Dark of the Moon

by Parrish, PJ

  Louis turned and looked around the lonely old house. “Talk to me, Eugene,” he whispered. “Tell me where to go now.”

  Reluctantly, he looked at his watch. If he didn’t hurry, he would be late for the funeral. He started to put the plaque back on the wall then paused. He would keep it.

  Back in the car, he glanced at his watch. He backtracked down the dirt road, swung out onto the main highway and hit the accelerator. He came up quickly behind a plodding log truck.

  “Damn,” he muttered, waiting out the curve in the road so he could pass. Once clear, he hit the accelerator.

  Louis let out a long breath. The vibrations of Sweetwater were still coursing through him, almost like an electric current. It was so real now. Eugene Graham was real. The haunting face now had become real, a person with a family and a life. The jumbled pieces of the case bounced in his mind. Earl’s murder. George Harvey’s strange phone calls. The photocopy of the mayor and the necklace. The case was finally starting to make sense.

  The Mustang, traveling near sixty, rounded the bend near the Lillihouse property.

  Jesus Christ! A man in the road!

  Louis hit the brakes and the tires screeched as the car skidded across the asphalt. A flash of red plaid dove into the grass. The Mustang slid sideways and came to a jolting stop. Louis exhaled, still gripping the wheel, his heart thundering. He twisted his neck to look back at the road.

  A man was crouched in the ditch. Louis shoved open the door and sprinted over to the ditch. A black man was crawling out of the tall grass. Louis extended his hand.

  “Man, I’m sorry. I was speeding,” Louis said.

  The man looked at him, panting. He grabbed his chest and let out a deep breath. “‘Bout scared the shit outta me, you did.”

  “I’m sorry. You hurt?” Louis asked.

  “Nah, I’m okay.”

  “Can I give you a lift?”

  “I jus’ live up the road. Y’all slow down some,” the man said, “before you kill somebody.”

  Louis smiled. “I will, thanks.”

  The man ambled on his way, walking unsteadily along the slanted roadside. Louis jogged back to the car. But then he paused, hand on the handle, as if someone had touched his shoulder. He frowned slightly, looking around.

  To his right were rolling yellow pastures. To his left, a thick forest, the same area where the bones had been found. A sign fifty or so feet ahead pointed to Cotton Town.

  Louis glanced back at the man, walking slowly west along Road 234. Toward the direction of Sweetwater. Suddenly, Louis knew. He couldn’t prove it, but he knew.

  Eugene Graham had walked along this road, too. He had walked down this road every day, heading home from Cotton Town High School. Eugene Graham had been walking down this road the day he was murdered.

  Chapter 20

  Flowers…so many flowers. They surrounded the black coffin and spilled out of the doors of the small chapel of Collins Funeral Home. Flowers of all colors, shapes, and sizes. Louis had never seen so many flowers in one place, not even in a garden. Where had they all come from?

  He sat on a wooden folding chair, next to Bessie, listening as the eulogy for Lila Kincaid began. The chapel was crowded, every seat taken, with people standing in the back. Who were all these people? he wondered. Who had they been to this woman who was his mother?

  They had come up to him, one by one, offering their sympathies, their tears, their handshakes and their hugs. He had stood by Bessie’s side, quietly thanking them for coming, confused by this parade of strangers who had shared his mother’s life more than he had.

  He had met Bessie’s minister. Reverend Stacey. And as the reverend delivered the eulogy in his soft voice, Louis gazed at the closed casket, filled with an inexplicable sadness. They called a funeral a “going home” here, a phrase he found sweetly ironic. He didn’t remember Lila being much of a churchgoer, and he certainly wasn’t. But now, there inside him with the sadness, was a calmness, too, of a kind he had never felt before.

  He gazed at the beautiful black coffin. He would never know this woman who had given him life. Yet surrounded by all these people, he knew now that her life had not been without some measure of love. These people were Lila’s family, unknown brothers and sisters who had gathered because one of their own had died.

  After the eulogy, a young girl named Lenette sang “Amazing Grace,” Louis listened, thinking of the photograph of Lila at eighteen that Bessie had shown him. Closing his eyes, he vowed to try and remember her that way. He was done judging. It was over.

  Afterward, they gathered at Bessie’s house to share food, drink, and memories. Louis met a distant cousin, an uncle, and a couple of kind women who never revealed their relationship to Lila, if indeed they had one. The day wore on. Louis laughed along with the stories, listened to the memories, and looked at photographs. When the last people got up to leave, he found himiself wishing they would stay.

  It was only four o’clock when Bessie closed the door.

  “I’ll help you clean up,” Louis said.

  “No, my sister and me’ll do that,” Bessie insisted. “You go take time for yourself.”

  Louis nodded and gave Bessie a small hug. She eased him away and ushered him toward his room, watching until he disappeared up the steps.

  Up in his room, he stood at the window looking out at the sunny day. He thought about the last week and turned, looking at the head.

  “Eugene,” he said softly.

  The head stared back with its haunting eyes. If only Dodie could see its expression, maybe he would understand what drove Louis to finish this. And what had compelled him to do the stupid things he had done lately.

  He had been wrong to go behind Dodie’s back on the Leverette thing. He had been wrong not to tell him about Kelly and the medallion. Shit, he had been wrong about a lot of things, and he needed to humble himself and go apologize.

  But it was Sunday. Dodie was probably in church. And it wasn’t right to disturb him on his day off just because he felt the need for atonement. It could wait until Monday.

  Louis walked back to the window and opened it, taking in the warmer air. He saw the Mustang sitting in the sun out at the curb and on impulse decided to go for a drive.

  He headed out of town, with no destination in mind. It was not until he saw the interstate sign for Tupelo that he decided he would go. Buford had said that most of the people from Sweetwater had relocated there. Maybe he would get lucky. Maybe somebody up there would come forward for Eugene.

  When he got to Tupelo, he found a phone book and looked up every Graham listed. He called all of them, but the few who answered had never heard of Eugene Graham or a young ball player with a deformed hand. Before Louis left town, he found the office of the local newspaper. Sitting in his car under a sprawling elm, he wrote a classified ad:

  To anyone related to or knowing Eugene Graham who disappeared in Greensboro County in 1955: I have information for you. Please contact Det. Kincaid at the Greensboro County Sheriff’s Office.

  He folded the letter, attaching a note specifying he wanted to place a classified ad, and a ten-dollar bill. He slid it under the door.

  Louis came back into town on Road 234. It was past five by the time he rounded the bend in the road and came in sight of the Lillihouse mansion. He pulled off onto the shoulder and sat there, looking at the house. Abby’s yellow Firebird wasn’t there, but the silver Monte Carlo was. Louis felt himself stiffen as he looked at the car, still angry that Max had been sitting outside Bessie’s last night. He must have known Abby was with him. He just hoped Abby had had the sense to stay away from her father.

  The door opened suddenly and Max came out, staring into the setting sun at the Mustang, parked down the road. Louis wanted to slide down into the seat, as if that would do any good. Max stood motionless a long time, watching him, then suddenly turned and went back inside.

  Louis reached over to start the engine, taking one last look at the house. His heart ached for
Abby. So unhappy, and too damn young to really do anything about it.

  “Kincaid,” his radio blurted. It was Larry.

  He grabbed the mike. “What?” he asked, irritated.

  “Sheriff says get away from Max’s house.”

  Louis took a deep breath. “I was just sitting—” Louis said tightly.

  “Sheriff didn’t ask what you was doin’. He just said git your ass outta there.”

  “Deputy Cutter, don’t you know it’s a FCC violation to use profanity over the airwaves?” Louis said. Jesus, he vas sinking to Larry’s level.

  “Screw you, Kincaid.”

  Suddenly the radio crackled with static and it sounded like someone had dropped it. Dodie came on, his voice hard.

  “This here is a police radio. It’s not to be used for your belly-achin’ and whinin’. Bring it into the station, for cryin’ out loud.”

  The radio went dead. Louis was surprised Dodie was in on a Sunday. He started the car and headed back. He stopped at McDonald’s and got something to eat and drove home the long way, through town, past the courthouse. He saw Dodie’s Blazer parked out front and looked at his watch. It was almost seven. Louis stared at the Blazer as he waited at the light. He thought about the clay head, and Tinker’s words drifted back to him. “Show him something he cannot ignore.”

  Impulsively Louis turned right and headed home. Hurrying upstairs, he wrapped the clay head in a towel and drove back to the courthouse. Swinging in next to the Blazer, he killed the engine, thinking, trying to gather his thoughts. It had always been hard for him to admit he was wrong. Frances Lawrence had instilled in him a sense of pride, a need to stand up for what he believed in. But he knew he had a way of sometimes taking it to extremes. It had gotten him into more than one scrape in grade school, and he didn’t like listening to Frances Lawrence when she tried to teach him about humility. Louis gathered up the towel-wrapped bust. Well, maybe it was time to start learning.

  Mike was manning the dispatch desk and looked up when Louis came in. “Thought you was suspended, Louis,” Mike said, swallowing a bite of his sandwich.

  “I am. Sheriff alone?”

  Mike nodded again. Louis went to the door and knocked. Then he poked his head in. Dodie was tilted back in his chair, dozing.

  “Sheriff.”

  Dodie pulled his feet off the desk and ran a hand over his face. “Yeah…”

  “Could we talk?”

  Dodie’s eyes flickered as he brought himself awake. Then he took a long, steady look at Louis. Louis came farther into the room and set the head on a chair, unsure how to open the conversation. “Are you feeling okay? You look like shit.”

  “Just tired, Kincaid,”

  “You should take care of yourself. Take some time off once in a while.”

  “That’s what the wife tells me.”

  There was an awkward pause. Dodie gazed at him for a moment then pulled a bottle of Jim Beam out of his desk drawer. He unscrewed the top, poured a shot into a Dixie Cup and took a swig. He looked up at Louis, waiting. “You got something to say, Kincaid?”

  Louis stuck his hands in his pockets and leaned against the wall. “I was just driving by.”

  “And you decided to stop in and say hello to your coworkers?”

  Louis sighed, looking up at the ceiling fan. Jesus, why was it so hard to apologize to this man?

  Dodie poured himself another shot then stuck the bottle on the edge of the desk. “Have a drink.”

  Louis shook his head.

  “Goddammit, have a drink. It’ll clear your mind so you can tell me what the hell you came here for.”

  Louis pushed himself off the wall and walked to the desk. He poured a quarter shot of whiskey in a Dixie Cup and swallowed it.

  “I’m sorry,” he said quickly.

  “Sorry?”

  “I was wrong to let Leverette go without talking to you first,” Louis said.

  “Yup.”

  “I was wrong to send that stuff off without asking you.”

  “Yup.”

  Louis took a breath. “And I was wrong to not tell you what I knew about Kelly.”

  Dodie screwed the top back on the bottle and gazed up at Louis. “Sit down, Kincaid,” he said.

  Louis slid into the hard wooden chair across from Dodie’s desk. The alcohol was working its way through his muscles and he twisted his neck, suddenly feeling warm.

  “Kincaid, I been sheriff here near eight years. I ain’t never been so pissed at one of my deputies as I was yesterday afternoon at the damn service.”

  Louis looked at the floor.

  “It’s pretty damn embarrassin’ not to know what the hell one of my men is doing, especially in this here case. It ain’t like folks here ain’t upset enough thinkin’ this thing is gonna bring shame on this here town.”

  Louis sat back, stretching his legs out.

  “I guess I should be grateful you ain’t involved outsiders yet.”

  Louis closed his eyes against the image of Winston Gibbons.

  “Kincaid, I don’t think you understand what kind of position you put me in. Not just with this thing but just by you bein’ who you are.”

  Louis looked at Dodie, first angry then softening when he saw the look of empathy in Dodie’s eyes.

  “You know, when you first got here,” Dodie said, “the only thing I could think about was how I was I gonna look to Kelly and this town. I made a mistake, a mistake I coulda fixed that first day you done walked here.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  Dodie looked away, eyes clouded. “I don’t know. I had the words all planned out in my head before you came in here, about how the job was no longer available. But when you walked in here in that snappy suit and that goddamn eager look on your face…and you stuck out your hand and I knew you had no idea I had just spent the last thirty minutes on the phone with Kelly trying to hold my ass together while he tore it apart. I think maybe I was so pissed at Walt, I just let you stay out of spite.”

  This honesty on Dodie’s part was something new. Louis liked it, and it made his own distrust seem all the more small-minded in contrast. He leaned his elbows on his knees, looking at the floor.

  Dodie played with the bottle cap. “You’re a good cop, Kincaid. You don’t know everything, but you have character and that ain’t an easy thing to have, especially in a place like this.”

  Louis looked up.

  “Lots of people here talk about what they believe in until somebody else disagrees with it,” Dodie went on. “Then all of a sudden, their opinions change. But yours don’t. Once you set your mind to something, you don’t let it go.” Dodie looked up at him. “I don’t gotta agree with how you do things, but I gotta respect that.”

  “I’m sorry,” Louis said again, surprised at how easy the words spilled out. “I should have respected your authority. I just couldn’t stand to see it all buried under a phony headstone and lies,”

  Dodie sighed. “I reckon I understand. Since y’all went and found out some shit, I guess you better let me in on it.”

  Louis reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out the photocopy of Kelly wearing the medallion. He unfolded it and put it on the desk in front of Dodie.

  Dodie picked it up and stared at it. His expression did not change. Finally, he set it down, pushing it away slightly like it was tainted. He looked up at Louis.

  “I found it in a family history book at the library,” Louis said. “The expert I talked to in Vicksburg said these medallions are pretty rare. The book has disappeared from the library.”

  Dodie shook his head. “Christ, Kincaid. Kelly, of all people.”

  Louis let the thought settle, then went on, edging forward in his chair. “Earl’s murder and the lynching are related. I’m sure of it now.”

  Dodie’s frown deepened. “You lost me.”

  “Did the report come back on George Harvey yet?” Louis asked.

  “Just the prelim. Said he was shot with a .45. Been dead only
a couple minutes when we got there. Insurance still going through the loot. You was right about the glass. It was broken from the inside. Whoever shot George was let in.”

  Louis nodded. The sheriff studied him for a moment. “I think George knew his killer and they were probably discussing the lynching and how to keep it quiet,” Louis said.

  “This is all assumption, I take it.”

  Louis shrugged. “That part, yes.”

  “What makes you think George was killed ‘cause of this?”

  “I got an anonymous phone call the night before he was killed. I think it was George.”

  “What did he say?”

  “He said he knew who lynched our victim.”

  Dodie’s mouth dropped open. “Who?”

  “He didn’t tell me. He was supposed to call me back but then turned up dead. He also told me Earl Mulcahey was killed because he knew about the lynching. The caller said he was there. That’s why I released Leverette, Sheriff. That kid didn’t kill his father.”

  Dodie was staring at him, dumbfounded. “So you’re saying these two fellas were killed to cover up a thirty-year-old crime. If that’s true, who killed them?”

  “Right now, my money’s on Kelly.”

  The sheriff rose slowly. He rubbed a hand over his face and turned away from Louis. He was staring out at the dark square. “Is there anything else you know about this lynching, Kincaid?”

  Louis hesitated, rubbing his temples. “I know who he was.”

  The sheriff turned slowly, his expression incredulous.

  “His name was Eugene Graham.”

  Dodie simply stared at Louis while he told him the details.

  “And you knowed this for a while?” Dodie asked.

  “Only since yesterday.”

  Dodie ran his fingers through his hair. Louis didn’t know if he was angry at him or just stunned by the revelations. His eyes flicked up to the Confederate flag on the wall then quickly back to Dodie.

  “Can I show you something?” Louis asked, getting up.

  Dodie nodded. Louis unwrapped the clay head and set it in front of Dodie. Dodie looked at it a long time, then sat down in his chair, letting out a tired breath.