Carnal Innocence (36 page)

Tucker figured he wasn’t ready to admit another murder had taken place while he was in charge.

He swiped at mosquitoes, finding himself testy enough to want to shoot at the whining bloodsuckers instead of slapping at them. When he heard the long, echoing whistle of the train, he wished he were on it. Going anywhere.

When he’d finished his assigned area, he walked back to join Burke, Junior, Toby and the others who’d taken this side of the creek.

“They’re nearly done on the other bank,” Burke said. He was keeping a wary eye on Junior, ready to move in if Darleen’s husband started to relieve his anxiety by shooting at something more than a snake. “Singleton and Carl called in from McNair swamp. It’s all clear so far.”

Toby March laid his rifle in the bed of the pick-up. He thought of his own wife, his own daughter, and though it shamed him, in his heart he was grateful whoever was killing was choosing white skin.

“We still got about six hours of good daylight left,” he said to no one in particular. “I was thinking maybe some of us could ride down to Rosedale and Greenville and such. Ask around.”

“I’ve got Barb Hopkins calling all the motels, hospitals, the local police.” Burke took Junior’s gun and laid it with his own in the truck. “County’s sending her picture out.”

“There you go.” Will Shiver gave Junior a hearty slap on the back. “They’ll find her holed up in some motel, sitting on the bed, painting her toenails and watching TV.”

Saying nothing, Junior shrugged off the hand and walked away.

“Give him a minute,” Burke murmured.

The men shifted their gazes politely away. Toby squinted, adjusting the brim of his hat to cut the glare of the sun. “Somebody’s coming.”

It took several seconds before anyone else could make out the plume of gravel dust or the faint glint of metal through the waves of heat rising from the road.

“You black boys got eyes like hawks,” Will Shiver
said good-naturedly. “That car must be two miles away yet.”

“The eyes’re organs,” Toby returned with a sarcasm so subtle and smooth that Tucker had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from grinning. “You know what they say about our organs.”

Interested, Will cocked his head. “I heard tell that was a wives’ tale.”

“Yes, sir,” Toby said blandly. “There’s plenty of wives who’ll attest to it.”

Tucker coughed and turned away to light a cigarette. It didn’t seem quite right to laugh out loud with Junior suffering so close by. But my, it was good to smile for a minute.

He recognized the car a moment later, by the color and the speed with which it was traveling.

“It’s Josie.” He shot a glance at Burke. “Looks like she’s earning herself another speeding ticket.”

She skidded to a halt, spitting gravel and waving a hand out of the window. “Barb told us we’d find Y’all here. Earleen and I brought you boys some supper.”

She slid out of the car, looking cool and fresh in shorts and a halter that left her midriff bare. Her hair was tied back with a chiffon scarf, reminding Tucker of their mother.

“That’s real obliging of you ladies.” Will slanted Josie a smile that would have earned him a sharp slap from his fiancée.

“We like to take care of our men, don’t we, Earleen?” After answering Will’s smile, Josie turned to Burke. “Honey, you look worn out. You come on and have a glass of this iced tea. We brought two jugs.”

“Got a pile of ham sandwiches, too.” Earleen hefted a hamper out of the backseat. She set it on the shoulder and threw back the lid. “Y’all have to keep up your strength in this heat.”

“Yes, sir, meals on wheels.” Josie kept up a bright chatter as she dug into the hamper. “Earleen and I got this together so fast, we’re thinking we might go into the catering business. Junior, you come on and get one of these now, or you’ll hurt my feelings.”

When he didn’t even turn around, she gestured to her brother. “Tucker, pour me a cup of that tea.” While she waited, Josie unwrapped a sandwich and laid it on a paper napkin. “Earleen, you see that these boys leave enough for our next stop, you hear?” She rose, took the cup Tucker held out, then skirted around the truck.

Junior continued to stare down the road. Josie could see a muscle in his cheek twitch. She set the sandwich on the hood of the truck, then pressed the cup of tea into his hands.

“Now, you drink that, Junior. This heat steals all your fluids. A man could drink a gallon and not piss an ounce. Come on.” Gently, she rubbed a hand up and down his back. “Getting heat stroke’s not going to help.”

“We didn’t find her.”

“I know, honey. Take a drink.” She nudged the cup closer to his lips. “I was down at your mother-in-law’s before. When I left, you little boy was sleeping like an angel. He’s got a sweet disposition, that boy, and I do believe he has your eyes.”

She paused when Junior took two big gulps of tea. She took the cup from him and passed him the sandwich. He ate mechanically, his eyes glazed with fatigue and worry. Josie slipped an arm around him, knowing there were few things more comforting than human contact.

“It’s going to be all right, Junior. I promise. Everything’s going to be just fine. You wait and see.”

His eyes filled, spilled over, running rivulets through the sweat and grime on his face. But he kept eating. “I thought I fell out of love with her when I walked into the kitchen and found her with Billy T. Seemed like my heart just closed off toward her. It don’t feel like that now.”

Moved by his grief, she pressed a kiss to his cheek. “It’ll work out, honey. You trust Josie.”

He struggled to compose himself. “I don’t want my son to grow up without a mother.”

“He won’t have to.” Josie’s eyes darkened as she
wiped Junior’s tears with the paper napkin. “You believe that, Junior, and it’ll all be fine.”

They searched until it was too dark for the ’copters to fly or the men to see. When Tucker arrived home, he was greeted by a weary Buster, who had tried, and failed, to avoid the puppy throughout the day.

“I’ll take him off your hands.” Tucker gave Buster an absent pat before scooping up Useless. The pup wiggled and licked and barked as Tucker carried him into the house. “If you’ve been like this all day, I’m surprised you didn’t give my old hound a stroke.”

He headed for the kitchen, dreaming of a beer, a cold shower, and Caroline. He found Della slicing roast beef and Cousin Lulu playing solitaire.

“What do you think you’re doing, bringing that dog into my kitchen?”

“Giving Buster a break.” Tucker set the dog down and he immediately scooted under Lulu’s chair. “Have you heard from Caroline?”

“She called not ten minutes ago. She was going to stay with Happy until Singleton or Bobby Lee got home.” Della arranged another slice of roast beef on the platter. Because she could see how tired Tucker was, she didn’t slap at his hand when he stole it. “She’s coming by here to pick up this fleabag.”

Tucker grunted over a mouthful of beef, and pulled a beer out of the fridge.

“I’ll have one of those,” Lulu said without looking up. “Cards’re thirsty work.”

Tucker popped the lid on a second bottle, then scanned the hand she’d dealt. “You can’t put a black three on a black five. You need a red four between.”

“I’ll put it there when I get one.” Lulu tipped back the beer, studying him over it. “You look like something that’s been dragged through the swamp.”

“I guess I have been.”

“That youngest Fuller girl still missing?” Lulu cheated a red ten out of her pile and played it. “Della’s
been half the day over at Happy’s. I’m reduced to solitaire.”

“I got a duty—” Della began, but Lulu waved her off.

“Nobody’s criticizing. I’d’ve gone myself, but nobody thought to ask me.”

“I told you I was going.” Della thwacked the knife down on the cutting board.

“Not the same as being asked.” Lulu did some more creative cheating. “People come and go so much around here, it makes my blood tired. Josie in and out all hours of the day and night. Tucker here gone for a day at a stretch. Dwayne wasn’t back five minutes before he takes a bottle of Wild Turkey and goes out again.”

Della started to defend her brood, then frowned. “When did Dwayne get back?”

“Half hour ago. Looked as muddy and worn-out as Tucker. Went out the same way.”

“He take his car?”

“Don’t see how he could.” Lulu reached in her pocket and drew out a set of keys. “He took the bottle, so I took these.”

Della nodded in approval. “Where do you think you’re going?” she asked Tucker as he tried to edge out of the room.

“I need a shower.”

“You’ve lived with that sweat all day, you can live with it awhile longer. Go on down and see if Dwayne’s at the pond.”

“Shit, Della, I’ve already walked a hundred miles today.”

“Then you can walk one more. I’m not having him fall in and drown. You bring him up here, where he can get cleaned up and eat. They’ll want him out there tomorrow just like they’ll want you.”

Grumbling, Tucker sat down his half-finished beer and started out the back door. “I hope to Christ he hasn’t had time to get drunk yet.”

He was only half drunk, which was exactly the way Dwayne liked it best. The fatigue of the day had faded
into a nice, friendly buzz. Slogging through McNair swamp with Bobby Lee and Carl and the others had been a miserable way to spend a day.

He’d gone willingly enough, and would go again in the morning. He didn’t begrudge the time or the effort, and didn’t see that anyone would begrudge him a little time with the bottle to wash the day away.

He’d felt for Bobby Lee especially. Whenever he’d looked into the boy’s face and seen the strain and fear, he’d wondered what it would be like to be searching for his own sister.

That thought had him burning his throat with more whiskey.

He wanted to think of pleasant things now. Of how nice the crickets sounded in counterpoint with the buzzing in his ears. How soft the grass felt under his bare feet. He thought he might spend the night there, watching the moon rise and the stars come out.

When Tucker sat down beside him, Dwayne obligingly passed him the bottle. Tucker took it, but didn’t drink.

“This stuff’ll kill you, son.”

Dwayne only smiled. “It takes it’s sweet time doing it, though.”

“You know it worries Della when you do this.”

“I’m not doing it to worry her.”

“Why are you doing it, Dwayne?” Tucker expected no response and continued without one. He gauged his brother’s condition and knew he was sober enough to be coherent, drunk enough to talk. “‘Drunkenness is a voluntary madness.’ Can’t think right off who said that, but it rings true.”

“I’m not drunk yet, or mad either,” Dwayne said placidly. “Just working on both.”

Wanting to choose his words carefully, Tucker took time to light half a cigarette. “It’s getting bad. The past couple of years it’s been getting real bad. First I thought it was because so many things went wrong so close together. Daddy dying, then Mama. Sissy taking off. Then I thought it was because Daddy drank so heavy
and you just picked up on whatever genes it takes to have you follow him along.”

Annoyed, and not wanting to be, Dwayne took the bottle back. “You do your share of drinking.”

“Yeah. But I’m not making it my life’s work.”

“We do what we do best.” Dwayne lifted the bottle and drank. “Of all the things I’ve tried, getting drunk’s the one thing I don’t worry about screwing up.”

“That’s bullshit.” The fury rushed out so quick and sharp, it shocked them both. He hadn’t known it had been preying on him, eating at him from the inside—this reality of what his big brother had become, layered over the image of the one Tucker had once admired and envied. “That’s just bullshit.” Tucker snatched the bottle and, springing to his feet, flung it into the water. “I’m tired of this, goddammit. I’m fucking tired of carrying you home, making up excuses for you in my head, of watching you kill yourself one bottle at a time. That’s what he did. Flying that goddamn plane while he was shitfaced. The old man killed himself sure as if he’d put a gun in his mouth and pulled the trigger.”

Dwayne got shakily to his feet. He weaved a little, but his eyes were steady. “You’ve got no reason to talk to me like this. You’ve got no right to talk about him either.”

Tucker grabbed Dwayne by the shirtfront, tearing seams. “Who the hell has the right if not me, when I grew up loving both of you? Being hurt by both of you?”

A muscle in Dwayne’s cheek began to twitch. “I’m not Daddy.”

“No, you’re not. But he was a fucking drunk, and so are you. The only difference is he got mean with it and you just get pathetic.”

“Who the hell are you?” His mouth moved into a snarl as he grabbed Tucker’s shirt in turn. “I’m the oldest. It was always me he jumped on first. I was supposed to take care of things, to fucking carry on the Longstreet legacy. It was me who got shipped off to school, me who got put in charge of the fields. Not you. Never you, Tuck. I never wanted it, but he wouldn’t let
me go my own way. Now he’s dead and I can do what I want.”

“You’re not doing anything but sliding into a bottle. You’ve got two sons of your own. At least he was here. At least he acted like a father.”

Dwayne let out a howl, and then they were wrestling on the grass, grunting and growling like a pair of dogs looking for a soft spot to sink fangs into. Tucker took a short glancing blow to his still-sore ribs. The fresh pain brought a burst of wild fury into his blood. Even as they went tumbling into the pond, he was bloodying his brother’s lip.

They went under grappling, came up sputtering and cursing. They kicked and shoved, but the water softened the blows and began to make them both feel foolish.

Tucker scissored his legs, holding Dwayne by his torn shirt, one fist reared back. Dwayne mirrored his position so exactly, the two of them stared, panting.

“Shit,” Tucker said, warily eyed his brother as he lowered his fist. “You used to hit harder.”

Gingerly, Dwayne touched the back of his hand to his swollen lip. “You used to be slower.”

They released each other to tread water. “I wanted a shower, but this isn’t half bad.” Tucker swiped the hair out of his eyes. “Though Christ knows what’s in this water.”