Summer of the Redeemers (28 page)

His eyes narrowed as he realized my meaning. “Go to hell, Rebekah Rich.” He turned to walk away, and I noticed that he moved stiffly, as if he’d injured himself.

Or as if some large animal had stepped on him in an effort at self-defense.

Twenty-five

F
ROM
the leafy seclusion of the tallest chinaberry tree I watched Gus chug down the driveway and into the barn. They had to tear the front of the stall away to get Caesar out into the aisle, and then they dragged him to the back of the field. Gus used a box blade on the tractor to dig a grave for the big thoroughbred. It wasn’t deep, but it seemed sufficient.

Nadine and Jamey watched. When it was over they followed the tractor back to the house. Gus drove on home; there was still work to be done in his fields. Without a word to Jamey, Nadine went into the house, slamming the back door behind her. Jamey Louise ambled down the driveway toward home, her shoulders rounded and her footsteps dragging. In a little while I heard the sounds of hammer and nails from the barn. Greg was rebuilding the stall. The rhythm was uneven, ominous.

Nadine’s frustration carried clearly to the outside. She was slamming doors and throwing things. I wondered if she might call my house to explain that Cammie was fine. Knowing Nadine, she’d just wait for me to come by the barn on my own. Throughout the entire summer she’d never called my house once.

When I was certain Greg would be busy in the barn, I climbed down from the tree and went to inspect the crucified Jesus in the bushes. I crawled into the high grass and shrubs and made sure I was hidden from sight. I pulled at the heavy crucifix until I could see it clearly. Someone had taken spray paint and deliberately ruined it. I
didn’t know much about wood—The Judge had never been the kind of man who carved or hammered or sawed—but I thought there had to be a way to get the black paint off. The detail of the carving was beautiful, if terrible. I ran a finger down the smooth wood. If the black paint was removed, some of the fine detail, like the blood from the crown of thorns, would have to be redone and repainted. But surely someone at the Redeemers could do the work.

I realized then that the crucifix had not been thrown away. It had been stolen. The vandalism was part of a twofold act of meanness. Destroy and steal. I didn’t have to ask how it had come to be on Nadine’s property. Greg could have taken it alone. The crucifix was heavy, but lifting those big bales of hay all summer long had given Greg impressive muscles. I could barely drag the crucifix along the ground, but Greg could have done it. And there was also the possibility that he might have had a little help from the other Redeemer boys.

I covered the wood carefully, so that no one would be able to tell that I had been there. I needed my wagon, and Alice. But before I did that, I wanted to talk with Nadine. Checking to make sure that the sound of hammering continued in the barn, I hurried to the steps.

Flies buzzed the garbage, and I had an irrational urge to tell her how filthy and nasty it was to throw her trash out the back door like she did. I knocked three times before she came to open it.

“Bekkah, where did you go? We could have used some help getting Caesar out of that stall.”

“I went with Jamey, and then I needed time to think.” The smell of the garbage was making me dizzy. “Can I come in? I need to tell you something. About Caesar.”

Nadine looked behind her, as if someone might object. I had the peculiar thought that maybe she didn’t live alone. Then she stepped back. “Okay. Come in.” She signaled me inside, then closed the back door, shutting out some of the garbage smell.

I followed her from the narrow entrance down a hall and into the kitchen.

I’d never been inside Nadine’s before, not even to go to the bathroom. Either I held it or crouched down in one of the stalls, the way Nadine said all the professional riders did in big barns. The practice was unpleasant, but I didn’t want to seem like a sissy so I did it. Looking around the filthy kitchen, I knew I didn’t want to see the toilet.

Paper plates, fast-food wrappers and TV dinner boxes spilled out of paper bags and onto the floor. There were empty cans of soup and dirty pots. Stains were spattered down the front of the cabinets and even the refrigerator. There was a bare light bulb, and above that, on the ceiling, was what looked like spaghetti pasta and sauce. Had Nadine thrown a spoon or dish? I didn’t feel that I could ask.

There was a table, but it was covered in dirty dishes and half-eaten sandwiches that served as a landing strip for flies.

“This place is a mess,” I said before I thought. I had a clear picture of Mama Betts’ face in my mind. Her disapproval was extreme.

“I can either ride or clean, and I’d rather ride,” Nadine said, not in the least offended by my remark. “When I was growing up, we had maids, and I guess I never got in the habit of cleaning up after myself.”

“Nobody on Kali Oka Road has a maid.”

“I know,” Nadine said, and she laughed. She led the way down a hall cluttered with dirty clothes and into the living room. The curtains were drawn, and beneath them were old yellowed shades. The combination effectively kept the light at a minimum, but I could see that the furniture was all antiques. Good solid pieces that Mama Betts would tend and dust with loving attention. These hadn’t seen a dust cloth in years, and they’d been scarred and mistreated. Nadine threw herself on an old Queen Anne sofa and draped one leg over the battered back.

“What’s on your mind?” she asked. She was concentrating on a stain on the ceiling where the roof had leaked. It was vaguely shaped like a heart.

“Nadine, it’s Caesar … You didn’t hear anything?” I leaned forward. “Not even a sound?” Greg wouldn’t disturb the horses. They trusted him.

“You think I wouldn’t get up and check if I heard a horse making a racket?” She turned her attention from the stain and looked at me. There was a stillness behind her eyes.

The room smelled of dogs. By my count there should have been two left. “What about your dogs? They didn’t bark? Picket would have gone through the screen door if someone had been in our yard.”

“The dogs are dead. They got distemper.”

“They weren’t vaccinated?” Nadine knew everything about horses. She should have known to get her dogs shots.

“I was waiting on some money.” The stillness in her eyes burned away, revealing heat. “What are you, part of the Spanish Inquisition? Is somebody paying you to make me feel worse than I already do?”

“I’m sorry.” Nadine’s mood was volatile. I could see that Caesar’s death had shaken her tremendously. I had to be careful what I said. “Dr. Hilbun only charges a couple of dollars for shots. Mama Betts or Effie would have loaned you the money.” They might dislike Nadine, but they’d have loaned her the money to get her dogs shots. I took a seat on one of the wingback chairs. The rich brocade of the fabric showed a design that had once been beautiful and elegant. Time and misuse had faded the beauty.

“I have a trust fund, from my parents’ deaths, you know. I thought the money would come in on time.” Nadine shrugged. “By the time I was certain that Mac had it, then the others caught it from him. They just died one right after the other. Greg buried a couple for me. I buried the rest.”

“Yeah, I saw him.”

“And what did he say?”

Nadine’s question threw me. Did she suspect what I did? “Greg didn’t say much, just that the dogs died.”

“Good.” Nadine swung her leg off the back of the sofa and sat up, both feet flat on the ground. “Any other questions about my animals? If not, maybe you should go back outside and do your chores. I have a headache and I think I want to take a nap.”

I sat on the edge of the chair. Anger grew inside me so fast that I wasn’t certain what it was I felt. I wanted Nadine to do something, to hunt for who had hurt Caesar, not to take a stupid nap. What was wrong with her? “None of this had to happen! Not the dogs and not Caesar! How could someone kill an animal like that and you not hear a thing? You brought Greg here! You allowed him in, and the animals trusted him!” The smell of the house, the dimness of the room—I felt as if my head was going to split.

“Are you daring to imply that this was my fault?” She was perfectly still, but the fire in her eyes burned brighter.

“Why was Caesar in Cammie’s stall?” I wasn’t going to run away from her. Not this time. How could she not have heard? “Why was he moved?” I had to have some answers.

“You’re very tenacious, Rebekah. I had thought you might be, but then I wondered if I had misjudged you.”

She was staring at me with a curious expression. “I don’t care what you think about me. Caesar’s dead.”

“I don’t owe you an explanation,” she paused, “but I’ll give you one. I moved Caesar last night. His foot was giving him some trouble, and Cammie’s stall is slightly bigger. I thought it would give him more room to move around.” She slowly sat forward. “You think whoever killed Caesar meant to kill Cammie, don’t you?”

I didn’t say anything.

“Maybe Greg? Maybe to get even because he found out we’d gone to the church?”

I hadn’t put my thoughts into real clear ideas. “Jamey Louise thought it was Cammie who was dead. That’s what she told me.”

“That Jamey, she’s worked here all summer and doesn’t know one horse from another.” Nadine sighed. “They were both bays, but that’s the only way they resembled each other. Just thank God it wasn’t Cammie. In the dark they would resemble each other. Greg wouldn’t have known that I’d changed stalls.”

As suddenly as it had come, my anger evaporated. I was about as wrung out as Effie during one of her tantrums. “No one else was hurt at all?”

“No one. It was like some maniac got loose in the stall with poor old Caesar. He fought, but he didn’t know how to strike out at a person. He’d always been treated with kindness. He never expected to be … killed.” Nadine looked away at the window shade. A branch from one of the overgrown camellia bushes brushed against the screen, creating moving shadows. “Why would Greg do this?”

“I don’t know. Who else would?”

“That’s the question, isn’t it? Who else?” Nadine stood. Her wild, slightly green hair hung past her shoulders. Well water and bleach had combined to give it that funny cast, and she needed more bleach. Even in the dimness of the room her roots were darker than the rest. “Say it wasn’t Greg. Who would do this?”

“Someone mean. Meaner than anybody I’ve ever known or read about.”

“Is that the way you see Greg?” she asked.

“Maybe.” I swallowed. I’d watched Greg with the horses. He petted them when he thought no one else was looking. “He’s strong enough.”

“Yes, strong enough.” Nadine was staring at the ceiling again. “But why? Motive is the thing. Did Greg have a motive?”

It was the crucifix. That was the reason I’d suspected him. That tortured Jesus, his face blackened, hidden so carefully in the weeds and bushes. But did that mean Greg would kill a horse?

“No,” I finally answered her. “Maybe it was a stranger on the road.” It could not really have been anyone I knew. Not Greg or anyone else.

“Maybe not a stranger,” Nadine whispered, “maybe someone from my past.” She turned back to face me, and her eyes glowed in her pale face. “My last husband was … not exactly normal. He was very charming. A handsome man with the kindest gray eyes. But when he didn’t get his way.” She swallowed and I could tell her mouth had gone dry by the way her throat worked. “He could become very abusive and mean.”

A car passed on Kali Oka Road. I could hear it, but I couldn’t see because of the shades and curtains. Nadine got up and pulled back the shade, staring for a moment as the car disappeared.

I thought about calling the sheriff. Joe Wickham would probably tell Effie and Walt if I called him, but it would be better than doing nothing. I hadn’t considered that someone from Nadine’s past might have followed her to Kali Oka Road. That would explain a lot.

“Would you like something cold to drink?” Nadine asked.

I would, but the thought of that kitchen effectively quenched my thirst. I’d get some water from the hose before I left. I could wait until then. “Thanks, but I’m not really thirsty.”

“My husband drank water with a twist of lemon in it.” She moved back to the sofa and reclined. For a moment she stared at the ceiling. “I shouldn’t tell you this. No one should have to know this kind of thing.”

“What?” My curiosity blossomed. Nadine had never talked about her past. The first day I’d met her, she’d told me her parents were dead and she’d been married three times. During the whole summer I’d never known her to have a date or even to go into town. Mrs. Huff, the post mistress, had told Emily that not a single letter had been delivered to Nadine since she’d lived there. Just bills. Not even magazines.