“I don’t like the name Strange. Dustin’s a little different, but if more people were like him, the world would be a better place.” He took Bilbo’s lead rope and moved him so he could feel in his mouth. “Dorry said I should float their teeth, too, if they need it.”
“Dorry’s mighty good at tending to everyone’s business,” I said.
He laughed. “I thought this might be a setup. She asked me to lunch, too.” He released Bilbo’s head and started toward his truck. “I brought a Biloxi paper. I figured you’d want to see the front-page splash you made.”
“Don’t take it in the house,” I said.
“I wasn’t going to.” He walked out of the barn and returned in a few moments with three vaccinations and a stainless-steel bucket containing a rasp to file the sharp points down on the horses’ back teeth. “This won’t take long at all.”
After we’d finished with the horses, Michael led Bilbo while I took Mariah and Hooligan out to the front pasture. We stopped at his truck and he handed me the newspaper.
Bridal Veil Killer Strikes After 24-Year Hiatus, the headline screamed across the top of the page. My stomach knotted. If I’d ever doubted Brandon’s total disregard of responsibility, I didn’t any longer. Right below the headline was my byline. Mitch and Avery would both know I had nothing to do with the way the story was played, but most people didn’t understand that.
“You’re making quite a name for yourself,” Michael said.
There was no criticism in his tone. Michael wasn’t a man prone to panic, so he didn’t see the potential damage such an article could do.
“It’s a frightening situation, but this—” I shook the paper “—isn’t going to help. My boss is an idiot.”
Michael put his equipment back in the truck. “I’m not staying for lunch, Carson.”
“Mother and Dorry will be disappointed.”
He touched my chin, a whisper of a caress. “I don’t really care what they think.”
“I figured you’d want to be home for lunch with Polly and your daughter.” I held his hazel gaze.
“Polly’s filed for divorce. She wants a husband who gets off at five and comes home smelling of aftershave and money instead of cow shit. I’m not the man for her.”
I had a jolt of memory. Polly was standing in front of Elliot’s Jewelry Store on Main Street. It was a hot summer afternoon. We were eighteen, just graduated and wondering what the next fall would bring for us.
“I’m going to marry a rich man,” Polly had predicted. “Mama says you can love a man with money as easily as one without.”
June Tierce had been with us. June’s future was set. She’d gotten a full academic scholarship to Ole Miss. She claimed the school was filling a quota for black females, but I knew better. June was brilliant.
“Money doesn’t have anything to do with happiness,” June said to Polly.
“Of course it does,” Polly said with a grown-up snap in her voice. “Try being without money if you think it’s not important. It’s the only thing my mom and dad fight about.”
“Carson, are you okay?” Michael touched my arm, and I left the past to return to the barnyard and my former lover looking at me with open concern.
“I’m fine. I was just thinking of Polly.”
“She’s still a beautiful woman. She’ll find someone who gives her what she wants.” He shook his head. “I was foolish to think she’d—” He broke off. “Anyway, tell your folks I send my regrets. The truth is, I’ve got a herd of cows to vaccinate over in Vinegar Bend. It’s going to be a long day so I’d better get after it.”
I headed home before lunch, telling my parents that I had work. No one questioned me, but no one believed me, either. Greene County was dry. At one time my parents kept liquor in the house, amber and clear liquids for an afternoon highball or the frequent visitors who came to play cards or have dinner. It was only recently that the cut-glass decanters had been emptied and not refilled. I was the cause of that.
Almost home, I stopped at a small joint tucked away in the piney woods of Jackson County. The state blue laws had once dictated that liquor could not be sold until noon on a Sunday, but with the arrival of the casinos, times had changed for the Gulf Coast. I asked the bartender for a screwdriver, and she handed it over without even blinking.
When I got home, Mitch had called, tersely asking for a meeting Monday morning. There was also a message from Brandon, hyperventilating about the next big story. The sound of his voice made me want to do something violent. The last call on my machine I returned.
“Jack,” I said. “Those were good stories on the Dixie Mafia.”
“It’s easy to dredge up history. Your piece on the murders was well written and restrained.”
“Except for the headline.”
Jack barked a laugh. “You should’ve seen Hank and Brandon go at it.”
I felt a twinge. Hank had a bad heart, and he had no business arguing with Brandon. I took what comfort I could in knowing that if it wasn’t my story they fought over, it would be something else. “You said you needed a favor?”
“I’m in a little bit of a jam.” Jack’s voice was thin, as if he were having to force the words out. “Could I borrow five thousand dollars until Friday?”
“Sure.” I didn’t hesitate. Money was one thing I had. When Daniel and I had sold our property in Miami, we’d made a lot of money. Daniel had been more than generous. “Want me to run it by?”
“No!” He took in a deep breath. “I’ll come get it now. Thanks, Carson.”
“Don’t worry about it, Jack.” I could run up to the ATM and get some cash, since it sounded like a check wouldn’t do. “Come on by.”
The bank was only five minutes away, and I was sitting on my front porch when Jack pulled in. The fact that he wouldn’t meet my gaze told me a lot. I put the envelope on the seat of a wicker chair.
“I’m glad to do this, Jack. It’s the first time I’ve felt useful in a long time.”
He still didn’t look at me. “I’ll pay you back.”
“I know. Don’t be in a rush about it.”
He was a proud man, and whatever circumstances had forced him to borrow money from me was not my business unless he wanted to talk. Obviously he didn’t. I stood up. “I’m going to make a drink. Would you care for one?”
“No.”
I left the door open when I walked inside. His footsteps sounded on the porch, and then the screen door slammed. He was gone.
9
I got to the newspaper at 8:18 Monday morning. My arrival earned a sarcastic whistle from the police beat reporter, who rightly felt the Bridal Veil killings should have been his story. I ignored him as I walked by, but he couldn’t let it go.
“What happened? They close the bars early last night?” he asked, pointedly looking at his watch.
I turned slowly to face him. “What happened to put you in such a nasty mood? Your wife refuse to let you wear her garter belt and stockings?” I understood his anger, but it was directed at the wrong person. Brandon should be his target, not me.
Jack gave a loud laugh and there were a few twitters around the newsroom. I was disliked because of Brandon’s treatment of me. The police beat reporter was disliked because of how he treated others.