arkansastraveler (12 page)

“What did the detective ask you?” Gabe said, nuzzling my neck.

“Just wanted me to give my story, which I did in twenty-five words or less. I asked him if there were any suspects, and he very smoothly wished me a good evening.”

“Good for him,” Gabe said.

“Look, am I the only person here worried that this might somehow hurt Amen and her family?”

“We’re all worried,” Emory said. “But let’s not speculate too much until we have more information.”

“You’re sounding less and less like a journalist every day,” I said.

“Thank goodness for that,” Gabe commented.

“Hey, now,” Emory said. “Let’s not disparage the good profession of journalism too much. The people do have a right to know . . .”

Before it could turn into another spirited debate between them about journalistic ethics, I said to Gabe, “The detective seemed very impressed with your LAPD credentials.” With my thumb I smoothed down a couple of rogue hairs on Gabe’s thick mustache.

“Well, I am an impressive sort of guy,” he said.

I gave the end of his mustache a solid tug.

“Ow!” he said.

“Quit being so arrogant. At the risk of Garnet’s wrath,
let’s walk down to Amen’s headquarters and see if we can help.”

“How about me and Elvia meeting you at the Dairy Queen in about an hour?” Emory said. “I have a few more places I want to show Elvia.”

“Be careful,” I told my friend. “He’s going to take you to all the make-out spots.”

“Why do they get to make out and we have to stuff envelopes?” Gabe protested.

“Because we’re an old married couple. Besides, I want you to meet Amen.”

Isaac and Uncle WW, unwilling to incur the bad favor of either sister, chose to stay on the porch and watch the sun dip below the pine tree horizon.

In Amen’s small two-room office next to Beulah’s, there were half a dozen people doing as many different tasks—making phone calls, stuffing and addressing envelopes, running copies, typing address labels.

“Hey, kids,” Dove said from behind a table near the window. A stack of white envelopes and pink fliers sat in neat piles in front of her.

Amen was in the small office in back typing on a laptop computer. She looked up and smiled at my greeting. “Hey, y’all here to help? Grab a bunch of envelopes and start stuffing.”

“If that’s what you need us to do,” I said.

Amen shook her head no. “No, just testing you. We’re almost done for tonight. We’re running out of fliers so we’ll be closing up shop in a half-hour or so.” Her eyes flitted back to her computer screen. “Except for me. I’m working on a speech for tomorrow morning’s Rotary Club meeting. Any excuse to take a break, though, is more than welcome.”

She stood up and walked over to Gabe, holding out her hand. “I’m Amen Tolliver. You must be Benni’s very significant other.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I said. “Yep, this is the one and only Gabriel Ortiz.”

“Nice to meet you,” he said, shaking her hand, his manner friendly but, I could tell, wary. “Benni speaks highly of you.”

They studied each other intently. I felt a small tension between them that perplexed me.

“Same here,” Amen said. “Benni’s done bragged up and down the town about you. It’s good we finally meet.”

“I didn’t brag that much,” I said, elbowing her. “He’s very conceited. Don’t make it worse.”

She smiled and spread her arm out, presenting the little room. “So, what do you think of my battle headquarters?”

“Very impressive,” I said, gazing around the dark-paneled room covered with various posters touting her political abilities and admonishments to vote with your conscience, not your pocketbook. “You’re in a room surrounded by posters dedicated to your favorite person. Heaven on earth.”

She crumpled up a small flier and threw it at me. I ducked and let it fall to the floor. “Ha, you’ve lost your arm, Amen Tolliver. Good thing you went into politics and not sports.”

“She’s a hard pill to swallow sometimes, isn’t she, Mr. Ortiz?” she said, her dark eyes challenging.

“Nothing I can’t handle,” Gabe said, his voice neutral.

“Yes, sirree, a hard pill indeed,” she said, looking first at him, then at me, her left eyebrow raised slightly. I knew that look. Amen had it whenever she encountered someone who particularly annoyed her. I gave her a puzzled look, which she ignored. What
was
going on between these two?

Luckily Duck picked that moment to walk in.

“Curly Top!” he said. “Wondered when I’d run into you again.”

At the sound of Duck’s affectionate nickname, Gabe’s face stiffened with territorial jealousy.

“Duncan Wakefield,” Duck said, striding over to Gabe with an open hand. “But call me Duck. Everyone does. You must be Gabe. Great to meet you. Curly Top and I go way back, share some particularly special moments, but I’m sure she’s told you all that.”

“Actually she hasn’t,” Gabe said, shooting me an irritated glance.

“I was going to,” I said, giving him my most winning smile.

Duck laughed. “Whatever she tells you, only believe half of it.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Gabe said, his eyes informing me we’d talk about this later.

Duck went over to Amen and gave her a quick hug. “How’s it goin’, Mayor Tolliver?”

“You optimist, you,” she said, her eyes shining with appreciation for his support. Then they grew troubled. “Have you seen Quinton today?”

“We had breakfast in Little Rock this morning. Didn’t he tell you?”

“No, I haven’t seen him all day and I’m worried. Especially after what happened to Toby Hunter last night.”

“He came to the city to sign up for some law seminar. Said he was going to drop by and see some friends and wouldn’t be home until late. I told him to call you and let you know.”

She shook her head and sighed. “He’s worse than Lawrence. I don’t want him being anywhere he can’t be accounted for. Toby’s gang of rejects are probably driving around lookin’ to pay back.”

“He’ll be fine,” Duck said, resting a hand on her shoulder.

The fear in Amen’s face was something I’d never seen in her. “I hope so.”

His hand still on her shoulder, he said, “There were a couple more tonight. I have them in my truck.”

Her eyes darted over to a pile of signs sitting next to her desk, covered with a white tarp. They’d obviously been in people’s yards already. The posts were stained black with damp soil. Her chin went up. “Later, Duck.”

“What’re those?” Gabe asked, going over to the pile of yard signs.

“Leave those alone!” she said.

He threw the tarp back, revealing posters of her face covered with the spray-painted words “No nigger mayor” and thick wide swastikas.

I felt my stomach lurch in disgust. Gabe’s face flushed with anger, his jaw hardening.

Amen grabbed the tarp from his hands and threw it back over the posters. “You don’t take orders very well, do you, Mr. Ortiz?”

“Have you reported these to the police?” he asked.

“Right, like they’re going to worry too much about it, especially now with Toby Hunter getting himself killed.”

“Amen, you know he’s right,” Duck said, giving Gabe an apologetic look. “I’ve been trying to get her to report these for a week, but she refuses.”

“What good would it do except stir up more animosity and cause bad publicity for me?” she asked. “There’s lots of people on the fence about who to vote for, but if they think that electing me mayor would cause some kind of race war in the town, I wouldn’t have a chance. Can’t you see that?”

“You could be hurt,” Duck said, his voice weary from an obviously much-repeated plea.

“Amen,” Gabe said, his face softening slightly, “the police can’t do anything if they don’t know about it.”

She went back to her computer, hit some buttons, and stared at the screen for a moment before answering Gabe. “I know that, but I’m telling you, the whole police force in this town is made up of white men, many of whom owe their jobs to the very people who don’t want me in office.
How much time do you really think they’d put into finding out who did this? Especially now, with the mayor’s son dead.” She closed the lid of her laptop and looked up at us, her face grim. “Besides, after last night, we pretty much know who’s behind it, don’t we?”

“I
DON
’
T THINK
she meant Grady Hunter,” I said to Gabe a few minutes later as we walked toward the Dairy Queen. The streets were nearly empty though it was only a little past eight o’clock. It was something I’d forgotten—how early the sidewalks rolled up in these small Southern towns.

“Why not? That’s who I’d guess was behind it.”

“For one thing, I met him, and he didn’t seem the kind of man who’d put his son up to something like that.”

“Are you saying you trust a politician?” Gabe’s laugh was cynical.

“No, but I trust Amen. She really respects him. She told me and Elvia yesterday that she doesn’t think he’s been a bad mayor, just one who’s behind the times. She says his biggest problem is he just has no impetus to change.”

“Most rich white people don’t.”

His bitter words startled me. Not knowing quite how to answer, I changed the subject. “So, what did you think of Amen?”

He gave it some thought, then said, “She’s a brave woman.”

“That’s a given. But what did you think of her personally?” Without a doubt, there’d been tension between them, and I wanted to know why.

“She seems nice.”

Okay, he was forcing me to just flat out ask. “
Mi esposo querido
, I know when someone annoys you. What was it between you and Amen?”

He laughed and kept walking, not looking at me. “You have the worst Spanish accent I’ve ever heard. I told you, she seems nice.”

I grabbed his arm, stopping him. “Can the bullcrap, Chief. What
is
it?”

He shrugged, trying not to show his irritation. “Okay, she’s just . . . I don’t know, not entirely . . .” His blue-gray eyes bore into mine. “Sweetheart, that woman is hiding something.”

“Hiding something? That’s ridiculous.”

“Fine. You want to know what I think, then you tell me it’s ridiculous.
That’s
why I didn’t want to say anything.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean you’re ridiculous. I just can’t imagine what Amen would have to hide. I’ve known her almost my whole life. She and Emory are practically siblings. If she had anything to hide, don’t you think he’d know about it?”

He tilted his head. “Maybe he does.”

“And not tell me? I’ll jerk him through a knot if that’s true.”

“At any rate, I am impressed with her guts. I respect the fact that she won’t let those bigots run her off.”

“I hope she’ll be okay,” I said.

Gabe interlaced his fingers through mine. “I hope so, too,
querida
.” He brought my hand up to his lips and kissed it. “Not to change the subject, but what’s the story behind you and, what was his name, Quack?”

I pulled my hand out of his and smacked him on the shoulder. “That’s Duck. Dr. Duck Wakefield actually.”

He did his best to keep his face neutral, but I could tell he was impressed. “He’s a doctor?”

“A cardiologist, so you’d best be nice to him in case you have a heart attack while you’re in Arkansas.”

He snickered. “A doctor named Quack.”

“
Duck
, and quit making fun of him.”

“So, how are you and this Dr. Donald Duck connected in the past? And as long as I’m asking questions, why does he call you Curly Top?”

I held out a strand of my very curly hair. “The answer to the second question is obvious, don’t you think? And the answer to the first, if you must know, is he gave me my first kiss. Behind that very Dairy Queen up there.”

He glanced to where I pointed. A block away, the Dairy Queen was a bright beacon on an unusually dark street. Two or three obviously teenager-owned cars and pickups were parked in the shadows of the large lot. I could see Uncle Boone’s tan Cadillac parked in a front space. The car was empty, so Emory and Elvia must be waiting for us inside.

“Is that right?” he said, grinning. “And how old were you exactly?”

“Twelve. But he was fourteen so he was experienced.” I walked slightly ahead of him. “Most memorable kiss I ever had.”

His hand closed on my upper arm, turning me around. “Is that right?” he said. “Guess we’ll just have to take steps to remedy that.” Before he could, I jerked out of his grasp and started running.

“You gotta catch me first!” I yelled over my shoulder. “Loser buys the ice cream!”

Even with my head start, he beat me to the Dairy Queen’s front door by two lengths, then caught me up in his arms and twirled me around. We were giggling and out of breath, poking and grabbing at each other like two kids, when Emory and Elvia walked through the glass doors.

“Y’all better stop actin’ like a couple of hooligans, or I’m going to have to call the law,” Emory said.

Elvia watched our shenanigans with an indulgent, relaxed smile. Her face was softer and calmer than I’d seen it in the last few days. It was definitely the face of a woman who’d been thoroughly and expertly kissed for a long period of time.

“Better fix your lipstick,” I whispered to her as we walked inside the Dairy Queen. “It’s looking a little mussed.”

Her face turned pink, and she swatted at me, missing me by a mere inch.

At my insistence, we took our ice cream outside to eat. “I want to hear the frogs,” I said.

“She’s actin’ like they don’t have frogs in California,” Emory said, carrying his banana split and Elvia’s vanilla malt over to the redwood tables.

“I’m telling you, they sound different here,” I said.

“Where’s the men’s room in this place?” Gabe asked, after setting my Moon Pie sundae and his strawberry shake on the table.

“Out back,” I said. “Make a note of the wall next to the service door. It was in that very spot history was made twenty-four years ago.”

Emory held out his hand. “For which you still owe me five bucks.”

“Shut your mouth,” I said, jerking my head over at my husband. “He thinks it was voluntary.”

Gabe’s face lit up. “You mean Emory had to pay this Dr. Quack to kiss you?”

“Thanks a lot, cousin,” I said. “Wait’ll I get your girl alone. I’m going to tell her about the summer you decided to paint your—”

“Stop right there,” Emory broke in, his face red. “She doesn’t need to know about
that
.”

“His what?” Elvia said, her eyes bright with curiosity.

“Hold that story,” Gabe said, laughing, “until I get back.”

Emory and I were still teasing back and forth when the primer-gray Camaro drove up and backed into a spot next to our table. A large Confederate flag in the rear window hid the backseat occupants. The muffler, in need of some work, drowned out our words.

“Excuse me while I pick my ears up off the table,” Emory joked.

Three young men stepped out of the car, all wearing T-shirts, jeans, and short, military-style haircuts. Two dangled cigarettes from their lips; the third wore a black parachute-cloth jacket with white letters stating, “White Is Might.”

When they glanced over at us, my heart started beating faster. I looked at my cousin to see if he recognized the vehicle. It was the same one following Toby’s truck last night.

Emory’s shoulders tightened under his pale gold golf shirt. “Stay cool, ladies,” he said, turning his attention to his banana split. “Just eat your ice cream.”

We did as he said, trying to make casual conversation. I kept my eyes on Emory, resisting the urge to stare them down. I knew, like mean dogs, it would likely set them off. As they walked behind Emory and Elvia, the one in the jacket reached over and flipped a strand of Elvia’s dark hair.

“Ain’t that sweet. Mr. Emory Littleton takin’ his little Mexican housekeeper out for a night on the town.”

In one swift movement, Emory stood up and swung his fist around, catching the speaker in the jaw.

“Asshole!” the man yelled, the blow knocking him backward. He lunged at Emory, and they grappled awkwardly.

Elvia sat stunned in her seat, her eyes frantic.

I stood up, planning to run for Gabe, when another of the men jumped Emory’s back. Instinct overcame good
sense, and I scrambled over the table, knocking my sundae onto the ground.

“Go get Gabe!” I yelled to Elvia.

I jumped on the second guy’s back, pounding his right ear with my fist.

“Hey! Stop it, you little . . .” he yelled, trying to beat me off with one hand.

“Leave my cousin alone!” I screamed in his ear.

“Benni, get outta here!” Emory yelled.

“Let him go!” I kept pounding on his head and trying to dodge his blows. Behind us, the third guy gave a high-pitched hyena laugh.

With a grunt, the guy I clung to gave a great heave and threw me off his back. I hit the concrete curb with the side of my hip. For a moment, hot pain seared through my upper leg, and a shower of stars sparkled across my line of vision.

At the sound of heavy breathing, I looked up and glimpsed the shiny blade of a buck knife. Thick beads of sweat dotted the man’s angry, red face.

He grabbed my forearm and squeezed it until I squawked in pain. “Here’s a little permanent reminder to stay away from grown men’s fights.” Elvia screamed as I struggled to pull my arm away from the blade.

From somewhere came an almost animal roar. Gabe brought a fist down on the man’s wrist. The knife clattered to the concrete, and in seconds Gabe had him pulled off me and in a choke hold.

Hearing his friend’s strangled protests, the first guy backed away from Emory and stared, his chest heaving. Gabe’s face was cold as a river rock as he tightened his arm around the man’s neck.

“Gabe,” I rasped out, unable to call out any louder.

The man’s face started to turn dark red.

At that moment, a blue-and-white Sugartree police car squealed into the parking lot, followed in seconds by
another. Two young patrol officers jumped out and drew their guns, pointing them directly at Gabe.

“Let him go, now!” one yelled. His voice gave a soprano squeak on the word “go.” His short, spiky blond hair glistened under the bright Dairy Queen lights.

“Gabe!” I screamed and jumped up. “They have guns!”

“Now, Officers,” Emory said, moving toward them, his hands held up. “Don’t overreact here . . .”

“Stay right there, sir!” yelled the other officer, a barrel-chested brunette with a similar spiky haircut. He trained his gun on Emory. “Don’t take another step.”

Emory froze in his tracks.

The squeaky-voiced officer moved a step closer to Gabe, who didn’t seem aware of his presence. “Let go!” the officer yelled again, lowering his voice one octave. “Now.”

“Gabe!” I screamed again. “Please!”

Gabe turned his head and looked right into the face of the young officers. His expression caused the officer’s gun to tremble slightly. My stomach tightened, and white-cold fear enveloped my whole body. Black edges start to close in around my eyes. I shook my head, willing the faintness back.

“Gabe,” I said, trying to keep my voice calm. “Let him go.”

His head turned toward my voice, then he slowly loosened his hold on the man, letting him tumble to the ground, gasping.

“Down on your knees,” the blond officer commanded Gabe, his trembling gun still trained on him.

Without saying a word, Gabe knelt down.

“Hands behind your head,” the young officer commanded.

Gabe did what the officer said, his face like granite. A sob caught at the back of my throat as I watched him being treated in such a humiliating way. I couldn’t let these men
do this to Gabe. I started toward them, but Emory caught my arm, holding it in a tight grip.

The blond officer holstered his gun and took out handcuffs. I jerked out of Emory’s grasp and started toward them.

“Are you out of your mind?” I said, pointing at the three men behind us. “They were attacking
us
!”

“Stay where you are!” the barrel-chested officer yelled, holding out his hand, his gun now pointed at me.

Emory grabbed my arm again. “Benni,” he said softly. “Wait until they put away their guns.” Then he said, “Officers, this isn’t what it looks. Mr. Ortiz is a police officer . . .”