A Killing at Cotton Hill

by Terry Shames

  Loretta is settled in talking to some church ladies, and I stop and say a few words to them. Then I proceed into the chapel to take a look at how they’ve fixed up Dora Lee. I’m glad to see a good number of flower arrangements. Dora Lee would have liked that. The spray that I asked Ernest to order for me with yellow flowers is here. Justine down at the flower shop has a good instinct for her work.

  Dora Lee looks good, although her mouth is set in a way that makes her look peeved. And maybe that’s as it should be, the way she died. Viewing of people’s dead bodies is probably an odd custom, but the once or twice I’ve known people who insisted on being cremated, I felt an itchy sense that something was left undone. It’s not a religious thing with me. Jeanne would have liked me to be a believer, but I told her that leap of faith was just too wide for me. I’d go to church with her when she wanted me to, and that’s the way we worked it out.

  As I’m standing quietly, thinking my thoughts about Dora Lee and her life, I hear a little ruffle of sound in the front room that alerts me. It’s like a rush of swallows in an evening out near the tank. I turn around and look toward the door. A woman is standing poised there, and for a second I catch my breath. It could be Dora Lee twenty years ago, but in a different kind of life. The woman, Caroline, I’m sure of it, is dressed in a black suit and high heels and has a polished look that you see on TV women. I don’t know fashion, but the suit has a cut that takes advantage of every curve of Caroline’s body without being showy. Her light brown hair falls soft and free just short of her shoulders. She’s wearing pearls and carrying a compact little bag. She’s way over-dressed for a visitation, and the other ladies won’t forgive her for it.

  I have a pang for Dora Lee, knowing how much she would have liked to see Caroline dressed to the nines. Dora Lee always liked to be well turned out. I wonder if Caroline knows that.

  She walks slowly toward the casket and I step back to give her a chance to take a look at the mamma she hasn’t seen in so many years. She stands for a long time; long enough for me to wonder what thoughts must be going through her head. There’s no outward sign that she has the slightest reaction to Dora Lee. But then she steps back and I can see she’s unsteady on her feet. I walk over and take her arm and help her to a seat on the front row of pews.

  Up close, Caroline is a little frayed around the edges. She has circles under her eyes and her complexion is pale under her carefully done makeup. I sit down on the pew near her and settle back. After a while she looks over at me. “You must be Mr. Craddock.” Her voice is like honey, which I didn’t notice when we talked on the phone.

  “Samuel,” I say.

  She glances toward the coffin, then back at me. “Samuel, then.”

  I move a little closer. “They did a good job with your mamma. She looks good.”

  She nods, but by the look in her eye, she’s thinking about something else.

  “Your nephew, Greg, picked out the box. I hope it suits you.”

  “It’s fine,” she says. Wafting with the words is the smell of liquor.

  Sometimes I wonder why so many people, even from a small place like Jarrett Creek, feel the need to take the edge off their lives with drink. Boredom, disappointment, fear? There are mean drunks, like Caroline’s daddy was, and weepy drunks, people who get silly, or those who turn into themselves. I figure she’s the last kind. Or maybe she’s not a drunk at all; maybe she just had to fortify herself for this ordeal.

  “Did you get a place at the motel?” I ask.

  She shakes her head. Her hair falls forward and she pushes it back.

  “Then when you’re done here, why don’t you come out to my place? I’ve got plenty of room, and I won’t bother you.”

  I see the hesitation in her eyes, but after a second she gives a quick nod.

  I get up. “That’s all right then. I’ll leave you to yourself. I’ll be in the parlor with the others. You take your time.”

  Now that evening church services are out, more people have arrived, standing around in little clumps. Ida Ruth hustles over to me as soon as she sees me. “I told everybody that Caroline is in with her mamma and to give her a little time to herself.”

  “That was real thoughtful of you. I think it’s all right if they go on in.”

  Ida Ruth whispers to various people. I think about the fact that someone must have done this for me when I was in sitting with Jeanne, and I have to walk out on the porch to take a couple of deep breaths. I hear Reverend Duckworth at the other end of the porch, laughing. I look up to see him standing with two other men, all three smoking and looking relaxed. My aversion to Duckworth rises up in me and for two cents I’d go over there and punch him.

  But none of the hard things are his fault, and I’m ashamed for taking out my grief on him, even in my thoughts.

  When I duck back inside, Caroline has come back into the reception room and has been pounced on by Ida Ruth and two other church ladies. She glances at me with a look so full of despair that I have to look away. If Caroline’s old friend Maddie Hicks were here, she might be able to take some of the slack, but I saw Maddie’s name on the visitation sheet when I got here, so she’s come and gone.

  I look around and see that old Mrs. Ruggie has cornered Greg. She must be about ninety-five, and still as spry as a bird in her body, but her mind has long since left her behind. Her head is cocked to one side, looking for all the world like a little chickadee. Greg is nodding as if she were making sense.

  I walk over to Caroline. “Can I steal her from you all?” I say to the ladies gathered around her. “I know she wanted to talk to her nephew a little bit.”

  The three ladies frown at me. They were just getting started on the questions.

  I thank the ladies and steer Caroline over to Greg, and hear Mrs. Ruggie saying, “I got me a new hat.” Greg is still nodding, but looks up as we approach and when he sees Caroline, his mouth falls open.

  “Excuse me, Mrs. Ruggie. I just want to introduce these two. Caroline, this is your nephew, Greg Marcus.”

  Caroline offers her hand and Greg takes it, still staring at her. “It’s nice to finally meet you,” Caroline says.

  Suddenly Ida Ruth is at my side. “Mrs. Ruggie, come on over here. I have to ask you something.”

  Dora Lee once told me Ida Ruth was a quality person, and I’m seeing her in action. Mrs. Ruggie toddles off with Ida Ruth, filling her in on her new hat.

  Caroline and Greg can’t seem to think of anything to say to one another right off, so I say, “Greg, I don’t see Jackson. Did you come by yourself?”

  He tears his eyes away from Caroline. Not only must Caroline remind him of his grandma, but there’s probably something of his mamma there, too. “Wayne said it was all right if I drove Grandma’s car. He said he had a lot to do and couldn’t make it tonight, but he’ll be at the funeral tomorrow.”

  “Are you talking about Wayne Jackson?” Caroline asks.

  “Yes, your uncle Leslie’s boy. He says he remembers you.”

  “Yes, I imagine he does.” Her eyes have turned hard with whatever she’s picking out from her memories. “Do you like him?” she says to Greg, startling both of us.

  Greg blinks a couple of times. I can see he wants to make the right reply. “He’s been friendly to me.”

  “Mmm,” Caroline says.

  “Caroline,” I say, “Greg is a fine artist. I hope you get a chance to see some of his work while you’re here.”

  “I hope so, too.” She turns to me. “You didn’t mention that Wayne Jackson was here when you called. What’s his business in this?”

  I tell her that I was as surprised as she was, that I only met Jackson yesterday, after I talked to her on the phone. “I went out to Dora Lee’s and he had set up shop there. He says his daddy sent him.”

  She raises an eyebrow. “That sounds like him and his daddy.”

  I wait for her to say more, but her interest has gone back to Greg. She puts her hand up to his cheek. “You don’t look much lik
e your mother, but you remind me of her somehow.”

  Greg’s face turns red and he starts to chew on his bottom lip.

  I realize that people are wanting to leave, and are standing by to say “sorry” to Dora Lee’s kin, so I step away. Caroline and Greg get their hands shaken and curious looks cast over them. Most of these people have known Dora Lee her whole life, and yet these two people who are closest kin to her are strangers to them.

  Finally it’s just a handful of people left. I tell Greg that Caroline is staying at my place. “You two have some things to talk about. You’re welcome to get together in my kitchen, if you want.”

  Caroline says, “I’m dead tired. I think I’d like to wait until tomorrow, if that’s okay.” Her eyes are soft with her appeal, almost as if she’s flirting with him.

  “Sure is, ma’am,” he says.

  A little smile flits across her face. “You don’t have to call me ma’am. Just Caroline.”

  “Be careful driving home by yourself,” I say to Greg. “On Sunday nights people burn up the road to get back home after the weekend.”

  “You don’t need to worry about me,” he says. He’s taken with his Aunt Caroline and wants to show he’s a man.

  “Hold on just a second,” I say to Caroline as we start to leave. I go and tell Loretta I’m taking Caroline to my place for the night. “You suppose you could make some kind of coffee cake or something to bring over in the morning?”

  “I guess I can do that.” Her posture gets a little straighter.

  Caroline follows me back to my place in her car, a Toyota that’s seen better days. Its engine makes an ominous sound when she parks behind me.

  I’m itching to ask her some questions, but restrain myself for both our sakes. I introduce her to the spare room, glad I keep it made up for Tom’s family’s visits. As I show her around, I can see her relaxing, and I wonder what she was worried about.

  Loretta not only brings a coffee cake, but she offers to stay and scramble up some eggs when Caroline gets up. I jump on the offer, not only thinking of my stomach, but of the advantage of having Loretta around to ask a few pertinent questions. We drink a pot of coffee and I’m beginning to wonder if I’m going to have to roust out Caroline so we have time to eat before we get ready for the funeral.

  When Caroline comes in, she is already dressed, in the same thing she wore last night. In the light of day, it’s not so fine as it seemed. The collar is worn, and the skirt is a lighter color of black than the jacket, as if it has been washed more often. I’m of two minds about Caroline. I’m mad at her for leaving Dora Lee and not coming back even when her sister, Julie, died. But Caroline has not fared so well herself, and my thinking is that for someone to pull away so sharply, she must have reasons I don’t know a thing about.

  Loretta bustles around scrambling eggs while I sit with Caroline. I try to think of a neutral question, so I ask her how she likes Houston after being in California so long.

  “It’s not so bad, but I got used to the weather in California. Houston’s hot.” You can’t get much more neutral than that.

  “That’s a fact.”

  Loretta has her back to us at the stove. “Samuel says you got married a while back. You still working?”

  Caroline has been stirring her coffee for a full minute now, and it ought to be pretty stirred up. She stops and takes a sip, closing her eyes. “Yes, I’m working.”

  Loretta scrapes eggs into a bowl and sets them on the table. She unties her apron and hangs it up before she sits down.

  “This is real nice. Thank you, Loretta.” I pass the bowl to Caroline. “Eggs?”

  Caroline takes the bowl, but looks at the eggs with narrowed eyes, as if they might be a trick. “Thank you. I really appreciate your going to the trouble.” I notice that her voice is crisper when she says something to Loretta than it is when she talks to me. She takes about a tablespoon of eggs before passing them back.

  In normal circumstances Loretta would insist that Caroline help herself to more eggs, but she pretends not to notice and slices the coffee cake. “Hand me your plate, and I’ll give you a piece,” she says.

  Caroline hands her plate over, and when it arrives back, eyes the big slice of coffeecake with the same suspicion she did the eggs. I want to say, “It isn’t going to bite you,” but I take a cue from Loretta and keep my mouth shut.

  “It was a nice turn-out for the visitation last night,” Loretta says.

  Going from there, we make the smallest possible talk, ending up with not a damn thing being said that puts me any closer to knowing what Caroline Parjeter Wells is up to.

  Caroline says she’d prefer to drive herself to the funeral and I tell Loretta I’ll pick her up at ten thirty. I’m ready by nine thirty so that I can take a quick side trip to find out the answer to something that has been bothering me.

  Our local veterinarian, Doc England, has his business on the same property as his house, south of town. As soon as I stop my truck outside the plain, square clinic, I hear dogs barking inside. The doc is in the pen to one side of the building, bent over feeling a horse’s leg. I walk over and stand while he and the horse’s owner confer. When they’re done, Doc England comes over and greets me. “Let’s go inside out of this heat. You’re going to drop dead in that suit.”

  Inside I tell him what I’m after.

  “Yeah, that was a shame. Dora Lee brought that dog in here last week in bad shape. Not a thing I could do.”

  “What was wrong with the dog?”

  “I didn’t do an autopsy, but I’m pretty sure somebody poisoned it. She said it was sort of a barking dog, and some people just won’t put up with that.”

  “Anything else could have killed it? Maybe got into something?”

  “I asked her if she had any antifreeze around or any snail bait, or rat poison, something like that. But she said no. Poison’s the only thing that made sense.”

  I thank him and get on my way, thinking on my way home about the kind of person who would deprive poor Dora Lee of her dog before he killed her.

  Loretta surprises me by being right on time. She wants to get a look at the strangers coming for the funeral. And there are enough to keep everybody busy with the greetings. I shake hands with various first and second cousins. When Greg’s Aunt Patsy arrives with her posse, she stops the show. To make sure everybody knows how religious she is, Patsy marches right up to the coffin and in a loud voice says, “Oh, Jesus, take your loyal servant, Dora Lee Parjeter. We are just sheep in your flock.” She goes on in that vein for some minutes, while everybody freezes, wondering if they should be bowing their heads or pretending not to listen. Her husband, a skinny man with a thin head of hair, keeps up a steady stream of “amens” as she goes on. After she’s done with her conversation with the Lord, she gathers her family around with her and they all bow their heads over Dora Lee. She has five kids, ranging in age from four to twelve, and every one of them stiff as boards and looking like they’re scared to death they’re going to make a mistake.

  After that display, I’m relieved at the low-key service the Reverend Harold Duckworth gives Dora Lee. Although I hear “hmphs” a time or two, I hear a lot more “amens,” and by and large everyone seems satisfied that he gets it mostly right in giving Dora Lee a proper Baptist send-off.

  In the interest of not inducing heat stroke in the attendees, most of the service takes place inside, leaving just a few words to be spoken at the graveside. Harold Duckworth has sense enough to go along with that, and by twelve thirty we are all back in the Baptist Church fellowship room, where the Baptist ladies have put out a spread so people can eat and talk.

  I’m hungry, and the ladies like to see people appreciate what they’ve taken trouble to provide, so I pile my plate high with pimiento cheese and bologna sandwich triangles, potato salad, coleslaw, and olives. I’m partial to lime Jell-O salad and put a little of that on my plate, too.

  The first person to zero in on me is Jenny Sandstone. With that flame-co
lored hair, she looks good in dark slacks and a white blouse. “You gotten anywhere figuring out what happened to Dora Lee?” I didn’t know she was capable of speaking quietly.

  I tell her I’ve come up with nothing concrete, but I’m working on a couple of things. I agree to stop by her place this evening to fill her in.

  I then have a chance to agree with all and sundry that the service was very fine, that Dora Lee looked completely natural, and that this is the hottest day so far. Today I don’t rush to rescue Caroline, having realized that she needs a little wearing down by people who won’t cut her as much slack as I do. Then maybe she’ll be a little more forthcoming.

  Greg is the object of a lot of attention, Ida Ruth having done an expert job of tipping opinion in his favor. I go over and say hello. Up close, he’s a little wild-eyed and he tells me he’ll be glad when this is over. “But Grandma would have liked to see all these people turn out,” he says. I expect he’s heard so many people say that by now that he’s adopted it for his own thought, and being able to parrot it keeps him from bolting out of here.

  Finally I see who I’m really looking for, Wayne Jackson and his stepdaddy. They have aligned themselves with Patsy and her bunch. I get rid of my empty paper plate, take a deep breath, and prepare to wade in.

  Today I notice that although Wayne Jackson and Leslie Parjeter aren’t blood-related, they both wear the same discontented expression. I shake their hands, and then do the same with Patsy and her husband. The little ones surprise me by sticking out their hands to shake as well, glancing to their mamma for approval.