Too Black for Heaven (7 page)

Chapter Fourteen

T
HE SUPER-MARKET
was in the middle of the block, cooled by enormous ceiling fans and filled with strange smells and unfamiliar brand names. There were pearly grits, corn and waterground meal. The meat had a blanched look. Great slabs of white meat called pig-pork, mounds of pig tails and pig livers, shiny tin pails labeled, Chitlings — 2 pounds — 36 cents, were on display. Even the fish were strange. Grunts, catfish, brim, snapper throats. The produce counters were piled high with collards, okra, turnip greens, black-eyed peas, small fruits resembling miniature pomegranates that the counter girl said were Cattley guavas.

Dona pushed her wire cart through narrow aisles, flanked by gleaming mounds of canned goods and stacked one-hundred-pound sacks of sugar and flour. What she thought were corn stalks turned out to be sugar cane.

All she wanted was a loaf of bread, a pound of coffee, two pounds of sugar, some butter, a quart of milk and a package of breakfast cereal.

She found sugar and coffee, an unfamiliar brand with chicory added, milk and butter in a refrigerated case, then a table piled with loaves of bread, and a long shelf filled with familiar packaged breakfast foods. As she waited in line to check out, the woman behind her smiled, “You’re new in town, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” Dona admitted, “I am.”

“Staying at one of the lakes?”

“That’s right.”

The woman wasn’t prying. She was merely being friendly. “That’s the way things go, I guess. We live half a mile from a lake, one of the prettiest in the county. Good fishing, a nice beach. But when Joe gets his vacation, what do we do? We drive hundreds of miles to Panama City or Biloxi, so Joe can go deep-sea fishing and the kids can swim in the Gulf. You know the old saw, the one about greener pastures.”

“I guess you’re right,” Dona said.

Her purchase totaled two dollars and seven cents, a third of what the same amount of groceries would be in Chicago. The girl at the check-out counter was capable and friendly. As she gave Dona her change, she smiled, “Come again.”

The boy who sacked her items insisted on carrying them to her car and refused a tip. Despite what the coffee shop waitress and the
Courier
cameraman had said, there were decided advantages in living in a town like Blairville.

It was hot standing in the sun. She turned and entered a Rexall drug store next door to the super-market. It smelled and looked like all drug stores. The shelves and counters were filled and stacked with items not included in the pharmacopoeia, such as sun glasses, beach balls, cheap records, electric fans and toasters, cosmetics, plastic dishes, boxed candies, and toys of every kind. Two revolving wire racks held paperbound books and a wall rack held magazines and comic books. Via a piped-in recording over some radio station, Charlie Applewhite was singing
Cross Over The Bridge
.

Laughing, giggling, talking boys and girls occupied most of the booths, sipping sodas and cokes, over jokes known only to themselves.

The fountain girl was rushed. It was some minutes before she took Dona’s order. She sipped her large Coca-Cola slowly through two straws. The drug store was as good a place as any in which to kill time. After the glare and heat of the street, the store seemed dim and cool.

Dona had almost finished her coke when she heard a familiar voice.

“Another Bromo, please, Miss Duval.”

The counter girl laughed. “What, again?”

Dona looked in the back mirror, then down it to the far end. Beau was standing just beyond a small sign that read, COLORED.

The fountain girl kidded him as she prepared his Bromo. “You must have pitched a good one, Beau.”

Beau’s voice was still deep and rich but there was no inflection in it. “Yes.”

“Got hold of some of that real old Delta Dew, eh?”

“So it seems.”

“Down in one of the jukes?”

“Yes, Miss Duval.”

The girl gave him his change. “It must have been a cutie. That’s the fourth Bromo you’ve had today. What happened to your face? Did you just get in a fight or did her husband come home too soon?”

Beau said what was expected of him. “Her husband came home too soon.”

He finished his drink and limped slowly down the aisle toward the front of the store. Dona continued to look in the mirror, conscious that Beau had stopped behind her, ostensibly to put his change in his pocket.

His voice, pitched low, was meant for her alone. “Don’t turn around, Miss Santos. Please. But thank you. Thank you very much.”

Dona inclined her head over the cracked ice in her glass to indicate that she heard him and Beau went on. One of the youths in the front booth, slightly older than his companions, stopped him. “Hey, Beau. Guess what?”

“What?” Beau asked.

“I got my induction notice this morning.”

“You pleased or sorry?”

“I can’t decide. Do I get any choice as to which branch of the service I go into?”

Beau said, “They change the rules so fast I can’t keep up with them.”

“If I get a choice, I think I’ll put in for the Air Force.”

“That’s a good branch,” Beau said. “There would have been a lot more casualties in Korea if it hadn’t been for the fly-boys. Of course, I’m partial to the Infantry.”

The youth laughed. “I don’t know why you should be. Well, see you when I get back, Beau.”

“When you come back,” Beau said. “And good luck, Mr. Roberts.” He lifted his hand in a smart salute and limped out of the store.

An immediate argument developed in the booth as to how many times he’d been wounded and how much leg Beau had left. One youth insisted it was cut off in the middle of the thigh. Another claimed the amputation was below the knee.

A vacuous brunette sitting in the booth sniggered, “What you goin’ to do if you draw a nigger officer, Tom?”

Roberts was impatient with her. “You’re about ten years out of date, Dolly. There’s no segregation in the Army any more. Besides, if this cold war turns hot and my captain should be colored and half as much a man as Beau, I’d sure as hell rather have him for me than against me.”

“Watch your language,” the girl said, sharply. “I’ll have you know there are ladies present.”

The boy made a pretense of looking around the store. “Where? For God’s sake, tell me where? I’ve always wanted to see a lady in this town.”

Dona waited until the group left the booth, then walked out into the sun again. The sidewalk still teemed with people. Most of them had finished their shopping and were merely walking, stopping now and then to talk with people they knew. Dona walked to her car and leaned against the hot metal, trying to figure some way to pass another half-hour. She considered returning to the comfort of Ames’ air-conditioned reception room but she didn’t want to seem too eager about the gun permit. It was always some little thing that tripped one. She knew that much from listening to Charles discuss murder cases on which he’d worked.

Then she saw the tag tied to a spoke of the steering wheel and walked around the car to see what it was. It was a ticket for over-parking. She looked through the car at the meter. She’d been parked for less than forty-five minutes but red was showing on the dial. Either the meter was out of order or she hadn’t twisted the lever hard enough.

She swore under her breath and asked a farmer admiring the Cadillac where the police station was.

He took off his dust-stained hat and inclined his head at the courthouse. “Jist across the street, ma’am. Both the police an’ the fire department lease space from the county. The merchants figure it’s cheaper than buildin’.” He grinned, snag-toothed, as he looked at the parking ticket. “Got you fo’ overtime, eh? Well, don’t fret about it. All it costs is a dollar.”

Dona’s heels clicked angrily on the red brick pavement as she crossed the street. She didn’t care about the dollar. It was the injustice. She hadn’t over-parked. She’d put a nickel in the meter. She’d turned the lever in good faith.

Court was still in session. The groups of men and women were still clustered on the walk. Dona walked on, up the stairs and through the double doors. Three long corridors opened into the foyer. There was a directory on the wall. The Police and Fire Departments were at the far end of the right-hand corridor. The click of her heels sounded unnaturally loud on the oiled, wooden floor. She took her wallet from her purse so she wouldn’t have to open her purse in front of the clerk of the traffic court and walked through an open doorway bearing the legend POLICE.

A tall man wearing a blue shirt and blue trousers was standing in back of the booking counter talking to a deeply-tanned younger man wearing fawn-colored riding pants, highly-polished black boots and a light gabardine shirt. His stiff-brimmed, white Stetson was pushed back on his head. He had a gold star pinned to his shirt and a holstered pearl-handled revolver strapped to his right thigh. Both men stopped talking when they saw Dona and the man on her side of the counter took off his hat.

“Yes, ma’am?” he asked politely.

Dona laid the ticket on the counter. “It seems I over-parked. But I still think the meter is wrong. I’m positive I wasn’t gone for more than forty or forty-five minutes.”

The man behind the counter scratched his head as he looked at the ticket. “That happens. Cream-colored, Cadillac convertible with Illinois license plates, eh?”

“That’s right.”

He tore the ticket in two, then in four, and smiled, “Then let’s forget about this, Miss. Could be you’re right about the meter. Besides, we try to make it easy on tourists, at least for their first offense, jist so you-all won’t go ‘way with a bad taste in your mouth an’ givin’ us a hard name up and down the highway. But thanks for comin’ in. Most tourists jist tear ‘em up.”

Dona opened her wallet. “But I’ll gladly pay the fine if I’m wrong.”

“No need,” the tall man said. “I’m Chief of Police Clyde Simpson.” He nodded at the other man. “An’ this is the Sheriff, Wade Early.”

“I’m pleased to meet you,” Dona said.

Sheriff Early said, “I’m pleased to meet you, Miss. While I can’t call your name, I know you’re stopping at the Yazoo or were. One of my deputies told me about you. He said you came into town a little fast, but it would be sacrilege to drive a car like that any slower.”

Dona laughed. “I’ve kept under the speed limit since then.”

“I’m certain you have. Going to be with us long, Miss — ”

“Santos.”

“That’s right. Ransom did tell me. You aren’t by any chance kin to that pretty girl who sings on television? What’s her name? Estrella Santos.”

Dona wet her lips with the tip of her tongue. The story would be in the morning
Courier
. There was no point in not telling Early. “Yes,” she answered. “I am. Estrella is my mother.”

“I swear now,” Simpson said. “I wouldn’t have figured that possible. Maybe sisters, yes. But she’s not your mother.”

“I’ll tell Estrella. She’ll be pleased.”

“I mean it.”

“She married young.”

“She must have. Are you going to be with us for a while, Miss Santos?”

“I don’t know. Perhaps a month. At least, I’ve paid a month’s rent on a lake cottage.”

“Good,” Sheriff Early said. “But watch out for the Chamber of Commerce.”

“Why should I?”

“They’ll probably send out a photographer to get a cheesecake picture to use in the pamphlets they send North.”

Dona laughed. “I bought a bathing suit this afternoon.”

Early wasn’t as young a man as he looked. He was mature and shrewd. Dona was pleased that the incident had occurred. Both men liked her. She could tell by the way they acted. By coming to the station as she had, willing and ready to pay her fine, she’d proved herself a law-abiding citizen.

“You in show business, too?” Early asked.

“No. Estrella has all the talent in the family.”

“How come you landed in Blairville?”

Dona told him what she’d told Kelly. “I’ve been in Los Angeles a dozen times but I’ve never seen the South. And after all, Estrella did fly west on business. I don’t think the publicity boys at M.G.M. would welcome an eighteen-year-old daughter.”

Early chuckled. “That’s right. I read that in the
Courier
yesterday. Your mother’s going to make a picture, huh?”

“We hope so.”

“I hope so, too.”

Sheriff Early returned his hat to his head. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Miss Santos.”

Dona felt their eyes on her as she walked back down the hall. It was a comfortable feeling. Not all men were evil. Neither Sheriff Early nor Chief Simpson were trying to see through her skirt. They liked her. They thought she was a nice girl.

Court had broken while she’d been talking to the two officers. The stairs, leading to both the second floor and the foyer, were filled with men, most of whom were talking heatedly. A bailiff was attempting to clear the stairwell and the foyer.

“All right. Let’s get going, boys. Let’s not block the doorway or the stairs.”

As Dona waited for the entrance to clear so she could get outside, a well-dressed, middle-aged colored couple came down the stairs. The woman was wiping her eyes, the man looking straight ahead of him. They were followed by a white-haired colored woman who was shouting, “Praise the Lawd. Blessed be His name. For the Lawd shall look after His own.”

The man standing in front of Dona said, “The Lord, hell. The ol’ lady ought to be thankin’ Jack Ames an’ Tom Moran. Jack wants to be attorney general and Tom’s aimin’ even higher.”

His companion said, “Ain’t that a fact. Since the high court ruled niggers kin vote in the white primary, every politician in the state has been kissin’ their behinds.” He saw Dona and took off his hat. “I’m sorry, ma’am. Please excuse the language. I didn’t know you were there.”

He and his companion elbowed their way through the crowd in the foyer and walked through the double front door. Dona stood clinging to the newel post of the stairs. She felt empty, drained of all emotion except anger. She started as someone behind her cleared his throat and was relieved that it was Deputy Sheriff Ransom.

Ransom touched the brim of his hat. “Afternoon, Miss Santos. Hear you moved from the hotel to Loon Lake.”