Dark of the Moon

by Parrish, PJ

  On the ground I saw a book and I picked it up. There was writing inside —To my friend Gene, from Grace. I figured borrowing this book was what helped get him killed so I tucked it in his shirt.

  There was this funny-looking necklace there and I remembered seeing Max with it. Max bragged about having it and liked to pretend it was some important medal but I think he stole it from Grace’s father when he was at their house. I thought about taking it back to Colonel Ketcher but I couldn’t, because I would have to explain how I got it and I surely didn’t want to do that. So I buried the necklace with him too. After I got him all covered up I said a prayer.

  A few days later I know that Max and Wallie went back. Exactly for what I don’t know except to maybe look for that necklace. Max must have been in a panic about it but they was so drunk that night they couldn’t remember exactly where the place was. But I put so many leaves over the grave there was no way they could ever find it anyway.

  I didn’t talk to any of them after that. I never told Grace or anyone what happened that night. Not even my wife. I sold the farm. Seemed haunted to me and it was easier than living there every day. Sold it to Max. He didn’t seem to have any trouble owning it.

  Gene was sixteen when we murdered him. And all he did was be nice to Grace Ketcher and borrow a book. I still think about Gene sometimes late at night when Ethel is asleep and the kids are fussing at each other downstairs. I can still see the hopelessness in his eyes.

  And sometimes, when the night is real dark and real cold and the wind starts howling, and I’m alone, I can still hear him screaming.

  Chapter 31

  Grace had taken the pages and read them without moving. Louis watched her, looking for some emotion, some sign of distress. But there had been nothing.

  Now she was just sitting there, the papers in her lap, staring into the fire. Louis glanced to the window. It was so quiet he felt he could almost hear the snow falling.

  Grace let out a small whimper. Louis looked back.

  Her eyes were closed, and she was rocking gently back and forth in the chair, the pages clutched to her chest. The whimpering came out in one soft, long stream, like the sounds of a baby too exhausted to cry anymore.

  “God, God…oh God,” she whispered, rocking back and forth.

  “Mother?” Abby took a step toward Grace, but Louis held up a hand to stop her. Louis dropped to one knee in front of Grace.

  Grace let out a guttural shudder and began to cry, huge choking sobs that shook her body. She wrapped her arms around herself, as if trying to hold herself together. The papers floated to the floor.

  “Mrs. Lillihouse,” Louis said gently. He felt a tingle of fear run down his back. She was having a breakdown, right before his eyes.

  “No, no, no,” she murmured, rocking back and forth. “Oh dear God, no.”

  He grabbed her wrists, pulling her to a stop. “Mrs. Lillihouse!”

  She froze, her eyes locked on his. Then her face crumbled. “Gene, oh my God, Gene…” she whispered. She collapsed against his chest.

  Louis hesitated then awkwardly wrapped his arms around her.

  He held her for several minutes, letting her cry. Over her shoulder, he met Abby’s frightened eyes.

  “Mrs. Lillihouse,” he whispered. “Mrs. Lillihouse, please…”

  He felt her pull in a deep breath. Slowly, she sat back in the chair. As he studied her pale, tear-streaked face, he felt his throat tighten.

  “I’m sorry,” he said softly.

  “For what?” she said.

  “For showing it to you. For…I don’t know.” Louis shook his head. “I’m just sorry.”

  Grace smoothed back her hair and wiped her face. She looked away, as if suddenly embarrassed to meet Louis’s eyes.

  “If I had known…” Grace said softly. “If I had known…” Her eyes drifted up to the portrait of the colonel. “I’m so sorry, Daddy. I’m sorry for everything.”

  Louis sat back and looked up at Abby. The fear was gone from her face. In its place was a new strength, a strength that came from knowing that her mother needed her. Abby knelt by the chair and took Grace’s hand. To Louis, it was as if daughter had become mother.

  Louis gathered up the journal papers. He looked at them for a moment then slipped them back in the bag. He stood and returned it to his pants.

  “I’m not sorry anymore,” Grace said.

  Louis looked down at her. “Sorry?”

  “I did it for you, but—”

  “Mrs. Lillihouse,” Louis said gently. “You didn’t have to kill your husband. Not to protect me.”

  Grace stood up and walked slowly to the fireplace. “But I was so sure he was going to kill you,” she went on, her voice taking on an urgency. “I believed him because…because…I could see it, I could see it in his eyes. He was changing so quickly. Your finding Gene started it and…it just got worse. Oh God, he hated you. He hated you because of Abigail and he hated you because you scared him. I didn’t know why then. Now I do.”

  Louis hung his head slightly, listening.

  “And then, that night, that night he hit Abigail…” Grace’s eyes were bright with tears and she was shaking. “I heard her screaming. And I saw it in her face, the terror of her father.” She paused. “And the disappointment in me.”

  “Oh, Mother,” Abby whispered.

  Grace didn’t seem to hear her. “I didn’t plan it. I didn’t plan to shoot him. I just went there to talk,” she said, the words tumbling out. “But he was drunk, and when I got in the car he told me to go home. He said I had no business interfering. He said he was going to save Abigail.”

  She took a step back, toward the bookcases, her hands suddenly balled-up in front of her. “And then he hit me. I reached for the door and he grabbed my neck. I couldn’t get out. I couldn’t get out.”

  She was breathing hard, her back against the bookcase. “And…and I looked at the gun. I looked at the gun on the seat… It smelled, the car smelled like whiskey…and I saw his face, his ugly, ugly face and I couldn’t stop, I couldn’t stop—”

  Louis heard a faint sound, something outside, like a distant cry.

  “I picked it up,” Grace said, her words pouring out over her sobs. “I picked it up, I picked up the gun and I shot him, I shot him.” Grace bent slightly, clutching her stomach. “I picked up the gun and shot him. I shot him and I’m not sorry!”

  Louis heard the sirens and looked toward the windows. The red-and-blue lights were moving toward them.

  Abby went to her mother and wrapped her arms around her. The fire was dead and the room was dark and quiet. From outside came the sound of car doors slamming and the muted call of the police radio. Louis’s eyes went from Abby and Grace huddled in the corner to the lights in the window.

  “Abigail,” Grace said, her words muffled in Abby’s shoulder. “I’m not sorry… I’m not sorry.”

  “It’s all right. Mother,” Abby said softly. “It’s all right now.”

  Dodie’s eyes moved from window to window of the mansion. There had been no sounds or sign of movement within. There was one light on upstairs, but the ground floor was dark. He had sent Mike around to look at the back, but there was no sign of anything wrong, not even one footprint in the snow. Dodie chewed on his cigar, debating what to do. Grace’s call had come as a shock. He felt a tightening in his gut, an instinct he couldn’t ignore. He knew Kincaid was inside; why else would Grace call?

  Snowflakes fluttered across the top of the squad car. Dodie brushed them away with his hand. He heard Junior’s boots crunch on the gravel behind him but he did not turn.

  “Sheriff, mayor’s here.”

  “Christ. I told you to keep this quiet. Who called him?”

  “He heard on his scanner.”

  Dodie looked over his shoulder. There were four cars, six policemen, two of them troopers from the highway patrol. He had wanted to handle this himself but word had gotten out, probably from Kelly. Dodie watched the troopers nervously. He
didn’t want them here; he didn’t need them here.

  Dodie saw the white Cadillac pulled up to the end of the drive. Kelly was hustling toward them, his long wool overcoat over his pants and pajama top. Dodie looked back toward the house.

  “What are we going to do. Sheriff?” Junior asked.

  “We’re going to wait.”

  Junior leaned against the car. Kelly came up behind them and grabbed Dodie’s arm, turning him. “How the hell could you let this happen?”

  “I didn’t let anything happen,” Dodie replied, shrugging him off.

  “You incompetent son of a bitch!” Kelly spit, grabbing Dodie again. “You really fucked this one up.”

  Dodie jerked away from him. “I didn’t fuck anything up! You wanna blame somebody, go talk to that slimy snitch of yours. Cutter,” Dodie said.

  Kelly’s eyes blazed. “If you did your job, I wouldn’t have to have someone watching your ass.”

  Dodie took a deep breath. “Walt, if I was twenty years younger I’d take a swing at you. But it just ain’t worth the effort. I just don’t have the energy.” Dodie turned to Junior. “Go get that bullhorn over there. I’m calling Kincaid out.”

  Walter Kelly glared at the back of Dodie’s police parka. He rubbed his hands together then stuck them up in his armpits, trying to warm them. “Sam,” he began, “we’ve always been friends.”

  Dodie shot him a look, but Kelly ignored it. “This is my town, and my people. Your people, too,” he went on. “The man is an escaped murderer. You could justify anything you do—”

  “Shut up, Walt.”

  “Do you understand the repercussions of a trial? Any kind of trial? Do you really want that? Don’t you understand what’s happening here?”

  “I reckon maybe I don’t.”

  “Then you’re stupid. Your father would have never let him get to trial.”

  Dodie took off his cap and slapped it against his thigh to shake off the snow. He put it back on, tugging it down.

  Junior hurried to them with the bullhorn. Dodie took it and turned away from Walter Kelly. “You’d better get back. Mayor,” he said. “The shit might hit the fan here.”

  “Kincaid!”

  Louis turned, his heart quickening at the sound of the sheriff’s voice. He went to the window and peered out around the draperies.

  Snow floated from a black sky, iridescent in the twirling, colorful lights of the police cars. Blazing white headlights formed blurry circles in the darkness. Shadows darted. Men shouted. Radio traffic was nasal and erratic. None of it looked real. But nothing seemed real now.

  Louis could make out Dodie, Junior, and several other deputies positioned behind the cars. Louis stepped back from the window. Hell, he didn’t even have his gun.

  “Kincaid, don’t make us come in there and get you,” Dodie bellowed. “You caused me enough fuckin’ trouble tonight.”

  Louis leaned against the wall. He parted the curtains again, watching as the troopers crept around the cars like a SWAT team. They were getting nervous. He had to do something to calm this whole situation down. He had to talk to the sheriff before he took the chance of opening the door. He tried the window but it wouldn’t move. It wasn’t locked; it was old and painted shut. Louis looked around and picked up a bronze horse. With a glance back at Abby and Grace, he banged it against the window, shattering one of the panes.

  A volley of shots sent Louis to the floor, covering his head. Louis heard Abby scream.

  “Get down!” he yelled back at her and Grace. This was bad, this was really bad, and someone was going to get hurt if he didn’t do something quick.

  Louis heard Dodie shouting. “Goddammit, you assholes, did I say shoot? Did any one of you hear me say anything about fuckin’ shooting?”

  Silence. Louis lifted his head. “Sheriff! I want to talk!” he shouted.

  “Just come out, Kincaid,” Dodie yelled back.

  “I will. I just don’t want to get shot when I walk out of here.”

  Waiting for an answer, Louis glanced back at Abby and Grace. They were huddled on the floor in the comer, Abby’s arms over Grace’s shoulders. Abby was looking at him nervously. He held up a hand to assure her and turned back to the window.

  “Sheriff!” he called again.

  “You get your ass out here, Kincaid. Now.”

  Louis rose slowly. A cold wind blew in through the broken window. He glanced back to see Abby helping Grace to her feet.

  “Mr. Kincaid,” Grace said weakly. “I’ll explain to them.”

  Louis motioned for her to sit down. He crept out to the foyer, and went cautiously to the double doors. He unlocked the door and cracked it open. A cold wind poured in, swirling snowflakes over the black-and-white marble floor.

  “Sheriff,” Louis called. “I’m coming out.”

  “Open that door wide, Kincaid. I want to see you.”

  Louis hit a switch and the foyer was flooded in light from the chandelier. He swung the door open and positioned himself in the center of the foyer, his hands on his head.

  “Stay there, Kincaid,” Junior said, coming around the car, shoving his gun into his belt. Louis could see Dodie behind him, slowly moving forward.

  A wave of relief washed over Louis. It was over.

  He let out a breath, meeting Junior’s eyes as he started up the walk. Junior’s gaze was steady but there was no hostility.

  “Detective…”

  Louis turned. Grace was wobbling toward him, grabbing at the skirt of her satin robe.

  “Mother!” Abby said.

  “Abby, get her!” Louis called.

  Grace was almost to the foyer, trembling so badly she had to catch the wall for support. Louis took a step toward her.

  “Kincaid!”

  “Mrs. Lilli—”

  An explosion ripped through Louis’s side, spinning him against the wall. He staggered, falling against the wall of the foyer. His legs crumpled under him.

  “What the fuck?” Dodie shouted, spinning. “Who did that?”

  Louis grabbed at his middle, gasping. Blood poured out from between his fingers. He stared at Junior in disbelief, parting his lips to speak. Junior watched in shock as Louis slipped to the floor.

  “Jesus!” Junior said. He turned back to the front yard, his face ashen.

  “No!” Abby screamed, running toward Louis.

  Junior moved to catch her but she dropped to her knees next to Louis, pulling him to her chest. “God no,” she whimpered. “Please, no…”

  “Who fired that shot?” Dodie screamed. From the blur of headlights and darkness came silence.

  “Somebody get on the horn and call an ambulance. Now!” Dodie yelled.

  Junior took several steps farther into the house. Grace pressed herself against the wall, weakly holding on.

  Dodie ran up the porch steps then paused, bracing himself in the door frame, his eyes darting from Louis and Abby to Grace, and then back to Louis.

  “Junior! Go get the first-aid kit. Now!” Dodie shouted.

  Dodie knelt by Abby, who was cradling Louis in her lap. Her nightgown was stained dark with blood. A pool was forming under Louis. Louis looked up at Dodie, his eyes wide with confusion and fear.

  Junior returned with the kit and Dodie grabbed it, popping it open and pulling out a handful of trauma dressings. With shaking fingers, he tried to rip them open, fumbled and cursed. Junior dropped to his knees, grabbed the packs from Dodie’s shaking hands and tore them open. As fast as Junior handed the dressings over, the ones under Dodie’s hands turned crimson.

  “Junior,” Dodie said. “Go get everything they got out there.”

  “Yes sir.” Junior hopped to his feet and disappeared.

  “Sheriff, I’m cold,” Louis whispered. He was trembling, his skin a dull gray.

  “Hold on, Louis,” Dodie said. “Just hold on.”

  Abby grabbed Dodie’s hand, tears in her eyes. He squeezed it, then placed it under his, sitting back. “You keep him turned that way
and keep pressure on this dressing. Real tight, now.”

  Abby nodded and bit her lip. Dodie took off his jacket and laid it over Louis, looking back at the door.

  “Where’s that fuckin’ ambulance?” he bellowed.

  The next few minutes ticked off slowly. Abby continued to rock Louis, who was unconscious. She was crying softly, one hand on his wound, the other stroking his hair. Dodie stood at the door, watching the snow swirl in the blue-and-red lights. It reminded him of one of those stupid plastic snow-dome toys. He started to shiver, finally hearing the wail of the ambulance in the cold night.

  It swung into the drive, and within seconds the doors slammed shut with Louis inside and it was gone. Dodie watched Abby bolt up the stairs and then he turned toward the door, looking out at the lights. He saw Kelly coming up the walk and bristled in contempt.

  Grace appeared from the shadows of the library, moving slowly toward the door. She stepped in front of Dodie in the open doorway, facing Kelly. He came to an abrupt halt on the porch.

  “You are not welcome here,” she said, so softly Dodie barely heard it.

  Kelly smiled. “Grace, now…”

  Grace met Kelly’s eyes coldly. “Please leave my home.”

  Kelly looked over her shoulder at Dodie, stunned. When Dodie did not move, Kelly turned away, stalking down the porch steps. Dodie leaned against the banister, then slid onto the second step tiredly. He looked at the pool of blood that had formed on the floor. His jacket lay in the middle of it. He hung his head, rubbing his eyes.

  “Sam?”

  He looked up. Grace was standing in front of him. She looked so tiny and frail. But her expression was calm.

  “Sam,” she repeated softly, “I have to tell you something.”

  “Grace, this can wait.”

  “No, it can’t. It’s important, Sam,” she said. “I have to tell you the truth. Please.”

  “All right, Grace.” He rose, took her arm and led her slowly into the library.

  Chapter 32

  The fluorescent light overhead flickered and went out, plunging the small waiting room into darkness. Junior came off his chair and reached up, tapping on it lightly. It vibrated and came back to life dimly. Dodie stood near the door, a silhouette against the bright red-and-white lights of the Coca-Cola machine, chewing on an unlit cigar.