Diana Anderson - Entering Southern Country 01 - Famous in a Small Town

by Diana Anderson

  She tried not to make direct eye contact with him as she knelt down and eased her hand out for him to smell. She was ready to pull it back and hoped she didn’t yank back a stub. He sniffed her hand and then gave her a couple of quick licks. She put her hand to the top of his head and petted him. His stubby tail wiggled in appreciation.

  “You look like you could use a friend and a bath.” She eyed the heavy chain hooked to his collar and then lifted it. She followed the length of it until she came to a gap in the underpinning of the trailer. She got on her hands and knees and peered underneath.

  “What the heck!”

  Virgil had secured the end of the chain to one of the plumbing pipes. She would need the chain until she could get the dog a leash.

  She got down on her stomach and crawled toward the pipe. She inched her way and used her elbows. There was no doubt in her mind that she had just ruined her white blouse and perhaps her lace bra as well. Her jeans might survive. She saw movement and looked over. The dog was hunkered down, crawling alongside of her. She reached for the end of the chain wrapped around the pipe to unfasten it. Dirt flew into her face. She spit and sputtered and covered her eyes with her hand. She peered through her fingers. The dog’s front feet moved fast as he dug and slung dirt and pieces of paper.

  “Stop it!”

  The dog stopped and turned his head toward her. She shook her head and dirt flew from her hair. She wiped the dirt off of her face with her hand. The dog sat low on his haunches and looked pitiful. She sighed when she realized she’d yelled at him. Like the poor thing hadn’t been yelled at enough in his lifetime.

  “I’m sorry. Let me get this undone, and I promise you a much better home soon.”

  He tilted his head and eyed her.

  She wondered what his name might be. Knowing Virgil, probably something stupid.

  Every dog they’d ever had, he had named it. Shithead, Dammit, and Numbnuts were some that came to mind. After he had tired of the animal, it disappeared and was never seen again. She hadn’t known what had happened to them, and she didn’t want to know.

  She turned back to the chain and glanced down at a piece of paper on the ground. She focused her eyes and then blinked several times. She picked it up.

  “Oh mercy!” She lowered the hundred dollar bill and looked around her on the ground. There were more scattered near the hole. She elbowed her way over and pushed away loosened soil and uncovered the top of what looked to be a duffle bag. It had a tear in the side where it looked like the dog had chewed a hole in it. She located the handles and tugged it loose from the soil. With her finger, she pulled open the hole, peered inside, and saw more bills. She looked around, grabbed handfuls of bills that were scattered about, and stuffed them inside the hole. She scooted backwards, dragging the bag with her until she came to the chain. She unhooked it and backtracked out from under the trailer. The dog followed.

  She brushed dirt off of her pants and shirt, hoisted the bag over her shoulder, and walked the dog around the house to her car. She popped the trunk, dropped the duffle bag inside, and closed it. The dog stayed on her heels and watched her every move. She opened the passenger door for the dog, reached into the back seat, and got a small throw. She spread it across the passenger seat and motioned for him to get inside. He hesitated at first and then hopped up on the seat. She went around and got into the driver’s seat.

  “Dang!” she muttered. “I’ve got to get this to the sheriff. No, I don’t want to do this.” She thought a moment and then said, “Maybe I should just put it back and pretend I don’t know anything about it.” She looked at the dog. He sat straight in the passenger seat as if in expectation of the trip he was about to take.

  “What do you think?”

  He turned his head and looked at her. His tongue slid out the side of his mouth as he panted.

  “I know, I promised you a bath and a new home, and you’re excited. I know how you feel. The day I left this place for good, I was happy too.” Well, sort of. “Should I put the money back?”

  He looked out the windshield, swallowed, and then whimpered.

  “Okay, should I take it to the sheriff?”

  He sighed. She couldn’t believe she had asked a dog for his opinion.

  “If I take it to the sheriff, I’d have to see him again, and I’d rather not. But what if it’s part of the murder investigation?” Then another thought managed to catapult to the front. “Where did all of this money come from? Is it even real?” She sat there ten minutes until she’d made up her mind. She’d donate the money to charity and be done with it. Whatever mess Virgil had gotten himself into had been dealt with. He was in hell. Where else could he possibly go?

  She started the car and dropped the gear shift into Reverse. She looked over at the dog and asked, “You ready to leave this God forsaken place?”

  He barked.

  18

  As of the 2010 U.S. Census, the Cypress, Mississippi’s population was 12,066. Main Street ran east to west through town. On the west end was a neighborhood Walmart. Interstate Fifty-five ran north and south on the east side of town. Forty-five minutes north was Memphis. Near the interstate were two motels. The Cypress Inn was the preferred place for travelers to sleep, and then there was—the Deluxe Inn. They sat across Main Street from each other. East of the interstate was Junior’s Beer, Bait, and Tackle, a small mom and pop grocery story, where folks who were headed to the lake stopped for—beer, bait, and tackle, and a can of Vienna sausages or a hoop cheese and rag bologna sandwich. On most days at Junior’s, a good game of checkers went on over morning coffee, gossip, and a lot of shootin’ the bull.

  Wallace Street had been named after the town’s founder, William J. Wallace, a cotton plantation owner and the great-great grandfather of Dr. Theodore Wallace. It ran north and south alongside the railroad tracks through the middle of town. On that street was a one screen movie theater that sat next to the railroad tracks. Each movie was shown for a full month. Out of consideration to the few who patronized the theater, the movie was paused when a train passed through town.

  Next to the theater, used to be a roller-skating rink, but now housed one of the town’s three used car lots.

  The hospital was located on the north side of town on Wallace Street. Cypress General housed sixty-five beds. The locals have said, “If you’re suicidal, just be admitted to Cypress General and they’ll take care of it for you.”

  On the south end of Wallace Street was the local newspaper office, the Laurel County Press, and across from there was Greenwood Lawns, the cemetery.

  In the oldest part of Cypress was the town square—which was really a town circle—sat in the middle of town on Main Street. Cypress City Hall, Police Department, Sheriff’s Department, and Post Office all sat catty-cornered to each other. Magnolias and white oaks were located around the square, and the only thing Cypress was noted for sat smack dab in the middle of the street—a one hundred and twenty-five foot giant bald cypress tree. Rumor had it that the tree was older than Methuselah, but that rumor had originated at Junior’s over coffee.

  Cal drove to Janie’s Diner, located on the west side of the interstate and on Main Street. He hadn’t eaten since breakfast and was a bit jittery. The lunch crowd had cleared out, and most had enjoyed Janie’s special of the day. The food always tasted home-cooked. Janie had done quite well with her establishment for the past twenty-three years. Everything in the dining area was replicated of a fifties diner, from the black and white checkered tiled floor, to the chrome table and chairs with red vinyl cushions.

  At fifty-four, Janie dressed the part. Her brown hair was teased high into a French twist. She wore false eyelashes and red lipstick. A white button-down shirt was tucked into her standard straight leg jeans. Her red high heels added three inches to her five foot, four inch frame.

  “Hey, Cal,” Janie said as she walked over to stand across the bar from where he was perched on a stool.

  “Hey, what’s the special?” he asked. He to
ok off his hat and set it down on the counter.

  She fisted her hands on her hips and cocked her head to the side as she eyed him. “It’s Wednesday. What do you think?”

  “Sounds good,” he said and smiled.

  She hollered through the serving window, “One special with extra cranberry sauce.”

  She filled a glass with ice and poured sweet tea. She slid it in front of him and popped a straw inside the glass. “Heard your old girlfriend was back.” She eyed him.

  He half-smiled and took a drink of his tea. “Now how’d you hear about that?”

  “Small town gossip.”

  “Justin?”

  She laughed. When he didn’t say anything, she asked, “Well, what’s she like now? Still a wallflower?”

  He sighed and said, “She never was a wallflower. Maybe a flower bud not blossomed but never a wallflower.”

  She leaned in, placed her elbows on the counter, and rested her chin in her hands. When he didn’t offer more, she asked, “Well, has she blossomed?”

  “You wouldn’t recognize her. I almost didn’t.” He thought about the surprised look on her face when he’d turned to face her in the Wallaces’ den and then the anger in her blue eyes when she’d recognized him. She had, without a doubt, blossomed. The light that shone from the chandelier reflected blue off of her black hair. Either she’d had her eyesight repaired, or she wore contacts. Whatever, the years sure looked good on her.

  “So what’s with the far-away look?” Janie brought his thoughts back to the present.

  “Been a long day.”

  “Any leads to who killed her pa and Wanda?”

  He shook his head. “May know more when the M.E. gets through with the report, and we’re waiting on ballistics as well as forensics.”

  The cook called out through the window. Janie retrieved his order and slid it in front of him. She reached underneath the counter, grabbed napkin-wrapped dinnerware, and handed it to him. He unrolled it. He forked a bite of chicken and dressing.

  “Guess you saw Mrs. Wallace?” She smirked.

  He chewed a moment, swallowed, and eyed her. “Are you trying to ruin my supper?”

  She laughed. “Late lunch or early supper?”

  “Both, I’ve been busy.”

  “Well, is she still after you?”

  “She’s after every man who’s willing.”

  “Are you, Cal?”

  “Not this man. Never have been and never will be.”

  “But her daughter thought different.”

  “I can’t help that.”

  “Maybe if you tried to explain what really happened?”

  He took a drink of tea and then set down his glass. “In my line of work, I deal in evidence every day. No matter what, it’s always evidence. If the evidence is there against the accused, then no matter what the accused says, it always comes out they’re guilty. She had enough evidence, and nothing I had said could prove me innocent.”

  “If she really had loved you.”

  “Don’t you think that’s why she was so hurt? That’s why she left.”

  She harrumphed. “She wanted to leave for many reasons, Cal, but what happened that day,just gave her guts enough to do it.” She grabbed the tea pitcher and refilled his glass. She set the pitcher down and looked hard at him. “Her mother set you up, and if I know that and you know that, then she knows it too. She’s known her mother longer than either of us put together.” She walked away to wait on another customer.

  He finished his meal but hadn’t tasted much. He grabbed his hat off the bar, fished a toothpick out of the toothpick holder, stood up, and walked toward the end of the bar where Janie talked with a customer. She saw him and stepped out from behind the bar. He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her cheek.

  “Supper was great. Thanks, Mom.” He went out the front door, onto the sidewalk, and stood. He placed his hat on his head, popped the toothpick in his mouth, and watched the traffic.

  Carl’s truck drove by at a slow speed. The oldest boy, Thomas, sat on the passenger side by the door. He caught sight of Cal and his eyes widened. The other boys peered around their brother and eyed Cal. Cal waved. The two younger ones fell back in the seat. The older one looked away.

  Cal chewed on his toothpick and pondered on that as he watched the truck move on down Main Street and head out of town.

  19

  “Get that dog out of my house!” Callie said.

  “If the dog goes, I go,” Raven said.

  “Whatever! I’ve had it up to here with your smugness and nasty attitude toward me.”

  Raven had the dog on a leash that she’d purchased on her way home. She’d go back later for the dog food she’d bought and left it in the trunk of her car. She had been heading toward the stairs when her mother had accosted her.

  “Fine. I’ll get my stuff packed.” Raven turned toward the staircase.

  “She’s not going anywhere, and the dog stays,” Ted said as he walked into the room.

  “What?” Callie pointed toward the dog. “He’s filthy, he’s a mutt, and she’s no better. Look at her. She’s covered in dirt.”

  Raven turned toward Ted. “It’s okay. You don’t have to bother.”

  “It’s no bother. This is my house, and as head of the household, I have the final say.” He walked over to stand in front of Raven, reached down, and scratched the dirt covered dog behind his ears. Ted then looked into Raven eyes. “Raven, please stay.”

  He’d called her Raven, and because he’d stood up to her mother and wasn’t appalled at the dog’s condition or hers, she’d made up her mind.

  She smiled at him. “Thank you, Ted. I’ll stay. But right after the funeral, I’ll be heading back home.”

  Callie turned on her heel and left the room.

  Raven led the dog upstairs.

  She got the dog into the bathtub and wet his coat. She scrubbed him with a sponge and rinsed him, let the water out, and filled the tub again. After two good scrubbings, he had come clean, and to her surprise, he had a white coat underneath all of that dirt.

  “Tomorrow, I’m taking you to the vet, get you checked out, and get your shots,” she told him as she toweled him dry. He wagged his stub of a tail.

  After she had taken care of him, she stripped off her clothes and hopped into the shower.

  She thought again about the duffle bag that she’d left in the trunk of her rental. She had second guessed her decision not to tell Cal about it. Withholding evidence could get her into a heap of trouble. He might think she was just like her mother and wanted to keep all of money for herself. Of course, he might never find out, but what if it belonged to someone other than Virgil, and they discovered it missing. Of course, it belonged to someone. If it hadn’t been reported missing, then it was only a matter of time before someone came forward.

  Unless it’s illegally obtained money. Or … counterfeit money. Either or, she shouldn’t have it in her possession. She looked off in thought. What if that’s why Virgil was killed, and the killer had been there looking for it.

  20

  Angus barreled through the front doors of the sheriff’s department and headed straight down the hallway and flung open the sheriff’s door. Cal was seated at his desk with a morning mug of coffee in his hand.

  “I need to talk to you,” Angus said as he strode over to stand in front of Cal’s desk. He splayed both of his hands on the desk, leaned in, and looked down his nose at him.

  Cal set his mug down, folded the morning’s newspaper, and set it aside. “What’s on your mind?”

  “I’ve been robbed.”

  “Someone break-in?”

  “No, that cleaning lady, Suzanne hired, has stolen a ring, several pairs of cufflinks, and some cash.”

  “When was this?” Cal asked. He picked up a pen and slid a notepad in front of him.

  “The other day.”

  “Why are you just now coming in here to report it?”

  “I didn’t notice it miss
ing until last night. Now, she’s gone.”

  “Who’s gone?”

  “That cleaning lady, that’s who.”

  “What’s her name?”

  “Lupe something-or-other. Suzanne handles all that.” He straightened and waved a hand in the air.

  “Lupe? Hispanic?”

  “She’s Mexican.”

  “Do you have an address on her?”

  “I told you that Suzanne handles all that shit.”

  “Well.” Cal laid his pen down on the notepad. “You need to bring Suzanne in here, or get the information from her, and come back with it.”

  “Some sheriff you are.” He turned on his heel and slammed the door on his way out. He clomped through the lobby. He sidestepped Raven when she came through the front doors. She went around him.

  Angus turned and eyed her and the dirty duffle bag she carried.

  21

  Raven glanced back over her shoulder at Angus as she stepped over to a deputy’s desk. Angus eyed her a moment and then left. She set the duffle bag on the floor. She glanced around the room. Another deputy sat at a desk across the room. He wore a headset with a microphone. She assumed he was the dispatcher. The aroma of coffee and liquid paper was in the room.

  The desk nameplate read Deputy Justin Ledet.

  “Deputy Ledet?”

  He had watched her from the moment she’d walked through the doors. In his right hand was a bottle of liquid paper and in the other hand he held the cap to it. “Can I help you?”

  “I need to speak with Sheriff Rayburn, please. It’s important.”

  He capped the liquid paper and set it down on his desk. He picked up the receiver on the desk phone, punched a button, and after a moment said, “Sheriff, there’s a …” He looked up at her.

  “Raven Sawyer.”

  “Raven Sawyer here to see you. Says it’s important.” He listened for a moment. “He wants to know what this is about.” He looked up at her.