mr. Backstrum was a nice man. He helped everyone in the area. He’d just been in the store before it happened. He’d bought gas for his truck and some sodas to take to the church for ‘the young people to drink.’ He did stuff like that all the time, even though he didn’t have a lot of money.”
“Did he arrive before or after Pleasant?”
Frankie thought a moment. “Before. But not by much.”
“Did he say where he was going?”
“Mount Zion Methodist is along Highway 12. I assumed he was taking the sodas to the church on his way home. There was a youth fellowship or something going on, or that’s what I gathered. He didn’t say that exactly.”
I paid for a pack of gum. “Would Pleasant have been on Highway 12?”
“It’s the route she would have taken home, and her car was found there. Only she was gone.” His face drew in. “I should have followed her home, or let her take my truck. It was dark, and she was tired. That rust heap she drove was a POS. And those creeps had been in here pestering her.”
“Those creeps meaning Rudy Uxall and the other two men. But was Luther Potter with them?”
“No. That Potter guy wasn’t with them. And Rudy didn’t come in. He stayed in the truck, until he realized his friends were bullying Pleasant.”
“Did you ever see Rudy and Potter together?”
“Never. But they could have been engaged for all I know. I’m here working or helping on my dad’s farm. I don’t have what would be called an active social life.”
“Thanks, Frankie.”
“Did the DNA test come back yet?” he asked. “I stopped by and saw Sheriff Peters and told him I wanted to check. I’ve been thinking about that baby girl. Look, I lied to you about my relationship with Pleasant. We loved each other. The thing is, I begged her not to have the baby, but she wouldn’t listen. The baby, me, we would be millstones around her neck. She could be somebody. She shouldn’t have to drag Bolivar County behind her for the rest of her life.” His face was white with emotion. “I didn’t want to say I was the father because…” he shrugged. “She can do so much better than me.”
“If you really love her, Frankie, and she loves you, that’s a rare and special thing. You’ll be the support that keeps her going. You don’t want to walk away from Pleasant or your daughter.”
“I never thought I’d want a baby, but you know, it’s different when it’s your kid.” He choked.
To change the subject, I scrolled on my phone to show him Brook, Amber, and Lucinda. “Tell me about these girls.”
“What’s to tell? They rule the social scene at the high school. They were mean to Pleasant, but she ignored them. They were likes flies buzzing around her head; she just brushed them aside.”
“That must have really ticked them off.”
He grinned and looked away for a minute. “Lucinda does hate to be ignored. Yeah, it made her mad, but she didn’t have anything Pleasant wanted or needed. None of them did. Amber has money, but who cares. She’s empty here.” He tapped his head. “And here.” He patted his heart.
Frankie might be a kid with a passion for reading novels, but he had his head on straight when it came to what was important in a person.
“Are you going to take the baby if it’s yours?” I had to ask. Tinkie must be prepared for what was coming at her.
“I want to.” He flipped his hand at the shelves of potato chips, candy bars, canned spaghetti. “I can’t support myself on what I make here, but I don’t have reliable transportation to get a better job anywhere else. I won’t take her unless I can support her.”
“What would you like to do?” At his age, I’d wanted only to be a Broadway star. I’d set my sights high.
“I want to be a writer. Like William Faulkner.”
While Frankie didn’t appear to be on fire with ambition, he’d certainly chosen a big and difficult dream. Any creative pursuit was fraught with hardship and a lot of disappointment. I had a sudden image of Frankie, Pleasant, and the baby living in Nashville. Pleasant’s success as a songwriter and singer would give Frankie the time to craft his first novel—and play daddy. They could be a happy family.
“Have you published anything?”
A grin broke across his face. “Next month, in the Sewanee Review. A short story.”
I was impressed despite myself. Literary journals had thousands of short story submissions. Here was a young man with no mentor, no connections, no university background to offer a leg up, and yet his story had been accepted on merit. “Congratulations.”
“I would never have submitted if Pleasant hadn’t pushed me. She believes in me.”
“The same way you believe in her.”
He turned away. “Do you think she’s still alive?”
I could hear the emotion in his voice, but he was strong. He might look like a beanpole with a shock of unruly chestnut hair and arms that could be snapped with a bit of pressure, but he had inner strength. He would work his shift, show up to keep the job, do the day-to-day chores that kept his life from tipping over, so that when Pleasant returned, he could be there for her.
“I do.”
“Where is she? Do you have any idea?”
“I don’t know for positive, but I have a sense she isn’t far from here.”
The hope that sprang across his features made me regret my words. I had no proof Pleasant was still alive, and this young man, for all of his stoicism, cared deeply for her.
“I’ll call when the DNA results come in.” If he was the father, Libby belonged with him. Unless he came to the conclusion that she would be better off with the Richmonds than with a single father unable to support himself.
19
Since I was in Bolivar County, I swung by the high school. Marcia Colburn was the girl I wanted to see. Cl
asses would be dismissed in a few moments, and I wanted to catch Marcia before she got away. Actually, I wanted to follow her.
She was Pleasant’s self-proclaimed best friend. Yet she’d painted Pleasant as a goodtime girl with easy morals and a taste for drugs. Not one other person had presented Pleasant that way—not even Tally McNair, who’d stolen from her. Why would Marcia turn on her friend in such a way?
When I checked in at the office, I was prepared for an earful from Principal Bryant. To my surprise, he didn’t mention a word about Tally McNair’s arrest. Five minutes later, I understood why. Tally came down the hall at a brisk walk, and at her side was Marcia Colburn. They were so busy gabbing they didn’t even look in my direction.
The bell for dismissal rang, and they were out the front door like a shot. They both looked guilty as homemade sin, another of Aunt Loulane’s descriptive terms I enjoyed. Homemade sin would be more treacherous than store-bought, I supposed.
I’d had the good sense to park in the middle of a clump of shrubs, so that when I followed the two out of the school and to a tan sedan, it was easy for me to fall into the flow of traffic and follow them.
On the way I called the Sunflower County sheriff’s office. DeWayne told me that Tally had made bond early that morning. She’d obviously come straight to the high school to meet her classes. And now she was hauling boogie with Marcia.
When the school traffic thinned, I fell back a bit. They were headed toward Rosedale. A shadow of apprehension clouded my day when I thought about Gertrude. It wasn’t possible she was working with Bijou, Carrie Ann, and Tally. That was crazy, and I sounded paranoid even to myself. Still, I kept an eye on all the side roads where she might be parked, ready to ambush me.
Tally drove like a bat out of hell, which was fine with me. Tally overshot the road to Rosedale and kept going. When she pulled down a pig trail that went back into deep woods, I pulled off, too. When I was satisfied my car couldn’t be seen from the road, I got out with Sweetie and Pluto. Gertrude had me spooked, no doubt about it. I called Tinkie and told her where I was and what I was doing.
“Stop it right now, Sarah Booth. Don’t you dare walk into those woods without backup.” She was angry, but I suspected it was more with herself than with me. I was out here without backup because she had baby fever.
“I’ll be careful. Call Coleman and tell him where I am.”
“Don’t you do it.” Tinkie sounded a lot like her dog, Chablis. Small but mean.
“I’m turning the phone off now.” And I did. I got my gun from the trunk, and I walked down the pig trail, alert to the sounds all around me.
The small brick house I came upon was another eyesore. What could have been a neat and attractive home had been neglected. Weeds choked the yard. Every living shrub or tree was dead. The only sign of life was smoke rising from the chimney. The place was blighted. The only vehicle near the house was Tally’s sedan. Apparently Tally and Marcia were inside where it was warm. I was freezing.
With a low moan, Sweetie Pie nudged my leg. To my dismay, she sped toward the house. Pluto was hot on the dog’s heels. I had no choice but to follow—cursing under my breath. It was broad daylight and there wasn’t even a living shrub to hide behind. I pressed myself against the bricks as if I might somehow blend in.
Following Sweetie, I edged around the corner and came to a narrow window. At least I could maybe catch a glimpse of the occupants. I ducked down and peered over the window ledge into a nightmare out of the 1970s. The carpet, a dirty orange shag, stretched wall to wall. Tally, Monica, and a blond man reclined in beanbag chairs. The man waved a beer bottle angrily. He slammed it onto the floor so hard beer sloshed out and disappeared into the carpet.
I used my cell phone to snap a photo of the three of them. This young man looked to be in his early twenties, but his features were in shadow. He sprang out of the chair with the speed of a panther. His hand grabbed Tally’s ponytail and he pulled her to her feet.
My impulse was to rush inside and stop him, and I did have a gun, but I forced myself to hold back. Marcia went to him and in a moment he let Tally go, but he was clearly irritated with her. He waved his arm and pointed at the door in an animated gesture. It was my cue to take off. I had to get back to my car and away.
Sweetie and Pluto, for once, followed behind me with perfect obedience as I ran through the weeds and trash until I put distance between me and the house. As much as I wanted to stay and eavesdrop, I couldn’t risk it. I had a photo of Tally and Monica in cahoots with a young man who might be one of Pleasant’s abductors. Coleman could work with Hoss Kincaid to get a search warrant and proceed with the proper legal authority. If there was evidence in that house, I didn’t want to taint it.
The critters and I had just ducked into the well-hidden roadster when I heard a vehicle bumping down the drive. From my hiding place, I could see Marcia. Even in the cold she had the window rolled down so she could smoke.
“That bastard,” Marcia said. “He’s going to get us all sent to prison. And you!” She rounded on Tally. “You couldn’t wait to sell her songs? You’re an idiot.”
They bumped past, and I didn’t hear Tally’s reply. In a moment they were on the road and headed toward Rosedale. I had two choices. I could sit here and see if the blond man left, or I could go to Rosedale and look up the property at the county tax assessor’s office. I chose the latter, because I was freezing to death.
I wrote down the address from the leaning mailbox and took the same road Tally and Marcia had taken, but I turned off to Cleveland, the second county seat in Bolivar County. Rosedale had been the original county seat, but Bolivar was a large county and travel had often been difficult for many residents. As residents moved inland from the Mississippi River, Cleveland, a town named after President Grover Cleveland, had been named the second county seat. Cleveland boasted Delta State University as the jewel in its crown.
The clerk in the tax assessor’s office took the address from me, and a moment later, I had a name for the owner of the property where Tally and Marcia had visited. Owen DeLong. I had plenty to tell Coleman when I got back to Zinnia, but while I was in the area, I decided to stop by Delta State and check into the scholarship situation that seemed to be the reason Pleasant Smith had initially been abducted.
Schools, like hospitals, were closemouthed about the students who attended, but I’d spent some pleasant hours on the DSU campus, and the Delta Music Institute was where I headed. DMI offered a unique opportunity for college students to taste the real business of the recording industry.
I was in luck. Tricia Walker, head of DMI, was in Nashville with several students, but a gaggle of young people hung outside the building. The students would be an unfiltered source of information.
I walked up and introduced myself as a private investigator, easily engaging their curiosity. When I mentioned Pleasant Smith, they were far ahead of me. They knew all about Pleasant’s failure to appear for her scholarship interview.
“She is so talented,” one young woman said. “Why would she do that? I heard the school offered her a full ride plus a stipend. She had only one other girl to beat out for a special scholarship created by Mike Utley, a big producer. She didn’t show up for the interview and blew her chances. She would’ve left school debt free and with a ton of contacts in the music business.”
My talkative student was named Ginger Ven. She was exotic, beautiful, and had her finger on the pulse of campus life. In other words, she could be a real asset. There was no point lying to her, so I told the truth. “I don’t think Pleasant missed the scholarship interview on purpose.”
“Was she sick? Is the baby okay? She was really determined to make sure her baby had a good life. I was assigned to show her around the campus when she came for the initial interview. I really liked her. She didn’t strike me as someone who’d fail to show up like that.”
“I believe she’s been abducted.”
Ginger stepped back. “She said folks were out to get he
r.”
“Did she say who?”
“There were other girls here that day, and she made it a point to stay away from them. Prissy girls.”
“Did you notice any boys?” I showed her the picture of Owen DeLong. “Maybe him? Or these guys?” I flipped through the photos to the composite of Luther Potter and the photo of Rudy Uxall’s brother.
She shook her head.
“This one,” I tapped Luther’s photo, “may have given her a ride here.”
“Maybe he did. I can’t say for certain. This is a small campus. If they’d been hanging around, I would have noticed. They look kind of tough.”
“An understatement,” I said. “Who came to the campus with Pleasant?”
“As far as I know, she came on her own. The other girls had their mothers with them. They kept looking at Pleasant and laughing, like it was a big joke for her to be at DSU because she was pregnant. She wouldn’t be the first or last girl who had a baby.”
Ginger had a level head on her. “Who handles the scholarships?” I asked.
“It would be in the administration office. Dr. Beverly Moon will tell you what you need to know. She goes out of her way to help all the students.”
I thanked her and left.
Sweetie and Pluto had been confined to the car for most of the day, so I took the opportunity to let them out to frisk about the campus. Sweetie loved the attention from passing students who threw a Frisbee for her. Pluto ignored them, allowing a privileged few to stroke his back and acknowledge his superiority.
I loved the feel of the campus in the brisk November weather, the students bundled in jeans, boots, and sweaters. Soon they would be leaving for Thanksgiving break. Again I felt a pang—the passing of time. Not so long ago I’d been walking across the campus at Ole Miss, wishing for classes to finish so I could go home to Dahlia House and Aunt Loulane. With each passing year, I realized more and more what she’d given up to be there for me. She’d put her life on hold to make sure I always felt I had a home.
Rock-a-Bye Bones Page 19
