A Merry Little Christmas (27 page)

“Yes?” Charlie drummed his fingers on the table. “And what does my being a Landau have to do with your visit or this conversation?”

The sheriff flushed the color of bubbling cherries on the stove. “Well, we know that rich folk are used to getting…exactly what they want.”

“I assure you that everything we’re doing out here is proper,” Charlie said. “Franny lives in the house, and I live in the small apartment above the toolshed.”

Franny had to consciously unclench her jaw. “Charlie owns the farm now, and I’m helping him until he can manage it on his own.” She saw a flicker of pain in Charlie’s eyes, and it pierced her through to put it there, but she didn’t want to give away too many pearls of personal details, especially to a man like Dunlap who was swine even on a good day. And what she’d spoken was the truth. Even though Charlie had professed love to her, he’d yet to mention anything more permanent.

Franny brought her thoughts back to the matter at hand. She’d only missed a bit of grousing between Dunlap and the sheriff. “Please thank your wives for me. Their genuine concern over my welfare renders me speechless.” She nearly lost the contents of her stomach with her last comment, but she decided to offer them blank bullets and save the real ammo for the final clash that was about to erupt.

The sheriff’s strained smile made him look as though he might bust right out of his uniform, but considering his rotund frame, he always did bulge like an overstuffed sausage. “I’m sure they’ll be relieved to hear the rest of the story.”

“Thank you for coming,” Franny said.

The sheriff picked up his hat and rose, knocking over the dinette chair. As he righted the chair, he dropped his hat. When Dunlap made no move to leave, the sheriff picked up his hat and plopped back down on his chair. He looked more than a little tired of their meeting. He surely wanted to be home eating more of his wife’s lard-laced cooking.

Dunlap paid no attention to the sheriff’s social fumbling as he calmly licked the edge of his rolling paper and sealed up the tobacco. “But as you know, we have one more issue to discuss.”

Tiny bits of spit flew from Dunlap’s mouth when he talked, which made Franny cringe and want to swab the kitchen down with what was left of her grandmother’s lye soap.

Franny could hardly look at the man. “Yes, you mentioned something about my dear friend, Noma.” She tried to keep her tone civil, but it was getting harder by the minute, especially since she knew why they’d really come—to harass Noma into leaving.

The sheriff wriggled in his chair like a guilty child. “Dunlap, I’m not sure this is the best time to get into—”

“Horsefeathers! The law is the law, Sheriff. People around here are good, honest citizens, and they’re just trying to do the right thing. That’s all I’m trying to do…all I’ve ever wanted to do.”

Charlie balled up his hands and rested them on the table. “Noma Jefferson is our friend. She needed a job, and we gave her one. What can be unlawful about that?”

Dunlap raised his chin. “We’ve had some complaints about that colored cook of yours.”

The sheriff didn’t speak up but snapped his suspenders hard enough that he was nearly catapulted right out of his chair.

One could only dream.

“We heard she was in the mercantile buying ice milk,” Dunlap went on to say, “
and
she bought a box of
matches
too.”

Franny leaned forward, pretending to look deeply concerned. “On those matches, were they pocket-sized, or was it the thrifty full-sized box? Makes a difference, you know.” She could hardly believe she was having such a conversation with two grown men.

Dunlap narrowed his eyes.

The sheriff spoke up. “I don’t rightly see how that…Now, wait just a cotton-pickin’ minute. I get your meaning, and there’s no need to get all saucy with us, Miss Martin.”

“Noma was there because we were all out of ice milk and matches,” Franny said. “Are you going to need to document her purchases every time she goes into town? That’s going to put a real crimp in your hectic schedule.”

Dunlap fiddled with the change in his pockets. “Coloreds aren’t allowed in the mercantile at certain times of the day. And they can’t go waltzing through the front door. You know that as well as I do.”

“And who made up those rules?” Franny asked. “You?”

“You have to understand, we just don’t get many colored folk in Hesterville,” the sheriff said, “so when one of ’em comes into town, people get jittery. Folks aren’t sure what to do.”

“What to do? Well, they could start by saying hello.” Franny felt like giving somebody a good thrashing. “And then, maybe, merry Christmas.”

“Now, you hear me right.” Dunlap leaned toward her. “That colored woman touched two dresses while she was in the mercantile. Ones that were new on the rack. And now the Gurneys will have to burn them. Who’s going to pay for that? You?”

“And why would the Gurneys feel obligated to burn perfectly good dresses?” Franny asked, knowing full well their insane reasoning.

“Because those dressed are contaminated, and if folks get the idea that the Gurneys are letting coloreds touch and try on their clothes, they’ll be out of business in a week.”

Franny slapped her hand on the table. “That is the most ungodly and asinine thing I’ve ever heard. And I know the real reason we don’t get many Negros in town—it’s because of the signs you keep putting up. And those signs, well, you have to put them up in the dark, don’t you? You have an aversion to the light. Yes, it’s always the skunks and rats that come out at night.”

Dunlap merely cocked his head at her. “And one of these days you’re going to regret demolishing my signs, missy.” He pinched off the excess tobacco from the ends of his cigarette and let the crumbles fall onto Noma’s freshly waxed floor.

“Hmm. Sounds like a murderous threat to me.” Franny swallowed the bile rising in her throat. “I guess I’d better watch my back.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” Dunlap’s lip curled as he rolled the cigarette around in his hand.

“You know exactly what it means.” Franny prayed for calm.

Willie shifted on the stool but said nothing.

Charlie writhed in his chair, and Franny could sense his anger rising. In fact, Charlie appeared ready to launch a few fiery words when Henry lumbered in from another room and settled himself next to him. Henry could sense when people were upset, and he always did his best to calm them down. But there was nothing he could do, since both she and Charlie were beyond calming.

Dunlap looked at Henry. “Hmph. What a useless-looking mongrel.”

“This may be a very good time to ask you to leave,” Charlie said.

“I came with the sheriff, so I think your language should be a bit more respectful.” Dunlap’s sneer was falsely cordial. “If you don’t mind.”

“Then I request that you make your language equally respectful,” Charlie replied. “
If
you don’t mind.”

Henry went over to Dunlap and pushed his nose against the pocket of his trousers, as he sometimes did even with strangers, hoping for a treat. Horrified that the man might harm Henry in some way, she called him back. The dog’s brief nudge was just enough, though, to push something from his pocket and make it fall to the floor.

Franny stared at the item—a small toy—just before Dunlap snatched it up. The man had actually stolen one of the toys Uncle George had made for her when she was a child. “What are you doing with that toy? It’s mine, and it’s precious to me.”

“Are you calling me a thief?” Dunlap slapped his hand over his heart.

“Yes, I am.” Then Franny remembered the shadow of something or someone who’d been sneaking around the farm in the twilight. “It was you…yesterday. You were the one creeping around the farm, spying and stealing from us.”

“You have no proof.”

“Yes, I do. Those were one-of-a-kind toys that Uncle George made for me. No one else has anything like that around here.”

The sheriff grunted as if in a fit of indigestion. “So, is that true? What Miss Martin said? You been stealing baby toys, Dunlap?” A hint of amusement trickled into his voice, making Franny want to throttle him.

“What of it?” Dunlap asked. “It’s just a piece of rubbish.”

“It isn’t to me. I want it back.” Franny put out her hand. “You’ve been sneaking around this farm, trying to find ways to torment me, just as you did all those years ago.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Dunlap flung the toy on the table, almost breaking it.

Charlie made his hands into fists. “You were on our property illegally, Dunlap. And you stole from us.” He turned to the sheriff. “Aren’t you going to do anything?”

The sheriff seemed to think for a moment, which was a feat in itself, and then said, “I don’t see much harm done. That is, if you agree not to do it again, Dunlap. Agreed?”

Dunlap released some air, letting his lips flap in a revolting way. “Your old George. I remember him too well. He’d stand by the back door of the co-op office to pick up some papers for your daddy, and, boy howdy, if he wasn’t proud, standing there. Just a-bragging away that he’d made some worthless little toys for the Martin girl. And all the while, you know what we were doing? Laughing at him. Yeah, old George sure provided us with some good entertainment in those days. We shoulda told him to dance for us too.”

Franny felt ready to burn up in a flare of white-hot fury. His insults were maddeningly casual for a murderer—Uncle George’s murderer! But if she accused Dunlap of the crime head-on, they would both laugh at her. She leaned toward him, hoping Dunlap could experience every bit of indignation in her eyes. “Did you steal all the toys out of our storage? Just to harass me because my family hired George? How low can you slither, Dunlap?”

Dunlap stared at his fingernails. “The people ’round here should give me a metal. No, a statue should be erected in my honor in the square, thanking me for all I’ve done for this town. I’ve been the watch keeper, the caretaker here, and yet so few know to thank me for my service.”

“People don’t need to thank you. They need to be protected from you.” Franny thought of their house being unlocked at night and realized that Dunlap would now take away that innocent practice, the freedom they had always taken for granted. Life would never be quite the same again. “And you’ve been spying on Noma, haven’t you?”

Dunlap released a low snarl. “It’s a mystery to me. You people. Taking up for these folk. Can’t you see? They were meant for a lower order. It’s revolting, what you people are doing in this house, making that woman your equal and friend. It’s not acceptable. It will
not
be tolerated!” Dunlap’s eyes became dark glowering orbs, as if some of the foul stirrings inside him suddenly rose to the surface.

Franny shivered—at the sight of such evil.

“Or you’ll do what?” Charlie asked in an ominously quiet timbre.

“Adjustments will have to be made.” Dunlap took the toe of his boot and twisted it on the floor as if he were snuffing out something under his foot. “I will prevail.”

Charlie rose. “And so modifications must include silencing those who go against your views?” He seemed to ask this as if unaware and needing enlightenment.

“Yes, of course. I am the protector. The appointed one!” Then, like a bolt of red lightning, Dunlap’s laughter sliced through the room, demented and raucous.

Charlie took in a sharp breath.

Stunned, Franny squeezed the chair cushion until her hands ached.
Lord, is this a confession? Is this what I’ve been waiting for all these years?

Willie had been sitting in silence, but his expression and posture intensified.

Charlie splayed his fingers on the table and loomed over Dunlap. “So, you admit to silencing someone.”

“It had to be done,” Dunlap hissed. “That creature, George, was trying to replace her father…one of our own,” his voice rose to a fevered pitch.

“I finally see it. You made a few things right again,” Charlie said smoothly. “You did what no one else could do. You smothered the life out of George Hughes so he wouldn’t continue to contaminate this town. Or should I give the credit to someone else?”

“No, you fool!
I
alone deserve the recognition.” Dunlap slammed his fist on the table. “I’m the one who righted the wrongs in this town. I’m tired of being the caretaker without any of the praise. All my deeds have been in secret, but
I’m
the one who has a right to the glory.”

And you’re the one, Dunlap, who has a right to the jail time.
Franny felt like giving Charlie a big, slobbery kiss.

The sheriff shrank back from Dunlap, his eyes widening. “We’ve known each other a good part of our lives, and I’ve put up with your views…but I see now that I shouldn’t have. I knew better. When I was a kid, I used to play with the colored kids over in Lancaster. They were my friends. But ever since I met you, I got away from that thinking. And then while I wasn’t paying any mind to you…well, you slid right into purgatory.” He gave the gun in his holster a timorous touch. “I’ve stomached a lot of things from you over the years, but I sure didn’t think it would come to murder.”

The sheriff rose as if attending a funeral, his head lowered and his shoulders hunched in what looked like sorrow. “Payton Dunlap, you’re under arrest for the murder of George Hughes. If you come along now without a struggle, I won’t use the handcuffs.”

Franny had to make a conscious effort to close her mouth, with all the drama.
This is it. And those walls—can you see it, Daddy?—those walls of Jericho did come tumbling down.

“How can you do this?” Dunlap glared at the sheriff, his face changing into a fierce mask. “All this time, I thought you were my friend, but you’ve always been a traitor to the cause.”

“The law is the law,” the sheriff said.

“You
betrayed
me.”

“Well, I guess the way I see it, it’s the other way around.”

“But I did it for the good of the town—for their protection! Why can’t you see? To keep things as they were, respectable and safe and…” Dunlap’s words faded as his chin fell against his chest. A tiny trail of saliva dribbled out of the corner of his mouth. “The caretakers are never appreciated in their own towns.” He opened his mouth again, but only gibberish came out.