Mama Pursues Murderous Shadows

by Nora Deloach

  Mama smiled. “They’ve been helpful in the past.”

  “Enough about the town’s gossips,” Daddy said. “I’ve been thinking about Herman Spikes.”

  “What about Herman?” Mama asked.

  “Candi, you’re the one with the suspicious mind in this family, but I can’t help but think how unexpectedly Betty Jo Mets died. Now we know that Ruby was killed. Wouldn’t it be something if Betty Jo was murdered too?”

  “I’ve given that a lot of thought,” Mama admitted. “I’ve been Betty Jo’s case manager for better than two years now, and I never dreamed she’d go to bed and not wake up. She was a character, so full of life. To be honest, she was too full of life. It’s the reason I had to do what I did. She left her two young boys home alone for hours, sometimes days. Things got so bad six months ago that we had to make a decision whether or not to place the boys in a foster home. We held a hearing. Betty Jo answered the hearing officer’s questions so honestly, I felt embarrassed for her.”

  I shrugged. “Betty Jo had reason to be honest at the hearing, Mama. She knew that if the state took those children, she’d be free to do as she pleased.”

  Mama shook her head. “Simone, I don’t think so. First of all, the boys’ removal meant that Betty Jo would no longer receive either a welfare check or food stamps. Also, I believe Betty Jo really did love her boys. Trouble is, she loved men, too. And that’s exactly what she told the hearing officer. She admitted that she had a weakness for men. That when she had the urge to go with one, she forgot about her boys. She claimed that’s why she left them alone too long.”

  “She was sick,” I said.

  “She had a problem, yes,” Mama agreed. “But Betty Jo was honest enough to admit it. Herman was lucky when he decided to spend the night with Betty Jo the night that Ruby was killed. Betty Jo had her faults, but the one thing she was known for was being truthful. It was almost like she never learned how to tell a lie.”

  “So, when she told Abe that Herman had spent the night with her at the Otis Motel, she was telling the truth?” Cliff asked.

  “Yes,” Mama told him. “If Herman wasn’t in that room that night, Betty Jo would have said so!”

  “So, her death has no effect on Herman’s alibi?” I asked.

  “I don’t think so,” Mama said. “I really don’t think so.”

  Sarah Jenkins opened her front door dressed in a beige two-piece suit, a silk scarf, and a pair of pink slippers; brown one-inch-heel pumps were sitting just inside the door frame.

  “Come on in, ladies,” she said, ushering me and Mama toward the back of the house. We followed her through the living room, the dining room, and into a short hall that led into a large bedroom. The room had a king-sized white wrought-iron bed in the middle of the floor. A multicolored bedspread covered the bed. On top of it were stacks of old Otis County Guardian newspapers.

  “I got up this morning determined to go to Sunday school,” she told us. “I’m still weak but this is something I begged the good Lord to help me do. It came to me right in the middle of the lesson.” She picked up a newspaper from the top of the stack. It was faded yellow. She handed it to Mama, who read the front page silently, then passed it to me.

  OTIS COUNTY GUARDIAN

  June 10, 1985

  OTIS SHOOTING DEATH BEING INVESTIGATED

  The Otis Sheriff Department and Otis County Coroner are investigating a shooting death. Coroner Rhoden Black said Laura Manning, 50, of Otis County, died from a self-inflicted single gunshot wound to the head. Manning had last been contacted by telephone by a friend around 10:30 P.M. the night before.

  No final ruling has been made in the death but officials do not suspect foul play. Manning’s body has been sent to Charleston for autopsy.

  Sarah’s mouth was set the way it is when she feels she’s absolutely correct. “See, Candi,” she said, “it’s happened before, right here in Otis.” She pointed at the newspaper.

  Mama looked at Sarah in bewilderment. “I don’t understand what you’re getting at, Sarah.”

  Sarah took a breath, then let it out dramatically. “Abe thought Laura Manning killed herself too. But it wasn’t so and I was the one who proved it.”

  Now there was a look of intense interest on Mama’s face.

  “It was about twenty years ago,” Sarah began. “Laura Manning, Annie Mae, Carrie, and I were members of the same chapter of the Eastern Stars. Laura was a widow woman, a fine mother who had raised three children. She worked hard at the church, helped raise money for the youth group’s field trip to the Six Flags amusement park in Atlanta.

  “Early one morning before daylight a man slipped into Laura’s house, threw a blanket over her head, and raped her. Laura reported it to Abe, who did what he could to find the man. Telling Abe about her ordeal wasn’t all that Laura did. She talked about it to anybody who’d listen to her. She told the story over so many times that folks started saying she made them feel like they were in that bed of torment with her.

  “Three weeks after Laura was raped, the county fair opened in Avondale. Annie Mae, Carrie, and I were taking our time strolling through the fairgrounds, looking at the exhibitions, when we ran into Laura. Like always, Laura started telling us about being raped in her own bed. Then out of the blue she said to us, ‘I think I know who raped me!’ I tell you, Candi, the look on that woman’s face was real strange: like a bolt of understanding had struck her. I’ve got to find Abe and tell him something,’ she said, and she hurried away from us without another word.

  “The next morning,” she added grimly, “I found Laura’s body.”

  “You were the friend the newspaper mentioned,” Mama said.

  Sarah nodded. “I’d called Laura after I got home from the fair to ask to borrow one of her pans. Laura always kept such nice baking pans. She mentioned to me that she hadn’t been able to locate Abe, but first thing the next morning she was going to his office. She said she was sure she had a strong idea of who had crawled through her window.”

  “And right after that, she supposedly killed herself, is that right?” Mama asked.

  “Like I told you, I found her body the next morning when I went to pick up her pan.”

  “Did Laura Manning leave a note?” I asked before Mama could respond.

  “She sure did,” Sarah told me. “In Laura’s own handwriting were the words I can’t go on!”

  “That’s all the note said?” I asked, surprised at its brevity.

  “That’s it,” Sarah said firmly. “Carrie, Annie Mae, and I told Abe what Laura had told us that day at the fair, but it didn’t do any good. The coroner ruled that Laura killed herself. He said he based his decision on the fact the gun was in her hand, she had written a note, and she’d been obviously upset over the rape because she wouldn’t stop talking about it.

  “But now look at this here,” Sarah said, handing Mama another newspaper clipping.

  OTIS COUNTY GUARDIAN

  November 9, 1985

  BURNS IS FOUND GUILTY OF MURDER

  An Otis County man, Freddy Burns, 38, was found guilty Wednesday of the June 9, 1985, murder of Laura Manning.

  The Otis County jury deliberated only four hours before convicting Burns. The trial has now entered the penalty phase, and the jury will decide whether Burns should be put to death or serve a life prison term. Assistant District Attorney John Everritt told jurors Tuesday that Burns should be executed.

  Mama’s eyes shone with interest. “Tell me about it.”

  Sarah looked pleased that she had Mama’s ear. “Laura Manning knew Freddy Burns all of her life. When Freddy was a boy, he used to come to their place and help her father clean out his hog pens. But Laura didn’t like Freddy. She called him ‘trash’ in front of his face and behind his back.

  “Out of pure spite, Freddy crawled into her window and raped her. He thought that by throwing a blanket over Laura’s head, she wouldn’t have known who he was. And for a while, she didn’t. The way the prosecutor figured it was,
as we were standing by the livestock exhibit at the county fair, a particular smell stirred Laura’s memory. It probably was the smell of that prize hog she was looking at. I testified at the trial that I saw Freddy Burns standing nearby while Laura was talking to us. I think he must have overheard some of our conversation.

  “Laura left the fair but she wasn’t able to get ahold of Abe. Sometime during the night, Freddy Burns slipped into Laura’s bedroom. He made her write that note. The scoundrel shot Laura in the head, then put the gun in her hand to make it look like she’d killed herself.”

  “And he almost got away with it?” Mama asked, looking down at the paper in her hand.

  “Yes. And he would have if it wasn’t for Laura’s ballpoint pen.”

  “Go on,” Mama said.

  “Laura had a gold ballpoint pen that had a tiny angel on the top of the cap. She loved that pen. She’d picked it up on a visit to her sister in New Jersey. She was particularly proud that nobody in Otis owned one like it. Now, Candi, you know I’ve got an eye for seeing things that ain’t quite right. You can imagine my surprise when, two weeks later, I saw Freddy Burns using Laura’s pretty little gold pen with the tiny angel on its cap to write out a money order at the post office.”

  “What did you do?” Mama asked.

  “I hurried to Annie Mae and Carrie and told them exactly what I’d seen. Together the three of us we went straight to Abe. At first he didn’t want to pay us any attention. But we wouldn’t let him alone until he looked into how Freddy got ahold of Laura’s ballpoint pen. Abe got a warrant and searched Freddy’s house. He found a pair of Freddy’s shoes that matched prints that were found under Laura’s window where her killer had been standing.

  Mama stared as if Sarah had just given her an electric shock.

  “What’s wrong?” Sarah asked, touching her own face, her throat.

  Mama didn’t answer.

  I understood. My mother’s mind was working, things were beginning to make sense, pieces were falling into place. “What do you know that I don’t know?” I asked, ignoring Sarah’s apparent confusion.

  Mama stood, nodded good-bye to Sarah, and headed for the door.

  I followed.

  Once we were seated in the Honda, she told me, “I see the face of the shadow.”

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY

  Sunday afternoon in Otis County feels like the region is posing for a talented artist whose giant hand sketches its portrait. The stillness affects everything, including the animals, who move so slowly you’d think they know it’s the Sabbath. The quiet is so profound, it’s almost hypnotic. Nobody ever thinks of disturbing it.

  Today, however, Mama was out of step with Otis’s rhythm. She moved not like the turtle, but like the proverbial hare. It was clear that she’d spotted something.

  We left Sarah Jenkins’s house a little before one o’clock. Mama was enthusiastic. “Simone, I know who killed Ruby, but I’ve got to get evidence to prove it. Let’s go see Jeff Golick. I need to talk to him before I can go any further.”

  Our drive to Avondale took us along the same deserted road where we’d almost gotten killed. This trip was infinitely less threatening and yet my mother didn’t talk to me. I understood what was going on inside her head so I wasn’t upset. Instead, I used the time to search my own memory.

  Ruby’s murder, Betty Jo’s untimely death, the rapist Honey Man—they were all pieces of a puzzle. Try as I might, however, I couldn’t recollect anything to help me understand it.

  Jeff Golick was in his office. Mama knocked gently and he invited us in. He was sitting in a swivel chair behind a desk stacked with what looked like receipts. When he looked up, impatience settled in his face. “I can’t believe you’ve come back to bother me again. What do you want now?”

  “I’m sorry to disturb you,” Mama explained calmly, as if she didn’t see his annoyance, “but I must have a description of the scarf Ruby wore around her neck the last Friday night she checked into the Inn. Can you make me a drawing of it?”

  The expression on the manager’s face altered to one of disbelief. Then he started to look obstinate, but finally he cleared his throat and sighed in resignation. He found a clean sheet of paper among those on his desk and gave the drawing his best shot. When he’d finished, he handed what he’d done to my mother.

  Mama’s face brightened. “This is wonderful! Thank you! And once again I’m sorry to have bothered you,” she told him, as she signaled me to leave.

  Jeff Golick’s eyes rolled toward the ceiling as his wave dismissed us.

  Once we were outside of his office, Mama’s gaze lingered on the design for what seemed like a long time.

  I looked over her shoulder. “What do you see in that kindergarten drawing?” I asked, since the sketch didn’t look like anything to me.

  “I see what confirms my suspicion, but before I can be completely sure, I need to make two phone calls.”

  “There are telephones down the street, near the McDonald’s.”

  We drove to where Mama made her calls. I sat in the car with my window rolled down. Mama talked on the phone.

  Out of a corner of my eye, I saw Inez Moore and the big fella who I’d seen her with previously. Neither saw me. They were on their way to the drive-thru. When Inez’s eyes did lock with mine, they sent me a dagger of a message: she’d love to fight me just as she’d fought Ruby in the factory’s parking lot.

  Inez muttered something to her companion, who turned and sent me an equally evil stare. Then the man seemed to decide against hamburgers. He pulled out from the drive-thru onto the highway. The look Inez sent me reminded me of how angry she was, how there was no way she’d feel pain, remorse, or regret for anything she’d ever done to poor Ruby Spikes.

  Mama eased inside the car. “Things are all set up. I called Abe and got the phone number of Kip Barker, the manager of the garment factory where Ruby worked. Mr. Barker’s given us permission to visit him at his home.”

  Mama was as quiet on this trip as she’d been on the drive to Avondale. For the first time since we’d last visited Sarah, I thought about the anniversary party. I was wise enough to realize that this wasn’t the time to discuss it. Folks, I have to tell you I had another reason to be glad she’d reached this point in solving Ruby’s murder: By the time we’d be ready to celebrate, the killer would be locked up and we’d finally have Mama’s undivided attention!

  Kip Barker lived in the same town as Leman Moody. His house was off of a dirt road that wove through a grove of willow trees draped in shawls of moss. The house was a one-story pale green stucco. The lot was large and nicely landscaped. A red Ford was parked in the concrete driveway and an old Nissan sat on the grass on the side of the yard.

  On the porch, we knocked, and waited for an answer. The man who answered the door was in his mid-sixties, with a mix of gray-and-white hair and a thick, white mustache. His complexion was the color of caramel candy. He was wearing cutoffs, a white T-shirt, and a pair of loafers. He greeted us like he really didn’t mind our intruding on his Sunday afternoon.

  “I’m sorry to bother you,” Mama began, “it’s just that this matter of Ruby’s death has taken on an urgency.”

  “I can’t imagine what could be so urgent on the Lord’s Day, but I wasn’t doing anything that I couldn’t give you a few minutes.”

  Mama pulled out the sketch she’d gotten from Jeff Golick. “I need to know whether or not Ruby had recently worked on a scarf like this one.”

  The manager’s eyes rested on the drawing with interest.

  Mama went on. “The scarf I’m interested in would have been reddish-brown, cinnamon colored. And the line running horizontally through it would have been slate blue.”

  Kip Barker was silent.

  “It was a wool blend, perhaps with a little rayon,” Mama added, as if trying to prime his memory.

  Recognition flashed in the manager’s eyes. “It’s the last lot we shipped for the winter season.”

  “D
id Ruby work on that order?”

  He hesitated. “I reckon.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, I’m sure. Now that I think of it, Ruby asked permission to take two scarves home with her.”

  “Did you give her the scarves?”

  “Not right then, I didn’t. I told her to wait. She probably took them on the Friday after the shipping department sent the order.”

  Mama gave the plant manager a warm smile. “Thank you so very much,” she told him, as she shook his hand gratefully. “I do hope you enjoy the remainder of your Sunday afternoon.”

  “Don’t plan to do nothing,” Mr. Barker responded as we walked out off his porch.

  I glanced at Mama as I turned the key into the Honda’s ignition. The euphoric look on her face had intensified. “Where to now?”

  “Betty Jo’s house.”

  The front door of the house Betty Jo had occupied before she moved in with Herman Spikes was unlocked, the wooden screen door unhooked. I’ve already told you that Betty Jo’s house was junky. Well, this time it was downright filthy. The bedroom had clothes thrown all over it; the bed was unmade, no big surprise there. The bathroom smelled of urine and mildew. And the kitchen had dirty dishes and garbage everywhere.

  The first thing Mama wanted to see was where I’d picked up the rag in which I’d wrapped Sparkle. I showed her the corner of an old chair. As she examined the spot, she picked up pieces of fibers and tucked them into her wallet. When she’d finished, she asked me to help her search the whole place.

  “What are we looking for?”

  “Money.”

  I must have made a startled noise, because Mama said, “We’re looking for the balance of the two thousand dollars that was in Ruby’s motel room when she was killed.”

  “What makes you think it’s here?”

  “Portia Bolton told us that Betty Jo gave each of her sons a twenty-dollar bill, bills that looked like they’d just come off the printing press. If my thinking is correct, Betty Jo got those twenties from this house. I’m hoping that the person who put that money here hasn’t yet had the presence of mind to move any more of the money.”