by Parrish, PJ
“I bet it’s been ten years since you’ve been up to the house,” Max said. “What do you say, Sam?”
“It’s been twenty years since I’ve been up to the house, exceptin’ on business. Max,” Dodie said flatly.
Max seemed unperturbed. “Then it’s time,” he said easily. “C’mon, I’ll give you a ride.”
Max looked directly at Louis and paused. “Both of you,” he added.
Dodie couldn’t conceal his surprise. “We’ll pass,” he said. “Thanks anyway.”
Max leaned closer. Louis could smell the booze on his breath. “Look, Sam, I’d really like you both to come. There’ll be some people Mr. Kincaid here should get to know.”
Louis wanted to go. He was ready to meet some people and wanted to know more about Max Lillihouse. And he had enough beer in him to give him whatever courage he needed to set foot back in that house. He nudged the sheriff and Dodie shot him a look.
Max watched them both for a second then picked up his scotch and slugged it down. He tossed three dollars on the bar and hoisted up the shopping bag. “Well, if you change your mind, you’re welcome to come. Merry Christmas, Sam.”
After he was gone, Louis leaned over. “I would have liked to have gone.”
“I know you know where it is,” Dodie said.
“I’d feel better if you came with me.”
Dodie turned to look him straight in the eye. “Kincaid, I have no idea why Lillihouse invited me—or you—to his damn party. I don’t like that house and I don’t want to think about the last time I was there.”
Louis thought about asking him why but then just sighed. “Sheriff, I have no life here outside work. I’m bored. I don’t want to go home. What’s a few minutes? It’s Christmas.”
Dodie stared at him for a second then shook his head. “All right,” he said, picking up his red cap. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Chapter 8
The Lillihouse mansion looked like some magic fairy-tale castle. Thousands of tiny white lights covered the gate, the pillars, the front door and the wrought-iron balcony, all reflected in the brilliant sheen of the dozen or so cars parked outside.
Louis could hear carols playing as he swung the Mustang to a stop in the driveway. He glanced down at his jeans and University of Michigan jacket. It wasn’t the appropriate attire, but then maybe he wasn’t exactly the appropriate guest. He smiled. A part of him was going to enjoy this, the part with all the beer floating around inside, probably.
The sheriff had gotten out of his Blazer and was standing at the bottom of the porch, staring up at the lights. “Well, the eats’ll be good, anyway,” he said under his breath. “Come on, let’s go.”
When the door opened, Louis blinked in the blaze of light. Then the smells assaulted him—pine, cinnamon candles, a hickory fire. He stepped into the foyer with Dodie. Fir garlands were woven into the staircase and draped across the archway. Lights twinkled from every corner. And there, beyond in the living room, was a twenty-foot fir tree heavy with glittering lights, ornaments, gold garlands and giant pink bows, coordinated to match the pale carpeting. Presents were heaped high beneath. Swimming in the lingering haze of the beer, Louis thought it was all so overdone, so lavish, so absurdly beautiful, that he laughed.
Dodie looked at him oddly. “What’s so funny?”
“Man…So this is what Christmas is supposed to look like.” Louis chuckled again.
The maid took their jackets and they stood awkwardly in the foyer, looking into the living room. The other guests were a kaleidoscopic blur, the men’s black dinner jackets standing out in sharp contrast to the women’s colorful dresses and sparkling jewels. A waiter in black wove his way through the chattering crowd with a silver tray of canapes. Another brandished a tray of fluted champagne glasses. Louis glanced over at Dodie, who was standing stiffly, hands stuffed in his pants. The man looked so thoroughly ill at ease that Louis almost regretted asking him to come.
“Sam Dodie!”
Max came to the foyer, smiling broadly. “So you decided to come after all.” He gave Dodie a slap on the back. “Good, good! Come on in, let’s get you a drink. You, too, Mr. Kincaid.”
Max led Sam to the inner sanctum, with Louis trailing behind. When they got the bar. Max pressed a glass of bourbon into Dodie’s hand, but Dodie just looked at it and set it back on the bar. He asked the silver-haired bartender for a beer. Louis ordered a club soda. He felt suddenly sober, and he wanted all his wits about him.
He looked around the crowd. Had he imagined it or had there been a sudden but subtle decrease in the volume of conversation as they entered? More than a few people had paused in their conversations to stare. Others had been more discreet but no less curious.
Two men approached the bar, both in dark suits. One was tall and thin, with slick grayish hair plastered back over knobby ears. His eyes looked like blue marbles embedded in plastic skin. He had no lips arid elongated yellowish teeth. Louis recognized him as Walter Kelly, the mayor.
The other was shorter, with charcoal-colored eyes and wavy black hair that needed a trim. Although he had a baby face, the horn-rimmed glasses added some maturity and intelligence. His suit was not custom-made like Kelly’s. It was strictly off-the-rack. Sears all the way.
“Well, Sam, I didn’t know you were going to be here tonight,” Kelly said, with a forced smile.
“I didn’t either, Walt,” Dodie said tersely, picking up his beer. Kelly was looking at Louis and Dodie let him stare for several seconds before speaking. “You know Kincaid.”
“Good evening, Officer,” Kelly said coldly.
Dodie leaned against the bar and nodded toward the shorter man. “This here’s Bob Roberts. He’s district attorney hereabouts.”
Louis shook Roberts’s hand, which was soft and sweaty. Louis discreetly wiped his hand on his jeans.
“Sam has been filling me in on your case,” Walt Kelly said. “It must be pretty near impossible to investigate a death that happened so long ago.”
“It’s not easy,” Louis said with a smile.
“In fact, as I was telling Sam just yesterday, I don’t know if it’s the best use of manpower.”
Louis’s smile faded. “We do have a couple clues.”
“An old book and a necklace,” Kelly said with a smile. “Not much.”
The medallion…damn. He had almost forgotten that he had an appointment in the morning to show it to a Civil War expert in Vicksburg. Louis glanced at the sheriff. He would tell him later.
“Well, I intend to keep going until I find something,” Louis said.
Kelly cocked an eyebrow. “A little advice here, Kincaid. There are many ways to go about something. I do not want to see this whole thing blown up into a public fiasco-type affair, you understand me? Keep things under wraps. Be subtle. In a few days, put it away and go on.”
“Things like this aren’t resolved in a few days,” Louis said.
“You’d be surprised, Kincaid. We’d like to see this wrapped up, right. Bob?”
The district attorney looked up at Kelly slowly, swirling the ice in his glass. “Right.”
“We don’t want things to drag on more than they have to, right, Sam? We have the taxpayers to consider. A lengthy investigation is money, Kincaid. Money, this county doesn’t have.” Kelly was staring at Dodie now.
There was a short silence, broken finally by Max Lillihouse clearing his throat. “Walt, there’s someone I want you to meet—”
Walt Kelly set his empty glass on the bar. “Well, Merry Christmas, Sam,” he said with a smile.
“Same to you, Walt.”
Louis watched the three men drift off into the crowd, then turned to Dodie. “Nice guys,” he said.
Dodie caught the sarcasm in Louis’s voice. “Yeah, a regular Three Musketeers.” He looked at the bottle in his hand and set it down. “You get a bill yet from that artist lady?”
Louis shook his head. “Sheriff,” he said. “I’ve got to go down to Vicks
burg tomorrow.”
“What for?”
“I want to show the medallion to this man I found who knows about Civil War relics.”
Dodie stared at Louis for a moment. Louis bit back his urge to argue his case. “Take Junior,” Dodie said finally.
Grateful, Louis nodded. He thought about Walter Kelly, wondering if the two men got along. Dodie didn’t report to the mayor, but based on the subtle dynamics he had seen at work tonight, you’d sure think otherwise.
Louis raised his glass to drink. Over the rim, he saw a woman in a green dress coming down the big staircase. She paused halfway down, spotting Louis. She smiled broadly and started toward him. At first he didn’t recognize her, but as she drew closer, he blinked.
It was Abby Lillihouse. She was wearing an emerald-green satin gown that hugged her slender waist and fell full over her hips to the floor. The neckline was low, revealing her shoulders and the soft swells of the tops of her breasts. Her shiny red hair was swept up, a few tendrils framing her small face and curling down her neck. As she came toward him—no, floated toward him—she seemed to be giving off sparks of light.
Earrings…it was the earrings, he saw now. Emeralds set with small diamonds. He stared. Jesus, she was beautiful.
“Hello there.” Her voice was the same—soft, high, and girlish. But the girl, the one in the yellow sweatshirt, was gone. This was a woman.
“Remember me?”
He shook himself out of his stupor. “Of course. Abby, right?”
She smiled. Her perfume wafted up to him. Flowers…What kind? Lilies? Roses?
Abby turned to Dodie and smiled. “Hello, Sheriff. How are you tonight?”
“Fine, Miz Abigail, just fine.”
Louis looked over Abby’s shoulder. Max was coming toward them, and he wasn’t smiling. Louis stepped back slightly as Max swept Abby into the crook of his arm.
“Doll Baby, don’t you look pretty tonight? Give your daddy a Christmas hug.”
Flushing slightly, Abby allowed herself to be crushed to her father’s chest. “Where’s your mama?” Max demanded.
“With the Potters, I think.”
“Why don’t you go get her. Tell her Sam Dodie’s here.”
With a weak smile, Abby extracted herself from Max’s arm. As she walked away, she gave Louis a shy smile over her shoulder.
Max watched her go. “She’s a beauty, ain’t she?” he said, nudging Dodie.
“She’s grown up real fine. Max, a real lady,” Dodie said, glancing at Louis and seeing his lingering gaze. He nudged him as Max turned back to the bar to have his glass refilled. The clinking of ice drew Louis’s gaze from Abby and he watched as Max motioned for the bartender to fill it to the brim.
The man had been drinking before he came into Big Al’s, and now he was half in the bag. He stared at Max’s nose. With a pang of sadness and anger, he recognized the veined redness of a longtime alcoholic.
“Mr. Kincaid,” Max said suddenly. “My wife tells me you were by here the other day. You were asking her some questions.”
Louis could feel Dodie’s eyes on him. “It was just routine.”
“That’s exactly what I told her.” Max took a drink of scotch. “I feel I should apologize for the way she, well, overreacted.”
Louis looked at Dodie. “No apology needed, Mr. Lillihouse, except maybe from me. I didn’t mean to upset your wife.”
“Shit, don’t worry about that. Mama gets upset if the maid farts.” He twirled the ice around in his glass. “But as you’ve probably found out, we Southerners here are a pretty private bunch.”
Dodie sighed. “He ain’t figured that out yet. Max.”
Louis ignored Dodie. “I have had a hard time finding people who are willing to talk about the past,” he acknowledged.
“Ah, the past…” Max gave a cold chuckle. “Not many people like to talk about that. The past is just that. It’s over, totally irrelevant, and certainly not worth digging up.”
“Well, I’ve got a murder to investigate, Mr. Lillihouse,” Louis said. “A lynching, to be exact. I think it’s worth ‘digging up.’”
Max stared at Louis for a moment, then his eyes darted away and he suddenly smiled. “Well, here comes Mama at last.”
Grace Lillihouse came up to stand by her husband’s side. She gave Dodie a smile, more of politeness than warmth. “Hello, Sam, it’s been awhile.”
“Yes it has, Miz Lillihouse.” He shifted from one foot to another. “The house looks right pretty.”
“Thank you.” She looked at Louis. “Merry Christmas, Officer Kincaid,” she said crisply.
No smile of any kind for me, Louis thought wryly.
“Same to you, Mrs. Lillihouse,” he offered. The four of them stood awkwardly for a moment, then Grace put her hand on Max’s sleeve.
“Max, Joan and Freddie are—”
“In a minute. Mama,” Max interrupted. “I want to talk some more to the detective here.”
Grace leaned toward Max, whispering, “I asked you not to call me that.”
Max glared at her and she backed away, embarrassed. She gave Louis a nod and a small smile to Dodie. “Give Marsha my best,” she said.
“Margaret,” Dodie said, but Grace was already gone.
Max pointed at Dodie’s empty hand. “Let me get you another, Sam.”
“I’ve had enough, thanks.”
“Mr. Lillihouse,” Louis began, wanting to pick up the conversation again. “I’m curious to know what you think is relevant about this case.”
“Nothing, far as I can see,” Max said with a shrug. “We all have things we don’t like to think about. Don’t you?” When Louis didn’t reply. Max went on. “Those bones should stay buried, just like the bad part of the South’s past they represent. It’s a new era.”
“You want people to forget,” Louis said.
“Yes,” Max said, his eyes locked on Louis’s. “And they always do. If you let them.”
Louis smelled flowers. Abby had come up behind him. He didn’t turn around, but he watched her as she came to stand next to Max. For a second, he found himself looking for a resemblance between father and daughter. It was there, barely, in the high forehead and thin noses. He realized Abby was looking at him. The room felt suddenly too full, of smells, sights, sounds.
He looked back to Max. He had a fresh glass of scotch in his hand and he was staring hard at Louis.
“Mr. Kincaid,” Max said. “You are a young man and you aren’t one of us.”
Louis felt himself tense but decided to let the remark go.
“You can’t possibly know what it was like,” Max went on. “You have only the things you’ve read in books and the stories passed down to you from your people. Mississippi is not what a lot of people might want you to believe. It’s not just crosses burning on lawns and men in white robes.” He took a big gulp of scotch.
“Daddy…”
Louis looked over at Abby. The sparkle was gone from her eyes, replaced by a cloud of wariness. Louis watched as Max reached back and grabbed the bottle off the bar and quickly refilled his own glass.
“It’s a beautiful state with good family traditions and Christian people. Don’t judge us, Mr. Kincaid,” Max said, raising the glass with one finger pointing at Louis. Some of the scotch sloshed out of the glass and down onto Abby’s skirt. “Don’t judge us just because you’ve read sad stories by some writer, some Langdon Hughes or—”
“I’m not judging, Mr. Lillihouse,” Louis interrupted. “But I’m not forgetting, either. You might want to forget your history, but I can’t.” He paused. “By the way, it’s Langston Hughes.”
Louis glanced at Dodie, who was staring at him.
Abby had taken a step away from her father. Her cheeks were flushed with humiliation, her eyes sad. “He’s just doing his job. Daddy,” she said softly, brushing lightly at her dress.
Max looked down at her, his eyes snapping. Then, quick as a flash, he smiled. Then, incredibly, he laughed. He wrapp
ed an arm around her shoulder. “Well, I guess you’re right, Doll Baby, I guess you’re right.”
Max looked back at Louis. “Well, you go ahead and do your job, Mr. Kincaid.” His arm tightened around Abby. “But I don’t think you’re gonna like what you find.”
Louis stared at the fingers locked on Abby’s bare shoulder and understood exactly what the gesture meant. He took a long swallow of the club soda and set the glass on the bar.
“Thank you for having me. I’d better get going.”
“I’ll walk you to the door,” Abby said quickly, breaking loose of Max. Louis turned on his heel and headed to the foyer, knowing Abby was following, wishing she had the sense not to.
“Sir,” the maid called.
He turned and saw the maid holding his jacket. He took it from her and pulled open the heavy front door. The cold night air was like a sudden splash of water on his face after the stuffiness of the house.
“Mr. Kincaid—”
He kept walking, not sure why he was so angry.
“Louis!”
He stopped and turned. She came up to him, her breath forming white clouds in the still cold air. The Christmas lights twinkled off the diamonds. Her perfume came to him again. Lilacs, it was lilacs.
“Abby, get back inside. It’s cold,” he said.
He turned and started toward the car. He heard the crunch of her shoes on the gravel behind him. He turned.
Her lips were on his, sudden and hard, almost knocking him backward. Her arms flew up around his neck. For a second, he was too shocked to react, but then he pulled back and took hold of her wrists.
“Hey, hey,” he said softly but firmly. He gently pulled her hands down. She stood, head bowed, not meeting his eyes. He held her wrists up between them.
“Abby…”
When she finally looked up at him, her eyes were bright. Was she going to cry? He couldn’t tell. But suddenly, the woman had disappeared. The young girl was back.
Say something, he thought. Say something, and make it the right thing. But before he could, a voice boomed out from the porch.
“Abby? Abby, you out there?”
It was Max. Louis looked up to the porch, thankful the parked cars hid them from his view.
