"You and your friends dressed up in your sheets and hoods and paid Ocie Rhoden a visit, only it wasn't a neighborly visit, was it?"
"No. I didn't. You got it all wrong."
Luke held the torch closer to the rope.
Cubby yelped, "Don't do it, Sheriff. Don't..."
"Is that what Ocie said to you when you set fire to his house? Did he beg you not to do it? And what about his arm when you busted it? Did he cry and beg like you're doing now?"
"Oh, you got it all wrong. It won't me. I won't there. It was the Klan, all right, but..."
"You're lying. And it always pisses me off when somebody lies to me, Cubby."
Luke touched the flame to the end of the rope. He had carefully chosen a hemp that would burn slowly.
"Oh, no. Don't. Don't do it. I'll burn to death."
"Not if you tell me what I want to know. I know you were there, Cubby. Ocie recognized your voice," Luke added the lie.
At that, Cubby surrendered in a panic, his eyes on the smoldering rope. "Okay. Okay. I was there. But there were others. It wasn't just me."
"I want names."
"There was... there was five of us."
"Names, Cubby. Give me names, and I'll give you a chance to save yourself. I'll turn the others over to the FBI for prosecution and leave you out of it."
Cubby's eyes were transfixed to the rope, which had burned about two inches so far.
"Talk to me, Cubby."
Luke was deliberately not asking who had given the order. He did not want Buddy Hampton mentioned. Otherwise, Cubby would think it odd when he was not eventually charged. He might even say as much to Buddy, which would put him on guard.
Sure, Luke knew he could put Buddy away for his Klan involvement, but time in prison was not enough. He had bigger things in store if his suspicions about Murline holding information back proved true, and, so far, his intuition regarding her had been justified. While he had no idea what he would ultimately discover, his gut instinct told him to hold on, that bigger rewards were in store if he were patient.
"But they'll know I told," Cubby whined.
"You can leave town. You won't have a home anyway, once the Klan figures out you turned them in. They'll likely burn you out like they did Ocie. So you'll have to run fast and far, but it's up to you. You can stay here and burn to death instead."
Cubby hit the base of the cross with his right fist as tears streamed down his cheeks. The fire was creeping ever closer, and he knew he had no choice. He would squeal on his friends, then run home and pack what he could in his truck and take off. All he had to do was quickly fire off four names. "Hank Pugh, Rooster Grice, Mackie Coombs, and Wiley Wooter. Now let me go, damnit."
Luke calculated that it would take about three more minutes for the rope to reach the kerosene and engulf Cubby in flames.
He stood and took a knife from his pocket. "I didn't say I'd let you go. I said I'd give you a chance to save yourself."
He tossed the knife in front of Cubby and watched as Cubby eagerly cut the rope binding his feet and his left arm. Then he tried to get up and shrieked with pain as the chain tore into his penis.
"Use your knife, Cubby."
"It won't cut a chain," he wailed in terror.
"It'll cut something else."
Cubby lifted horror-stricken eyes as reality struck. "You... you're gonna make me cut my dick off. Oh, god, no..."
Luke shrugged. "It's your choice, Cubby, which is more than you gave Ocie Rhoden." He tossed down the towels he had bought the same day as the knife. "I saw a soldier get his cut off in Nam. A Vietcong was torturing him when our patrol came along to save him. He didn't bleed to death because we wrapped him good. We were a half hour's walk to medical aid. You're about twenty minutes from the nearest house where you can get help. I checked it out earlier. Then from there maybe ten more to a doctor. You can make it if you hurry."
As Cubby pleaded for him to come back, Luke began walking to where he'd left his car. He was almost there when he heard the scream that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up.
Chapter 25
Luke turned the names Cubby Riddle had given him over to the FBI. All four men broke under interrogation and confessed everything. They were brought to swift justice, tried and convicted within a month, and sentenced to twenty years in Kilby prison. Luke sent them each a jar of petroleum jelly without explanation. Soon enough, they'd find out what it was for.
Meanwhile, Cubby Riddle was the topic of much conversation. Word spread how a farmer in Coosa County had opened his door in the middle of the night to find Cubby standing there, hands pressed against his bloody crotch. The farmer got him to a doctor right away, then hung around long enough to confirm that Cubby's penis had been severed, but Cubby refused to say how it had happened.
The doctor stitched him to stop the bleeding and told him he needed to be in the hospital for repair surgery, but Cubby refused and dropped out of sight for nearly a week, then resurfaced long enough to throw his clothes in his truck and disappear again. His wife said he had refused to tell her anything, either, but when a cross was burned in their yard he couldn't get out of town fast enough.
Folks speculated that Cubby had told the law about his accomplices in exchange for his own freedom, and, as a result, the Klan was after him. Some even said maybe it was the Klan that had mutilated him. This theory was reinforced when the story got out about the discovery of some strange goings-on at their meeting site. Ocie, Luke felt, had been properly vindicated and no one suspected his part in any of it.
In addition, because of Murline's guilty conscience, which no one knew about except Luke, of course, a tidy sum of money was raised for Ocie and his family. Once out of the hospital, Ocie used the funds to move his family to Birmingham and make a new life there. Luke then turned his attention to the last two nails to be pounded into the ground by his hammer of vengeance, Burch Cleghorn and Buddy Hampton.
Summer was over, fall was in the air, and other than his gnawing need to be with Emma Jean and his desire to finish taking revenge for his mother, Luke felt his life was running pretty smoothly. He was unaware, however, that Sid Dootree had spotted him and Emma Jean easing down to the creek behind her house at the far border of Sid's property and that gossip about them had begun to spread like wildfire.
All Luke knew was that he loved her, and he worried more and more that when the time came to leave her he wouldn't be able to. At least tomato picking season was over, and she had gone back to work at the laundromat, which meant he could see her occasionally during the day.
* * *
Luke was relieved there were no cars in the parking lot, thinking he would have a moment alone with Emma Jean, but, as he approached the door, it opened, and he saw Sara standing there.
"Hi," she said dully. "My washer's on the blink again."
Every time he had seen her in the months since Dewey's death, she looked ready to cry. He decided it was time they had a talk. "When I'm done here, I'd like a few words with you."
"Sure." She went back and sat down next to the dryer where her clothes were tumbling.
Emma Jean was trying not to look as though she were about to pop with joy and motioned Luke to the room in the back. "Boy, am I glad you're here, Sheriff. I've got a cabinet stuck that I can't get open. You mind giving me a hand?"
He set the bags down and followed her, and once they were inside and out of sight, grabbed her and kissed her till they were dizzy.
"Tonight," she whispered excitedly. "Rudy's on night shift. We can be together till dawn."
He said that sounded wonderful, and right then he couldn't think of anything that would keep him from being there but added, "I can't stay out all night, sugar. I don't know what's got into Alma lately, but she's watching me like a hawk. Every time I work late, she calls the office a dozen times trying to find out where I am and what I'm doing. She's driving Ned crazy."
Emma Jean did not want to talk about Alma. She didn't even want to think a
bout her. "I'll take whatever time you've got. Just make it quick as you can once it gets dark. Promise?"
He promised, kissed her again, then wiped his lips with the back of his hand in case there was lipstick, but she grinned and said she had seen him coming and rubbed off as much as she could.
"I wish I could stay and talk to you, but Sara's here."
"It's okay. I'll see you soon."
Walking back to the front, he motioned Sara to follow him outside. They were almost to the door when the phone rang, and Emma Jean answered and quickly yelled after them, "Sheriff, it's for you."
It was Wilma to tell him there had been a wreck on the Talladega highway between a truck and a school bus. There were no serious injuries reported, but a lot of parents were hysterical and converging on the scene. Matt and Kirby were afraid things were getting out of hand. He hurried out, leaving Emma Jean staring after him to wonder what was going on and hope whatever it was would not spoil their plans.
Sara was standing next to his car, and he paused long enough to grasp her by her shoulders and look deep into her eyes and say, "Look, honey, you've got to snap out of this."
"I know. It's just so hard."
"Are you ready to take revenge on Burch?"
For the first time, she showed spirit. "You know I'd give anything to make that devil pay."
"Okay then. I think we've waited long enough. If you'd given him the come-on right after it happened, he might have gotten suspicious. So fix yourself up and go to prayer meeting tonight and see how he acts. Flirt a little. Make him think you're real wild and horny. Make him think you like to do it different ways, different places."
She recoiled, brows raised. "Are you crazy?"
His smile was grim but assuring. "Trust me. There is method in my madness." He patted her arm, then got in the car and leaned out the window to add, "I'll call you tomorrow and see how it went."
Then he was gone in a spray of gravel.
Sara turned to go back into the laundromat, but just then Irene Cleghorn drove in. Waving a white-gloved hand absently in Sara's direction as she got out of the Cadillac, she breezed inside. Sara followed after her, thinking how Irene was the only woman in town who dressed every day like she was going to church. Today she had on a green and white flowered silk dress, and high-heeled black patent leather shoes. She was even wearing a hat.
Pushing the door open, Sara heard Irene snapping to Emma Jean to go out to her car and bring in her laundry. "The maid didn't come today," she said, "and she'll be out all week, and I can't stand having dirty clothes smelling in the hamper. Get them done and drop them by my house before you go home."
"Well, we don't deliver," Emma Jean said apologetically.
Irene looked at her like she was something stuck on the bottom of her shoe. "Well, you do now, or I'll complain to Bert." She snapped gloved fingers together, "You'll lose your job, just like that."
Emma Jean murmured, "Yes ma'mm."
Irene acknowledged Sara. "So, how are you? I haven't seen you in church lately, and you haven't been to circle meeting either."
"I... I haven't been feeling well," Sara managed, fighting the impulse to scream that she'd be feeling just fine, thank you, if Irene's horny, worthless, piece-of-shit husband hadn't caused the death of the man she loved.
"Well, you don't look well, either. Maybe you should see a doctor." Irene glanced at her Bulova with the diamond band. "My, my, I've got to run along. Emma Jean, go on and get my laundry now. I'm having my bridge club tonight, and heaven only knows what I'm going to do without Loweezy to make those darling little finger sandwiches of hers."
Emma Jean doggedly obliged and, once Irene was gone, exploded, "I swear, that woman's voice sets my teeth on edge like nails dragging a blackboard. She sounds like a cat with a head cold." Placing a hand on her hip and bending her other at the wrist, she began to sashay around the room, imitating Irene's voice. "Whatever will I do without Loweezy's little finger sandwiches? If I have to make them myself, I'll get mayonnaise all over my gloves. Oh, my, my, my."
Sara burst out laughing. "I swear, you sound just like her."
"Do I? Well, I have to admit I've been mimicking her ever since I started working here. She comes in when Loweezy doesn't show up, which is often. Can you imagine what it'd be like to work for that woman? And Mr. Cleghorn probably has it rough, too, and..." She noticed Sara's expression. "Oh, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said anything about him."
Sara's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Why not?"
Emma Jean was truly flustered. "Well, because I know how you must hate him on account of Dewey, and, oh, Lordy, I should learn to keep my big mouth shut."
"You know, don't you?" Sara sank into the nearest chair. "That means the whole town does, too."
Emma Jean could not let her think that and cried, "Oh, no. It's not like that at all. Nobody else knows. Luke told me, you see, and..."It dawned suddenly that now she had really messed up because Sara would wonder why Luke would confide in her and might guess the truth. She frantically tried to cover and stammered, "I... I mean, he... he's the sheriff, and sometimes he tells me what's happening around town when he drops by. We... we're friends. Nothing more. And I don't want you thinking..."
"It's all right," Sara said, waves of relief washing over her. She had suspected Luke was involved with Emma Jean, only now she was sure it was much more than that. Otherwise, he would not have trusted her enough to tell about her and Dewey. "It's all right," she repeated. "Luke deserves some happiness. I probably know better than anybody what a miserable life he's had, especially since he married Alma. And you don't have to worry. I won't say anything. We'll just keep each other's secrets."
Emma Jean was beaming as she down next to Sara. It felt so wonderful to be able to talk about her love, at last, and the words poured out of her as she confided just how much Luke meant to her. They bonded quickly as they bared their souls to each other, for Sara was likewise grateful to have someone else to confide in.
"I just worry where it's all going to lead," Emma Jean bemoaned. "I mean, if Rudy ever found out, he'd kill me. And I'm scared of Alma, too."
"And you've every reason to be. Oh, she pretends to be born-again, but she's a hypocrite. I despise her for the way she treats Luke. I wish he'd leave her. It's just a shame she got pregnant or he'd never have married her."
"I kind of thought that's how it happened."
"Yes, because Orlena Ballard was not going to see her grandchild raised a bastard. Not after the misery she'd suffered over the same thing. She saw to it Luke married Alma real quick."
"Did they get along in the beginning?"
Sara laughed. "They didn't even live together till after Orlena died, and he moved back here to be sheriff. He quit school and joined the army and only came home on leave. If you ask me, I think he's been miserable from day one, and I know for a fact he never loved her."
Again, with her usual candor, Emma Jean asked, "Did you think Dewey loved you?"
A glow spread across Sara's face. "Oh, yes. He loved me with all his heart. And he still does." She crossed her arms over her bosom and whispered, "Sometimes it's like I feel he's with me, holding me tight."
"And that's why Burch has to pay for what he did," she ended with a rush of anger.
"How will you do that?"
Sara stared at the dryer, the clothes tossed and tumbled by the drum as recklessly as the emotions surging within her. "Luke has a plan. He hasn't told me what it is, but I've got to get busy setting Burch up for it."
The dryer clicked off, and she raced towards it and began stuffing her clothes in her basket.
"Hey, everything will be wrinkled," Emma Jean protested.
"It doesn't matter. I've got to hurry home and get ready for prayer meeting tonight. I've got to wash and roll my hair and get a bath and fix my face and try to look really nice." She was talking more to herself than Emma Jean as she planned how to look enticing for Burch without being obvious.
Emma Jean elbowed her awa
y from the dryer. "Here. Stop it. I'll fold these and leave them on your porch on my way home from work. You go ahead."
Sara stared in grateful surprise. "You'll do that?"
"Of course, I will. Thanks to Irene Cleghorn, I've got a delivery service going." She began to mimic her again. "Now you just run along, my dear, I've got to get busy making little finger sandwiches for my bridge club."
Laughing, they walked outside together, pausing to look across the street where Betsy Borden was rummaging in a garbage can.
"That poor woman," Sara said. "She ought to be put away somewhere."
Emma Jean agreed. "She's a weird one, all right. Rudy's had to run her off a couple of times when she was trying to sleep in the roost house." She couldn't help but giggle as she added, "When he asked her why she didn't go sleep in her own, she said she liked to visit different chickens in the neighborhood."
"Sad," Sara murmured. "So very, very sad."
* * *
Sara felt Burch's eyes on her all during worship service. He was sitting directly behind her, and she didn't think that was by accident. There were a lot of empty pews. He was alone, too, because Irene was playing the piano.
Sara had purposely chosen a spot away from everyone else, and Burch had played right into her hands. The service ended, everyone rose, and she turned automatically, as though to greet whoever was nearby. Feigning surprise, she knew she had missed her calling as an actress, for she was able to paste on a smile and exclaim, "Oh, Mr. Cleghorn—Burch—I didn't know you were there. Good evening to you."
She stepped into the aisle, but he moved quickly to get in front of her, lips spread in his best deacon-greeter grin. But it was not his usual patronizing routine. Instead, with voice lowered against anyone possibly overhearing, he said in a rush, "You aren't still mad at me, are you, Sara? I mean, it was an accident. You know that. He was old. It wasn't my fault. And I had to get out of there. I couldn't afford to get involved. I'm just glad you managed to get away, too. I should've taken you with me, doggone it, but I'm ashamed to say I was just too damn scared at the time to think straight."
Final Justice Page 28
