Michaela Thompson - Florida Panhandle 01 - Hurricane Season (17 page)

A mass of tupelo bushes, laden with long, olive-shaped berries, stood beside the mouth of Tupelo Branch. Some of the berries floated in the water, bobbing in his wake as he turned the corner. The branch was not wide and was overhung with cypresses, their misshapen knees rearing out of the shallows at the water’s edge. He followed several bends before seeing a weathered dock on the right. There were no boats tied to it.

Tears stung Josh’s eyes, and he was swept by a disappointment so intense it surprised him. He had never considered the possibility that she wouldn’t be there. He slowed and looked at the camp. It was built of rough timber, and stood on pilings against the rising of the river. There was a screened porch along the front, and the roof was tar paper. He could barely make out the privy, down a trail in the back. The place looked deserted.

Maybe this isn’t the one, maybe she’s on down the creek, Josh thought. He continued for ten minutes and passed another camp. This one had several boats tied up—none of them Sue Nell’s bateau—and was brightly lit with kerosene lanterns. Several men sat in the front, swatting mosquitos and drinking beer. This could go on forever. I got to get back, Josh thought. He turned the boat around.

When he reached the first camp, Sue Nell was on the dock, tying up her bateau. She turned as he came closer, standing perfectly still while he drifted in.

“Looky here,” she said, her voice tight.

“I said I’d find you.”

Standing next to her on the dock, he felt awkward. She was wearing yellow shorts and a white shirt. Her hand, when he took it, felt clammy. “I wanted to see you. Even for a minute,” he said.

“No sense standing out here and letting the mosquitos eat us up,” she said. “Come on inside.”

There were cots on the porch, and roughly built bunk beds inside, one of them made up. On an L-shaped counter in a corner stood a camp stove and an upside-down dishpan. Nearby, a pump and a sink. A shelf held canned goods, cotton twine, a mold for making lead weights, a pistol, a tackle box, a straw hat.

“Not a bad place,” said Josh, while Sue Nell lit a lantern. When it was hung on a nail she turned to him. “Why are you looking for me?”

“I can’t forget you.”

She shook her head. “You’ve been with women before.”

“Not like with you.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Who are you? Why are you here really?”

“I told you.”

“Not who you are.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It does matter.”

“I’m a moonshiner.”

She shook her head again, more vehemently. “I’ve been around moonshiners all my life. I’m married to a moonshiner. Something about you isn’t right.”

“Forget it.” Josh moved toward her. “I told you it doesn’t matter.”

Her eyes, when he looked into them, were full of dread. “This is the last thing I need,” she said.

“Me too. Exactly the last thing,” said Josh. He touched her hair. “I want to be with you.”

When they lay down together and he unbuttoned her blouse, her body was hot to his touch. “You’ve been in the sun,” he said. She shook her head.

“Then you have a fever.”

“Yes,” she whispered, “a fever,” and pulled his head down to her.

The thought that he would never be able to let go of Sue Nell was momentary in Josh’s mind. Then he closed his eyes and gave himself up to her.

“It’s over on the island,” said Elmore. “I watched the boat the whole way over there.”

Some of the recent lines of strain had eased from Elmore’s face. His pale eyes were timidly jubilant.

Bo Calhoun signaled to Moody Winchester for another drink and lit a cigarette. “You better be damn sure.”

“I’m sure, Bo. I’m positive.”

The evening was young at Sal’s Roadhouse. The regular customers were drifting in. Hank Williams blared from the jukebox. A breeze gusted in whenever the door opened.

“How did you happen to see the boat?” Bo regarded Elmore closely through drifting smoke.

“I figured where they’d dock. Not too many places you could dock a boat the size of that one. Had to be the mouth of the canal. They come to my place, tried to scare me. Didn’t do them no good. When they left, I went by the back roads. I know them roads, Bo. That’s why I been such a good distributor for you. I know them roads, and I know who lives there—”

“That’s right, you know the roads.”

“So I got to the landing before they did. I seen the boat. I hid in the trees. In a couple of minutes, they showed up.”

“And you watched them over to the island.”

“The south end, Bo. Where nobody ever goes. That’s where they went. I could see them easy with their light on.”

Bo smoked, staring at the scarred wood of the tabletop. Elmore fidgeted with the collar of his shirt. “I hope that’s what you wanted to know, you and your brothers.”

“That’s what we wanted to know.”

“I’m glad, because you know what?” Elmore gulped his beer. “I felt bad about the way things have been. It was my mistake. I admit that freely. I should have known when I was well off.”

“Yes, you should.”

“That’s right, Bo, and I want you to know that from now on—

Bo looked at Elmore for the first time. “From now on, you little son of a bitch, you stay out of my way.”

Elmore looked stricken. “But Bo—”

“You stay out of my way, and you don’t speak my name or the name of any Calhoun. If I hear you have, I’ll kill your ass. You sell me out again, I’ll come after you.”

“What about being distributor? I got to have some way to live.”

“If you want to live, you steer clear of me and steer clear of the moonshine business. You’re lucky you aren’t dead already.” Although Bo’s face was stiff, the tone of his voice was almost casual. “Now get the hell away from me, and don’t ever come near me again.”

Elmore sat still for a moment. Then he rose slowly to his feet. “I know you’re mad,” he said.

Bo ground out his cigarette. He didn’t look at Elmore.

“Maybe you’ll change your mind,” said Elmore. He waited, but Bo didn’t reply. “Good-bye, Bo,” Elmore said. He turned and left the bar.

Bo smoked another cigarette before going to the pay telephone in the corner. When his call went through, he said, “Give me Sonny.” Hank Williams throbbed “Your Cheatin’ Heart” while he waited on the line. Finally, he said, “It’s over on the island. Tell the boys. We’ll go tomorrow.”

Clouds were banking over the island, and the tide was rising. Lily switched off the weather advisory, which had told her no more than she had guessed from the morning sky. There was a tropical storm in the Gulf, approaching hurricane strength, and it was heading toward St. Elmo. The air was moving, the atmosphere subtly changed. Lily hunted for boards to nail, if need be, over the store windows.

While she worked, she thought about Josh and his secret. She was embarrassed to admit to herself how pleased she was that he had told her. When she tried to explain it, the only words that came to mind were
Something Has Happened
.

Lily’s life had not been barren of events. But those events had been the ones everybody knew about: marriage, childbirth, illness, quarrels, reconciliations. Good years and bad years. Now, she was involved in something most people never experienced. Undercover operations, secret agents. She had been sought out and taken into confidence. The importance of the trust she was keeping—it was a life and death matter, really—made her shiver with an apprehensive thrill.

She walked to the ferry landing to take a closer look at the weather. The water was gray, with some swells, but it didn’t look too bad yet. Many times storms veered off or lost their strength, and St. Elmo, braced for a hurricane, got a hard rain and nothing more.

When she turned back to the store, there was a black jalopy that she didn’t recognize parked in front. She saw with a shock that Pearl Washington was behind the wheel. Remembering Pearl’s coolness at the funeral, she hurried toward the car.

Although the engine wasn’t running, Pearl clutched the steering wheel. “There’s trouble at Mr. Snapper’s,” she said without preamble. “I was hoping maybe you could get the sheriff.”

Lily felt her throat close. “What’s wrong?”

“He just sits there, drinking whiskey. He has a revolver right there, in the side table drawer. Since the funeral he don’t talk, he don’t go out. He once in awhile peeks out the window, and that’s all.”

“Couldn’t it be he’s just grieving for Diana?”

Pearl snorted. “He didn’t care nothing about that girl. When she was killed, he didn’t hardly bat an eye.”

“Sometimes it takes people afterward.”

Pearl shook her head. “He’s going to kill somebody. I’m scared to be there with him.”

“Pearl”—Lily’s mind was racing—“he hasn’t shot off the gun or anything, has he?”

“Not yet.”

“Knowing Woody, he won’t go in there and disturb Snapper when Snapper hasn’t done anything but sit and drink whiskey. He wouldn’t want to make Snapper mad.”

Lily saw Pearl’s shoulders sag. She’s afraid, and she came to me for help, she thought. I can’t seem to do anything but let her down. “Let me talk to Snapper first,” she said. “Then I’ll see what I can do about Woody.”

“You shouldn’t go in there.”

“He won’t shoot me.” Lily hoped she was right. “I’ll meet you there in a few minutes.”

She left the
Closed
sign swinging on the door of the store. As she drove toward town, slowly, to give Pearl a chance to reach Snapper’s first, Lily wondered what on earth was going on. She’d just talk to Snapper a few minutes and see how bad it was. Then she’d try to tell Woody, despite his lack of interest in anything she had to say. Or maybe Pearl, upset by Diana’s death, was making more of Snapper’s behavior than it merited.

When she rang the doorbell at Snapper’s, Pearl answered. “He’s still just like I told you. I’ll let him know you’re here.” She climbed heavily up the stairs.

In a few minutes, she returned and said, “I told him you was here. He didn’t say a word.” She made a vague gesture toward the stairs.

Lily had never been upstairs in Snapper’s house, but nerves had gotten the better of natural curiosity, and she hardly noticed her surroundings. At the end of a hall, a door stood slightly ajar. She saw something glittering in the dim crack. It took her a moment to realize that the point of light was Snapper’s eye.

“It’s just me. Lily Trulock,” she said. He moved back as she approached, and she interpreted this as an invitation to come in.

The windows and blinds were closed, and the air was heavy with cigarette smoke, whiskey, sweat, a faint suggestion of Vitalis. The room was evidently a study, furnished with a desk, chairs, and a bookshelf with a set of encyclopedias. On the walls hung a stuffed marlin and photographs of Snapper with various notable people.

Snapper’s rumpled shirttail hung outside his pants, and his hair was greasy and lank across his forehead. Lily had never known him to be less than perfectly groomed. His face looked even more caved in than it had at the funeral, his eyes with the stunned look of a fish flopping in the bottom of a boat.

At the sight of her, his mouth made a parody of his usual grin. “Miz Lily,” he said.

“Pearl said you were poorly,” Lily said. “I came to check up.

She was close enough now to smell the liquor on his breath. “Poorly,” he said. “You can call it poorly, I reckon.” He crossed to the windows and peered out between the blinds.

“What’s wrong? Is it Diana?”

He let the blind snap back into place and turned to her. “They had to have Di, all right. I should’ve known it when they had to have Di.”

“Known what?”

“That they wanted me.”

“Who wanted you?”

He waggled a finger at her. “Folks. The world has got some mean folks.”

“But Woody thinks Wesley Stafford killed Diana. If you know different, you should tell Woody.”

“No siree. Not Woody. No siree.” Snapper’s vigorous shaking of his head disarranged his hair even more. He slumped into a chair. “A man has his way to make in the world, Miss Lily,” he said. “You try to do it, and they will cut you down and thwart you regardless. They’ll hunt you down like you was a squirrel on a tree branch.”

The desk was piled with campaign posters with a photograph of Snapper’s smiling face and the slogan
Experience in Government.
Lily perched on its edge. “I don’t understand,” she said.

“I don’t understand it myself. It’s the way people are.”

“If you’re in danger, you need protection. I’m going to tell Woody.”

Snapper’s lip twisted. “No offense, but Woody is about as near useless a lawman as I ever saw.”

Lily remembered how, after Diana’s murder, she had heard Snapper profess the utmost faith in Woody and Cecil’s crime-solving abilities. And Wanda had said he refused to have extra investigative help brought in. Either Snapper had changed his mind drastically or he’d been lying before. She said, “You keep on like this, you’ll lose yourself the election.”

“If I don’t I may lose a damn sight more.”

Lily stood up. If Snapper was willing to write off the election he was in more trouble than she could handle. “I’ll go now,” she said.

He didn’t reply at first. After a moment he said, “I won’t give them sons of bitches the satisfaction.”

“That’s right.” She moved out of the room and closed the door.

Pearl was waiting at the foot of the stairs, and Lily followed her into the kitchen.

Lily said, “Something is mighty wrong with the congressman.”

“Yes. It is.”

“He thinks somebody’s after him.” Baffled, Lily shook her head. “I can’t figure out what he’s talking about. He says they had to have Diana, and now they’re after him.”

Lily could feel the quality of Pearl’s attention change. “He said that?” she asked.

“Yes. I don’t understand. But you’re right. I’ll have to tell Woody.”

Pearl put her hands over her face. “Lord, Lord forgive me,” she said.

Lily stared at her. “What’s wrong?”

“My Lord God, I haven’t told you everything, Miss Lily.”

All of a sudden people want to tell me secrets,
Lily thought.
Isn’t it the strangest thing?