arkansastraveler (20 page)

“Me and a couple of other guys. Not that much to work on really. They’ve pretty much decided that Quinton Tolliver’s their man.”

Now we were getting somewhere.

“Isn’t that a bit premature?” I asked, trying to keep my voice casual and easy. Sarcasm or anger wouldn’t get me far right now.

He shrugged, drew deep on his cigarette. The orange circle glowed bright, then faded. “I don’t think he did it, but what I think don’t mean much.”

I shifted from one foot to the other, trying not to lean toward him eagerly. “Why don’t you think he did it?”

He flicked an ash into the bushes, then glanced around guiltily as if expecting someone to scold him. “Shoot, I may not be a city-trained detective, but it doesn’t take Columbo to figure out all they’ve got is circumstantial evidence. His car was seen followin’ Toby Hunter, and he bumped his truck, that’s it. ’Course, thirty years ago, that was enough to hang a black man.”

The stark reality of his statement turned my blood to ice. “Thank goodness it’s the nineties.”

“Well, he ain’t out of the woods yet. The chief wants to clear this up quick. So does the mayor.”

“I’m sure they do, but it’s more important to find the right person.”

“That’s what I think. Like I said, what I think don’t matter much in the scheme of Sugartree politics.” He looked in disgust at his half-smoked cigarette.

“So, aren’t there any other suspects?” I persisted.

The almost startled expression on his young face told me his training had kicked in, and he realized he shouldn’t be discussing the case with me.

“I gotta go,” he said, tossing his cigarette down. “Nice talkin’ to you.”

“Same here,” I answered, watching him walk across the parking lot. Using the toe of my sandal, I ground out the still-glowing cigarette. What I’d found out troubled me and I wondered how much I should tell Amen. The police chief and mayor sounded determined to let Quinton take the fall for Toby’s murder. Was it because they knew who really did it or because it would guarantee the winning of the election for Grady Hunter if Amen’s campaign manager was charged with murder? Maybe both?

I turned and gave out a little yelp of surprise when I found myself face-to-face with Mr. Lovelis.

“You scared me,” I said, bringing my hand up to my throat and laughing nervously.

His dark, creased face didn’t smile. Instead he bent down and picked up the cigarette Billy Brackman had tossed on the ground. “Young man should know better,” he grumbled.

“Yes, sir,” I said meekly, feeling as embarrassed as if I’d done it.

He gave me a long, searching look, then said, “Quinton Tolliver didn’t kill Toby Hunter.”

“Yes, sir,” I stuttered. “I agree.”

“Others in this town toted a grudge against the Hunter boy.”

“Yes.” I didn’t say more, hoping he’d elaborate. Did he know something? Or perhaps see something? I was willing to bet there wasn’t anyone in town who knew more about people’s comings and goings than Mr. Lovelis.

He looked down at the crushed butt in his hand. “Filthy habit.” Then his hooded eyelids slowly closed and opened, like an old tortoise lazing in the sun. “Young miss, you’d just better watch out,” he told me, then turned and walked across the parking lot toward his car.

“Yes, sir,” I said softly, wondering what it was exactly I needed to watch out for.

B
ACK AT AUNT
Garnet’s house, I found Elvia upstairs, sitting on her bed brushing her black hair. Electricity crackled through the room with each deliberate stroke. I imagined flipping off the overhead light and seeing red and orange sparks shoot around the room like streak lightning.

“Are you all right?” I asked, instantly regretting my words. What did I expect her to say?

“Oh, sure. Never been better.”

I sat down on the bed next to her. “I threw punch on her if it makes you feel any better.”

She looked over at me, surprised. Her eyes were red-tinged and swollen from crying. “You did what?”

I told her about my “accidental” stumble and the full glass of red punch Gwenette was currently wearing. A tiny smile came to her face.

“Thanks,” she said, setting the silver-backed brush down on the chenille bedspread. “But it doesn’t change things long-term. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking and I’ve decided I don’t ever want to be subjected to something like that, someone like
her
, ever again.”

Panic for my cousin caused me to blurt, “Elvia, she’s the exception, not the rule. Think of all the great people you’ve met in Arkansas. Emory loves you. He’d do anything for you.”

“He can’t change where he was raised. As optimistic as you are about love conquering all, the reality is a person’s background has a tremendous amount of influence on the success or failure of their other relationships, especially married ones. When I get married, Benni, you know it’s for life. That’s what I believe, what I’ve always believed. I’m not sure Emory and I have the kind of love that can overcome our differences.” Her dark eyes, glossy as chips of onyx, filled with tears.

“Life . . .” I started, then stopped. I wanted to tell her that life was not a textbook. That sometimes you just had to take a chance, jump in the river, and start kicking. But who was I to tell her what chances to take, to assume I could even comprehend the fears she held deep inside, for herself, for Emory, and for her future children?

“What can I do?” I whispered.

She shook her head sadly. “
Amiga
, there’s not a thing you can do. I don’t think I could survive a divorce, especially if we had children. And I’d most certainly end up in prison, because I’d kill anyone who did to my children what Gwenette did to me.”

“And I reckon I don’t get an ounce of say in any of this?” Emory said. His sudden appearance in the bedroom doorway startled both Elvia and me. His accent was exaggerated, which always happened when he was mad.

And he was very mad.

Two bright spots of color tinged his pale cheekbones. Sweat beaded his upper lip, and his breath was deep and measured. I’d only seen Emory this angry a few times in our lives. That was enough for me. I sensed it wasn’t Elvia he was mad at, but at the situation, at the ignorant behavior of people like Gwenette, at his inability to protect someone
he loved. Unfortunately I wasn’t sure Elvia, as emotionally vulnerable as she was right now, would grasp that.

She refused to meet his eyes. “I don’t want to talk about it now, Emory.”

“You know,” he said, coming into the room, his musky male scent overpowering the flowery female perfume of the air. “I don’t give a tinker’s—”

“Emory,” I snapped, standing up and facing him. “Cool down.”

We locked eyes. I tried to nonverbally communicate that right now wasn’t the best time to discuss this.

“Benni,” he said, his voice calm, his green eyes wide and glowing, “this is between me and Elvia. Please leave.”

I held his gaze a moment longer, then gave in, knowing there was no use trying to reason with him when he was this emotional.

“Fine,” I said. When I brushed past him I couldn’t resist whispering, “Cut her some slack, cousin.”

Without answering, he slammed the bedroom door behind me.

I paused outside the room, wanting to stay and listen, but even my snoopy nature had some scruples. Sitting downstairs on the porch, I could hear their angry voices rise and fall like ocean waves, their exact words as loud and indistinct as a stormy sea. Emory’s voice started angry, then became softer, cajoling. Elvia’s voice remained steady and low, raising only once in a high-pitched wail. I sat on the porch, chewed on a hangnail, and contemplated going back to the church to find Gabe.

About a half-hour later, the front porch screen door slammed open with a wooden thump, and Emory strode past me.

“Emory, wait!” I jumped up from the rocking chair and ran down the porch steps after him. “Is everything okay? Did you guys work things out?”

Hands jammed down in the pockets of his gray slacks,
he didn’t stop walking. His bitter laugh rang harsh and metallic against my ears. “If you think okay is wasting a year of my life . . . No, make that twenty-four years of my life, on a stubborn, self-centered woman who doesn’t love me enough to even talk about what happened tonight, then yes, everything’s okay. It’s just
dandy
.”

I double-stepped, trying to keep up with his long strides. “Maybe a little time . . .”

He stopped dead in the middle of the street. Shadows from the leaves of the trees painted jagged dark shapes across his face. His pale eyes seemed to glow like a cat’s. “I’ve given her all the time I can spare,” he said, his voice thick with pain. “I love her, but she doesn’t love me . . . at least not more than she fears people like Gwenette. There’s nothing I can do about that. It’s time to move on.”

He continued walking, and I didn’t follow him, but stood in the middle of the street, the heavy smells of autumn swimming around me—sweet, burning hardwood and damp, spongy soil, the slight scent of water in the cool dark air—and wanted to cry for my two best friends. I toed a place in the sidewalk where maple roots had lifted the concrete, trying to think of something I could say or do to mend this rift between them.

Eventually I walked back to the house and waited for Gabe. When he finally came home he sat next to me on the swing, and I told him what had happened. His face was sober and hard until I told him about the punch incident.

He gave a half-smile, took my chin in his hand, and gave it a tiny shake. “You are a pistol, woman.”

“I wish we could do something.”

“
Querida
,” he said, pulling me close, resting his chin on the top of my head. “You know this is something they have to work out themselves.”

“It’s all that stupid Gwenette’s fault. Someone should have tied her in a gunny sack and thrown her in the creek when she was born.”

His quiet laugh soothed me. “Maybe you should keep that comment between you and me.” Then his voice grew serious. “As disgusting as that woman’s behavior was, the truth is, if it hadn’t been Gwenette, it would have been someone else. Elvia knows that prejudice exists, and there’s not a thing any of us can do about it except try to battle it in the ways we are given. I’ve had to deal with it every day of my life in one way or another. So has she. The trouble is she’s managed to spin herself a safe little cocoon in her bookstore in San Celina where she’s in total control. Emory cracked that comfortable cocoon, and now she’s running scared.”

“But wouldn’t she still have to face prejudice if she married a Latino man? Who you marry doesn’t change your skin color.”

“No, but I don’t have to tell you that people marrying out of their cultural backgrounds sets a lot of people’s teeth and hidden prejudices on edge. Prejudices they would have sworn they didn’t have manage to sneak in the back door. Look at some of the comments your ex-brother-in-law, Wade, made last year when he came back. He was deeply angry you remarried, but it was doubly bad because I have brown skin.”

“He was being an ignorant jerk.”

“And there are a lot of ignorant jerks out there.”

“I know all this,” I said, sighing. “But all I care about right this moment is helping Elvia and Emory not lose each other. She knows deep inside no man will ever love her like Emory does. Isn’t that enough to overcome their different backgrounds?”

“Only they can make that decision. Our job as their friends is just to be there to listen.”

“I’m afraid Elvia will want to leave tomorrow.”

“Then you will drive her to the airport and assure her you still love her and will be her friend. She’s probably terrified that she’ll lose you, too.”

“You know that would never happen. Maybe I’m being completely naive, but I still believe this will all work out. They’re meant to be together, I just know it.”

“Your cockeyed optimism is one of the reasons you stole my heart, Señora Harper. And you just might be right this time.”

“Speaking of right,” I said, feeling generous since he was being so nice, “you were, for once.”

“What do you mean, for once?” He gently tickled my side.

“Stop that,” I said, wiggling away. “I mean, about Amen. She was hiding something. In all the hullabaloo about Quinton getting arrested, I forgot to tell you.”

“What was she hiding?”

I lowered my voice. “She and Duck are in love. They want to get married.”

He whistled low under his breath. “Politically that’s a bombshell, all right. It’s pretty poor timing in her campaign for an announcement like that.”

“Since when does timing have anything to do with falling in love?”

He pushed the swing with his foot and started us rocking. When a car slowly drove down the quiet street, his arm involuntarily tightened around my shoulders. “Do very many people know?”

I shook my head no. “Only Emory and Quinton and now us.”

“Is that it?”

“What do you mean?”

“Is that all she told you?”

I sat up and looked at him, confused. “What else could there be to tell?”

He shrugged, continuing to push the swing with his foot.

“Are you implying there’s something else she’s hiding?”

“It’s just a feeling.”

“You know, if I said that, you’d chauvinistically dismiss it as feminine intuition.”

“Don’t get all hot and bothered. I may be wrong. This may be what she’s hiding, but I’m guessing there’s something more.”

“Using what criteria?”

“My instincts.”

I heaved a dramatic sigh. “I think you just don’t like Amen, and for the life of me I don’t know why.”

“I like her fine. I just think she’s not as up-front as you believe she is, which, of course, makes her the perfect politician.”

“You are so cynical,” I said, annoyed at him now. “I think I know her better than you. You’re out of line on this one, buddy boy.” I scooted over to the far end of the swing and glared at him.

“You’re always wanting to know my feelings, and when I tell them to you, you get mad. How fair is that?”

He was right there, though I was not ready to admit it. I stood up and started down the porch steps. “I’m going to go see if Emory’s okay.”

He was up out of the swing and standing in front of me in two seconds. “Benni, let’s not argue, okay? I’m sorry if I insulted your friend. I’ll keep my thoughts to myself from now on. Let’s not ruin a good vacation.” He reached over and caressed my bottom lip with his calloused thumb. “
Lo siento, mi corazón.
Will you forgive me?
Por favor, mi alma, por favor?
”

I frowned at him for a minute, then felt myself melt as his thumb moved back and forth across my lip, his sea-colored eyes reaching deep into mine. “Geeze, Friday, wipe that pathetic look off your face. I’m not mad, even though I do think you’re dead wrong about Amen.”

He smiled and kissed me. “I’ll walk you over to Emory’s. Those punk friends of that Hunter boy make me nervous.” He glanced up the empty street. “This is a nice
little town, but I’ll be glad to go home to San Celina.”

“I don’t need an escort.” Before he could protest, I held up my hand. “Besides, I’m going the back way through the fountain forest. I won’t be on any public street. There’s no way I can get hurt.”

“Okay,” he said, glancing once more up the street. “Then I’ll go to bed and read until you get back.”

I heard Emory before I saw him when I walked through the back gate into his yard. His voice-cracking rendition of Hank Williams’s “I’m So Lonesome I Could Cry” would not do much to bring Elvia back, though if they had a vegetable garden it would probably scare off the crows. The sound came from overhead. I stood on the flagstone patio and looked up at the tree house. If he was as ripped as he sounded, how would I get him down from there? I slipped off my sandals and climbed the rope ladder. It was wet with dew and hard to get a good grip.