by Parrish, PJ
Dodie stood up. He pulled an envelope from a drawer, carefully folded the papers and put them inside. He hesitated, then flipped open the cigar box. He pulled one of the Macanudos out of its glass cylinder and stuck it in his mouth.
“You can’t convict him with it, you know,” Louis said.
Dodie pulled the Zippo out of his pocket and smiled. “Yeah, but I don’t have to. I only gotta scare him, Louis,” he said. “That’s all. Just scare him.”
Dodie snapped open the Zippo. He flicked it and flame shot up. He sucked on the fat black cigar several times, sending a blue plume of fragrant smoke up into the ceiling fan.
Chapter 34
Teesha watched Louis come through the front door. “I thought you was shot,” she said.
Louis patted his middle. “I was but I’m not dead, Teesha. Where’s your grandfather?”
“He back there. Granddad!” she hollered.
Tinker came out of the back room and Louis moved to him, hand outstretched. Tinker shook it.
“I’m glad to see you’re well.” Tinker said.
“I’m kind of glad to be here, too.”
“Bessie tells me you’re leaving,” Tinker said.
Louis nodded. “I’ll miss you.”
Tinker gave him a rare smile. “Why would you miss me? We barely knew each other.”
“True, true. But I feel like I’ve known you all my life.”
“Or maybe in another life,” Tinker said.
Louis smiled. “Plus, I owe you something.”
“What?” Tinker said, frowning.
“I wanted to thank you for sticking your neck out.”
Tinker’s eyes held his. “It was your neck at stake, not mine. No pun intended,” he added.
Louis laughed softly, then the smile faded and he met Tinker’s rich brown eyes.
“Are you satisfied with the outcome?” Tinker asked.
Louis shook his head slowly. “No. I just wish the men responsible had paid for their crime.”
“They did pay, Kincaid. With their lives.”
“It’s still not enough.”
Tinker sighed. “You’re trying to satisfy yourself. You see justice as only a legal issue. There are many kinds of justice. Some kinds are a lot more fair than a prison term.”
“Maybe,” Louis said. “But one man didn’t pay. The fourth man, whoever he was, is still walking around free.” Louis thought of the smug smile Kelly had given him at the courthouse. “I hate the thought of that man getting away with it.”
“But you don’t even know for sure who it is, do you?” Tinker said.
Louis let out a long breath, his eyes wandering to the street outside. “No, I don’t.”
“What does it really matter?” Tinker said softly. “He could be any man. Anyplace. In any time.”
Louis nodded woodenly, staring at the kids outside at the bus stop.
“Louis…”
Louis looked back at Tinker.
“Let it go,” Tinker said.
Louis held the old man’s eyes for a moment then extended his hand. “I’d better be going,” he said softly. He hesitated, looking around the store.
“What’s the matter? I thought you couldn’t wait to get out of here.” Tinker said.
Louis shrugged. “I don’t know. There’s just something about this place.” Louis shook his head, smiling. “God knows, I hate it here.”
“‘The place is dignified by the doer’s deed’ ” Tinker replied.
Louis held up a finger. “Not Hamlet, right?”
Tinker smiled. “Have a safe trip. May God be with you.”
“You, too, Mr. Tinker,” Louis replied.
Louis started toward the door.
“Louis,” Tinker called out.
“Yeah?” Louis asked, pausing, hand on the screen door.
“You ever decide what world you’re going to walk in?”
Louis hesitated then smiled. “Mine.”
Louis closed the car door and paused, looking up at the Lillihouse mansion. The trees were still bare, but pale green crocus shoots were peeking out of the dirt near the porch.
He knocked lightly and waited, shifting the small box under his arm. The door swung open and Abby stood in front of him.
He had seen her only once in the last ten days, while he was still at the hospital. Though the memory was fuzzy, he could recall her sad eyes, dark-circled in her pale face. He could remember, too, the feel of her hand on his as he drifted off to sleep.
She was wearing the yellow sweatshirt again, barefoot with her hair pulled back in a haphazard ponytail. She looked very young and content. It pleased him to see her that way again.
“Louis,” she said with a smile.
He took her hand and let her pull him inside. His eyes swept the foyer, stopping briefly at the spot where he had fallen. The wall and tile were polished clean. He looked beyond to the library. There were sheets covering the furniture.
“I didn’t think I’d get to see you again,” she said. “The sheriff told me you had resigned.”
“I couldn’t leave without saying good-bye to you,” he said.
When she didn’t reply right away, he set the box on a table and touched her shoulder. “How are you doing?”
“I’m okay, we’re okay, Louis. Really we are.” She nodded toward the covered furniture. “We’re going away together for a while. What about you? How are you feeling?”
“Good as new…almost,” he said, touching his side.
She brushed her bangs from her eyes. “I don’t know what to say, Louis. I feel like I need to say a million things, but nothing seems right.”
“I know.”
“Can I give you a hug?” she asked.
He hesitated then held out his arms. “Gently.”
She moved into his arms and laid her head against his chest. He wrapped his arms around her. He pressed his cheek into her neck and closed his eyes, smelling the lilacs.
When he finally drew away, he saw Grace standing at the bottom of the staircase. He tensed slightly, then let out his breath. Abby saw her mother and broke away from Louis, smiling.
“Mother, I didn’t know you were awake.”
“I have been for a while. I was listening to music.” Grace met Louis’s eyes and smiled tentatively as she came into the room.
Louis picked up the box and opened it. He cupped something in his hand and held it out to Grace. “Mrs. Lillihouse, I thought you might want this back.”
Grace looked down at his palm then slowly took the medallion.
Her expression didn’t change as she gazed at it. But when she looked up at Louis, there was warmth in her pale eyes. She went slowly to a cherrywood cabinet in a corner of the library, took out a blue velvet box and set it on a table.
Louis and Abby followed her and watched as she opened it. Nestled inside were the two other pieces of the set. The sun glinted off the pristine silver bracelet and ring, making the tarnished necklace look ugly by comparison. Grace laid the necklace in the empty depression. She touched it lightly then closed the box.
She looked up at Louis. “Thank you,” she said. “My father would be pleased.”
“I brought you this, too.”
Grace looked down at the moldy book in his hands. She started to reach for it but then quickly withdrew her hand, lifting her eyes to Louis. “Gene should have that,” she said softly.
Louis shook his head. “You should have it.”
She took the book and closed her eyes. It was only for a second but Louis felt she had regressed thirty years and he looked away, embarrassed. Abby was watching them, and when she saw Louis looking at her, she brushed quickly at her eyes and smiled. It was quiet, the moment stretching awkwardly. It was time to go.
Grace came over to him and held out her hand. He took it, unsure why it was being offered. “I’ll let you and Abby say goodbye in private,” she said. “Take care of yourself, Mr. Kincaid.”
Her hand was cool, but there was a flicker
of affection in her eyes. She went quietly up the staircase, clutching the book to her chest.
Louis looked down at Abby. “I have to go,” he said.
“I know,” she murmured, looking down and pulling at the edge of her sweatshirt.
He took her face in his hands, kissing her softly on the lips. He could feel them trembling as she tried not to cry. He drew back, his hands lingering on her face. Finally, he stepped back.
Abby opened her eyes. “I bet it would have been beautiful,” she said softly.
“I know it would have been,” he said. “Good-bye, Abby.”
He walked toward the door, leaving her standing in the middle of the room. He opened it and stepped into the sunlight, letting the door close softly behind him.
Louis slowed the Mustang to a stop on the shoulder of the narrow blacktop road and turned off the ignition. It was quiet. He could hear the wind whistling through the crack in the window. Leaning back in the seat, he looked out at the cloudy sky, then to his left, letting his eyes wander over the cemetery. He reached for the flowers on the passenger seat and got out.
He headed up a small hill, pausing at the top. Gray headstones were scattered across the yellow, lifeless grass. The colorful bouquets of plastic flowers on the graves were an odd contrast to the bleakness of the grounds. This cemetery was smaller than Black Pool Gardens and not as well maintained. But it was here Eugene Graham rested.
As soon as Louis got out of the hospital, he had ordered a headstone for Eugene. It wasn’t right that a small plate with the wrong name marked the grave of a man who had changed so many lives.
As Louis walked on, he thought about how hard it had been to say good-bye to Bessie. She had cried and hugged him like he was her own, and for a minute he almost felt he was. She had packed a suitcase for him this morning. Not one of his, but an old leather one she had kept since her honeymoon. In it, she had put the picture of Lila, the snapshots of his family, the quilt from his bed, and four peanut-butter sandwiches. He hadn’t seen the suitcase until he had stopped for gas at the Texaco in town.
Louis paused, looking down at a small marble headstone.
Lila Louise Coleman
1931—1984
Mother of Yolanda, Robert, and Louis
It seemed an odd epitaph, but Louis didn’t mind. He had let Bessie pick out the headstone and the words she saw most fitting, including Lila’s legal name. She had never legally been a Kincaid and Louis guessed Bessie thought it ought to stay that way.
He knelt and put some flowers in the plastic holder. Still on his knees, he said good-bye, knowing he would never set foot in Greensboro County again.
He moved on up the slope and stopped again. He had not seen the headstone before now. It was a small, square piece of granite with a barren tree etched in the corner. He stared at the epitaph. He had composed it while he still lay in the hospital, inspired by a poem he had found during his days of research in the library. It wasn’t much, but he thought it appropriate.
Eugene Graham
1939—1955
“Died in the Dark of the Moon.”
Louis put flowers on the grave and stood up. A breeze chilled him and he shivered. He was about to turn away when he heard a voice.
“Are you Detective Kincaid?”
He turned to face a black woman. She was pretty, with cocoa-brown eyes, high cheekbones, and full red lips. A colorful purple-and-black scarf covered her hair and she wore a knee-length white cardigan sweater.
“Yes, I’m Kincaid,” Louis replied.
She smiled and came up to him. She looked down at the headstone.
“They told me I would find him here. They didn’t tell me I would find you. I’m very pleased to meet you.”
Louis looked at her curiously. She caught his gaze and she laughed softly. “I am sorry. My name is Charlotte. Charlotte Graham.”
Louis glanced at the headstone then back at Charlotte. Her eyes drifted to the granite stone.
“Gene was my brother.”
“How did you…?”
“The ad in the Tupelo paper. An aunt called me and…well, I had to see for myself what all this was about. I called a few weeks ago but they said you were in the hospital. No one at your office knew anything about Gene so I decided to come down.”
“From where?”
“Norfolk, Virginia.”
Louis smiled, nodding. He waited, feeling awkward, as Charlotte turned to look back at Gene’s grave.
“I want to know the details,” she said quietly after several moments. “Can you tell me?”
Earl’s description of the murder flashed through his mind and he knew he could not tell her everything.
“Are you sure you want to know?”
Charlotte met his eyes, her own dimming. “Maybe not,” she said softly. She took a minute to let the emotion pass. “I was nine when Gene disappeared. He was the light of my life. He taught me to read, to ride a bike. He held my hand when we walked to Sunday school. He was all I had, really.” She took a deep breath. “I owe all that I am to Gene. He changed my life.”
Louis looked at the grave. “Mine too.”
Charlotte touched his arm. “Thank you for finding him,” she said.
Louis nodded stiffly, not trusting his voice.
Charlotte knelt down and reached out, putting a hand on the cold stone. She closed her eyes and Louis could see her lips move in prayer. He waited for a moment then turned away from the grave. He started back down the hill. At his car, he opened the door. There on the floor of the passenger side was a book. It was The Golden Apples, the book Grace had given to him months ago, the first day he saw her. He had brought it along to give back to her, but had forgotten. He hesitated, considering driving back. But then he smiled slightly. He would keep it, knowing she would not mind.
He got in the car and started the engine. He paused for a moment, looking out over the cemetery, then slowly he pulled away. Out on the highway, he turned the Mustang north. He rolled down the window. The wind blew in against his face, warmer, with a hint of honeysuckle.
