Mama Rocks the Empty Cradle (8 page)

I remembered the day that my father had allowed this full-grown jet black dog to become a part of our lives. Six months ago, the dog had showed up on our doorstep, hungry and sick. He’d been so thin you could see his bones through his fur. Daddy fed the stray, then he took him to Dr. Claims, the town’s only veterinarian.

Mama insisted that notices be posted all over the neighborhood, in case the dog’s owner wanted him back. Three weeks later, when no one had responded,
my father was convinced that he and this dog were destined for each other.

Daddy christened him Midnight. Then he built him a house and put it in the farthermost corner of the backyard. Midnight got chained to it so that he wouldn’t damage Mama’s carefully manicured yard of trees, shrubs, and flowers. While the dog was recuperating, tilings worked fine.

Once Midnight was healthy again, however, he began to bark. Continuously. It took my father only a few days and noisy nights to realize that his new dog was a rambler, an explorer, unaccustomed to and very unhappy about being in lock-down.

Reluctantly, Daddy let him run free, fretting silently that the dog wouldn’t return. The first night Midnight came home dragging our neighbor Mr. Banks’s smelly work boots, boots that Mrs. Banks wouldn’t let inside of their house. Mr. Banks took his boots off on his back porch every evening, then, the next morning, he’d put them on again. Midnight changed all that. I think that Daddy was so glad that the dog came back home that he didn’t realize Midnight felt his retrieving efforts had been rewarded when my father patted him on the head. When, the next day, Midnight brought Daddy Mr. Banks’s boots again, Daddy just bought Mr. Banks another pair of boots. After that, Mr. Banks took off his new boots inside his garage, not on his back porch.

Midnight brought home sheets, towels, underwear. Each time my father cheerfully compensated the owners for their losses. Once, when I suggested
to Daddy that he was training Midnight to steal, he laughed and told me, “Simone, a Labrador retriever is
supposed to retrieve
!”

But now, the tables had turned. Midnight had brought home two tiny skulls, the first of which had already been sent to the state forensic lab for examination. The look in my father’s eyes suggested that his feelings about his dog’s thieving habit were changing.

This hot summer morning, Mama had decided to wear a brown cotton skirt and a yellow blouse that complemented her candied brown complexion. Her beauty was marred by the pained intake of breath she made when I helped her into the passenger’s side of the Honda.

Our first stop was to take this latest skull to Sheriff Abe’s office. Mama had already telephoned Abe to arrange for the skull to be sent to the same laboratory in Columbia where he’d sent the first one.

As for me, no matter what was going on with Midnight’s skulls, Morgan, Cricket, or Timber, thoughts of Yasmine kept meandering through my mind like a lovesick song. I still didn’t know what I was going to say that would make her change her mind.

When Mama and I got to the sheriff’s office, a cloud of cigarette smoke hung heavily in the air. The ashtray on the desktop in front of Abe was full.

“That Timber is as slippery as a catfish,” he told us.

As usual, Sheriff Abe fumbled out a cigarette and stuck it between his lips, but he didn’t light it.

“Have you heard anything about the whereabouts of little Morgan?” Mama asked as she sat in one of the wooden chairs.

Abe shook his head. “No, I’m afraid I haven’t.”

“Not one of Timber’s kin has got the child?”

“I had Timber’s mother, Dollie, call every one of her relatives all over the United States. Nobody owned up to seeing or hearing about Timber or Morgan in the past two weeks.”

Mama took a deep breath. “What about Cricket’s murder?” she asked. “Have you learned any more?”

“Cricket’s fingerprints were on one of the glasses in the apartment. We know for a fact that Timber’s prints are on the other glass because I had Timber in my jail a couple of weeks ago. He got drunk and I had to haul him in for trying to beat Cricket. Rick had the smarts to take his fingerprints then. We got a match off one of the glasses.”

“So Timber and Cricket were in the room, but we still don’t know if they were there at the same time. What about the blood?”

“Most of it was Cricket’s blood. But there was somebody else’s blood, too, although we haven’t identified who that person is as yet. Once we get a chance to talk to Timber, we’ll have a better chance of knowing whether it was his blood.”

Mama reached into her purse and handed Abe a
piece of paper. “I’ve got three other names I want you to look at.”

The sheriff read the names of Joe Blake, Sonny Clay, and Les Demps. He leaned forward.

“These are just names,” Mama contended, “nothing more. It would be good if you could talk to these men, see what you can learn from each. Please, Abe, be discreet.”

Abe’s eyebrows rose. “How did their names come to you? What these fellers got to do with Cricket or her missing baby?”

“Cricket knew these men well,” Mama answered. “Perhaps too well. By the way, did you find out who owned the blue Ford that you chased with Timber and friend inside of it?”

“The car was registered to Koot Rawlins,” Abe said, “but she ain’t seen it in almost six months. Her sister’s boy, JC Bates, sold it to a feller named Warren for five hundred dollars. Koot showed me a receipt. She said she signed the title over to this Warren, but I suspect he never bothered to change the tags. From Root’s description of this feller Warren, along with what Rick and I saw of him, we’ve concluded that he is the one we spotted with Timber driving through town.”

“I’m going to visit Rose, Cricket’s sister, to see what she knows about Timber and his other women,” Mama told Abe. “It might be that one of them has got Morgan holed up at her place.”

“If you find that baby, you let me know right away,” Abe said. “As for that Timber, I’ve got an APB
out all over the Southeast for him and his buddy Warren.”

“Have you gotten the report from Columbia on that first baby’s skull that James’s dog brought to our house?”

“Yeah,” Abe nodded. “It’s right here.” He pulled a paper from the stack in front of him and handed it to Mama. “Course I ain’t had a chance to do anything with it. Ain’t even had a chance to alert people to Midnight digging in their cemeteries.”

I smiled, but Mama wasn’t amused. “Midnight didn’t get that skull from any cemetery,” she snapped, then opened the small box and unwrapped its contents, carefully placing it on Abe’s desk.

Abe stared down at the second skull. “Lord, where
is
that dog digging?”

“Midnight is trying to tell us something,” Mama insisted. “Nobody seems interested in listening to him but me.” She read the report Abe had given her. After a few moments, she looked up.
“The baby was about four months old when it died!”

“How can they tell that?” Abe asked.

I answered him. “I know from working with the forensics who help my boss get ready for his trials that they can tell from bones a victim’s age, sex, race, and height. Sometimes, they can even tell the type of diet.”

Mama frowned.

“Was there trauma to it?” I asked.

Mama looked down at the report again. “No, no trauma … Abe, there’s something very wrong going
on. I know you’ve got your hands full with Cricket’s murder, and poor Morgan missing, but I need your help on this, too. Please, get the message out about these skulls. See if anybody knows where Midnight might be digging.”

Abe sighed. “I’ll get to it soon as I can,” he promised Mama.

A
n hour later, we were near the Coosahatchie River bridge, three miles south of Otis. Mama touched my arm, then motioned for me to stop the car just before we crossed the bridge. I tapped the brakes and pulled to the shoulder.

“Why do you want me to stop?” I asked.

“Those two women on the bridge,” she replied. “One is Birdie Smiley. I haven’t talked to her since that incident in Winn Dixie. I need to see how she is feeling.”

Thick pines stretched their branches on each side of the highway. On the other side of the bridge, parked a few yards away from the two women, was a tan Chevrolet station wagon. To our right, directly across the highway, was a plowed soybean field
with an oasis of woods behind it. Except for the sound of birds in the trees, the area was quiet, idyllic.

The driver of a green pickup truck stared at us as he drove by. No doubt he was wondering why we were parked. Mama waved, nodding in assurance that we didn’t need help.

The sound of two crows who sat on the rail in front of the bridge’s precipice drew my attention. The larger shuffled toward the road, then took to flight, its plumage shining in the sunlight. The other lifted its wings, as if it felt threatened. It moved its dark head from side to side, then stretched its neck and cawed. The ugly sound ricocheted off the trees. But before it died away, the second bird flew away, too.

The two women who stood on the bridge seemed oblivious to us. “What’s Birdie and that other woman doing on the bridge?” I asked.

“Fishing,” Mama answered. “James tells me that good-size fish flow from the river into this creek.”

“Why don’t we talk to Birdie later?” I suggested. “I want to get on to Rose’s house. I’m anxious to find out what other women Timber was going with.”

“I want to know if one of them is hiding poor Morgan, too,” Mama said. “But give me a minute to speak to Birdie, Simone. Get out and ask her to come over here.”

I nodded. Outside the car, the smell of grain was heavy in the summer air. As I walked up to Birdie, I recognized her companion as Koot Rawlins. A look passed between them, something said without being
said. I told them that Mama was sitting in my car, and because of her foot surgery, she couldn’t come down. She wanted to speak to Birdie, I said.

Birdie Smiley looked toward the tan station wagon before she spoke. “I suppose we should speak to Candi,” she said placidly. She pulled in her fishing pole. Koot Rawlins whispered something underneath her breath, then belched and pulled her pole up, too.

When we reached the car, Mama had opened her door. Tiny beads of sweat stood on Root’s forehead. She leaned on the passenger’s side of the Honda. Birdie stood directly behind her.

“Candi, how are you doing?” Koot asked, glancing down at Mama’s feet.

“Pretty fair,” Mama replied, fanning. “Course I never thought that it would be so hard for me to get around,” she admitted.

Koot swiped at a fly, her eyes fixed on Mama’s face. “Fact is, I didn’t know you had had your feet cut on until Sarah, Annie Mae, and Carrie told me.”

Mama looked surprised.

“Don’t you remember? Soon after you and that daughter of yours drove up to the apartments yesterday, they came to see where Cricket got killed, too,” Koot explained. “Sarah told me that you wouldn’t be getting around for quite a while.”

“Sarah is right,” Mama admitted. “The fact is that I wouldn’t be able to get out at all if it wasn’t for Simone. I talked her into driving me to Cricket’s sister’s house.”

Birdie grimaced. “If you were heading to Rose’s house, what you doing out here?” she asked, staring down at Mama.

“I wanted to ask you how you are feeling. I hadn’t seen you since Saturday. You know, when you were holding little Morgan.”

“I’ve learned my lesson,” Birdie answered. “I ain’t got no business taking care of a baby.”

“So, you are feeling better?” Mama asked, her voice concerned.

Birdie’s eyelids fluttered. She seemed very careful not to look at Koot. “Isaiah promised Abe he’d make sure I take my pills like I’m supposed to.”

Koot belched.

When Mama spoke again, she’d changed the subject. “What happened to Cricket,” she said thoughtfully, squinting into the sunlight, “is horrible, and I aim to find out who killed that young woman so spitefully. But what concerns me more is what’s happened to her little girl, Morgan.… ”

Koot’s eyes widened. She looked from Mama to Birdie.

Birdie Smiley made a tiny sound in her throat. The look on her face was nothing like the disoriented expression she’d had in the grocery store five days ago, before Cricket’s murder—today, Birdie wasn’t confused at all. “Ain’t nothing happened to that child. Some of Cricket’s people probably got that baby,” she said, politely but firmly.