Carnal Innocence (5 page)

Austin dropped the stone. The sickening thud it made when it hit the mulch had Tucker’s stomach
lurching. “‘For judgment I am come,’” Austin quoted. “He’s going to pay for what he did to my girl.”

“Paying’s just what he’ll do,” Della said. “If that girl’s carrying what’s his, Tucker’ll see to it. But I ain’t as gullible as the boy, Austin, and we’re going to see what’s what before he signs any papers or writes any checks.”

Fists clenched at his side, Austin rose. “You saying my girl’s lying?”

Della kept the shotgun sighted mid-body. “I’m saying Edda Lou’s never been any better than she had to be, and I ain’t saying I blame her for it. Now, you get the hell off this land, and if you’re smart, you get that girl to Doc Shays and have him see if she’s breeding. We’ll talk this through, civilized. Or you can come ahead and I’ll blow you apart.”

Austin’s impotent hands clenched and unclenched. Blood ran unheeded down his cheeks like tears. “I’ll be back.” He spat again as he turned to Tucker. “And next time there won’t be no woman ’round to protect you.”

He strode back to his pick-up, gunned around the circle of flowers, and rattled down the drive. Black smoke belched in his wake.

Tucker sat in the ruined flower bed and dropped his head on his knees. He wasn’t getting up yet—no, not just yet. He’d sit a spell on the mangled blooms.

Letting out a long breath, Della lowered the gun. Carefully, she propped it against the rail, then walked down, stepping over the border stones until she could reach Tucker. He looked up, the beginnings of thanks on his tongue. She smacked the side of his head hard enough to make his ears ring.

“Christ, Della.”

“That’s for thinking with your glands.” She smacked him again. “And that’s for bringing that Bible-thumping maniac around my house.” And another flat-handed slap on the top of his head. “And that’s for ruining your mama’s flowers.” With a satisfied nod she folded her arms over her chest. “Now, when you get
your legs out from under you, you come back into the kitchen and I’ll clean you up.”

Tucker wiped the back of his hand over his mouth and looked down absently at the smear of blood. “Yes’m.”

Because she figured her hands were about steady now, she tipped a finger under his chin. “Going to have a shiner,” she predicted. “But it looked to me like he was going to have a pair of ’em. You didn’t do too bad.”

“Guess not.” Gingerly he got to his knees again. Breathing shallowly, he inched his way to his feet. It felt as if he’d been trampled by a herd of runaway horses. “I’ll do what I can with the flowers later.”

“See that you do.” She slipped an arm around his waist, and taking his weight, helped him inside.

Though he didn’t much care to get himself riled up on Edda Lou’s behalf, Tucker couldn’t quite get past the niggling sense of worry in his gut. He told himself to let crazy Austin worry about his crazy daughter—who’d more than likely gone to ground for a few days to avoid her daddy’s wrath and to stir up Tucker’s guilt. But he couldn’t forget what it had been like to find sweet little Francie floating, those bloodless wounds gaping all over her fish-white skin.

So he stuck on a pair of sunglasses to conceal the worst of the sunburst bruise on his left eye and, downing two of the painkillers Josie took for menstrual cramps, set out to town.

The sun beat down mercilessly, making him wish he’d just crawled off to bed with an ice pack and a long whiskey. That was what he was going to do once he talked to Burke.

With any luck Edda Lou would be behind the counter at Larsson’s selling tobacco and Popsicles and bags of charcoal for barbecues.

But he could see plainly through the wide front window as he drove past, and it was young, gawky Kirk Larsson at the main counter, not Edda Lou.

Tucker pulled up in front of the sheriff’s office. If he’d been alone, he would have eased himself out inch by painful inch. Whimpering. But the three old coots who always planted themselves out in front, to chew the fat, curse the weather, and hope for gossip, were in position. Straw hats covered grizzled heads, wind-burned cheeks were puffed out with chaws, and faded cotton shirts had gone limp with sweat.

“Hey there, Tucker.”

“Mr. Bonny.” He nodded to the first man, as was proper, seeing that Claude Bonny was the eldest of the group. All three had lived off social security for more than a decade and had staked out the awning-shaded sidewalk in front of the rooming house as their retirement heaven. “Mr. Koons. Mr. O’Hara.”

Pete Koons, toothless since his forties and no fan of dentures, spat through his gums into the tin bucket his grandniece provided. “Boy, looks like you ran into a mean woman or a jealous husband.”

Tucker managed a grin. There were few secrets in town, and a smart man chose his wisely. “Nope. A pissed-off papa.”

Charlie O’Hara gave a wheezy chuckle. His emphysema wasn’t getting any better, and he figured he’d die of it before another summer came, so he appreciated all of life’s little jokes. “That Austin Hatinger?” When Tucker jerked his head to the side in acknowledgment, O’Hara wheezed again. “Bad apple. Once saw him whale into Toby March—’course Toby was a black boy, so nobody paid much mind. Must’ve been in sixty-nine. Stove in Toby’s ribs and scarred his face.”

“Sixty-eight,” Bonny corrected his crony, because accuracy was important in such matters. “That was the summer we got the new tractor, so I remember. Austin said Toby’d stole a length of rope outta his shed. But that was nonsense. Toby was a good boy and never took nothing wasn’t his. He come to work out on the farm with me after his ribs healed. Never had a bit of trouble outta him.”

“Austin’s a mean one.” Koons spat again, either
from need or to emphasize his point. “Went to Korea mean and came back meaner. Never did forgive your mama for marrying up when he was over there fighting slant eyes. Had his mind set on Miss Madeline, though Christ knows she never looked at him twice when he was smack in front of her.” He grinned toothlessly. “You taking him on as a daddy-in-law, Tuck?”

“Not in this life. Y’all don’t work too hard now.”

They chuckled and wheezed appreciatively as he made the turn and pushed open Burke’s door.

The sheriff’s office was a steamy box of a room holding a metal army surplus desk, two swivel chairs, a scarred wooden rocker, a gun cabinet for which Burke held the keys on the heavy chain at his belt, and a shiny new Mr. Coffee, a gift from Burke’s wife at Christmas. The wood floor was scattered with hard little dots of white paint from the last time the walls had been done.

Beyond the office was a closet-sized john and through the john a narrow storage room with metal shelves and just enough room for a fold-up cot. This was used if Burke or his deputy needed to watch a prisoner overnight. More often it was used if either man found himself in the domestic doghouse and needed to give his spouse a night to cool off.

Tucker had always wondered how Burke, the son of a once-prosperous planter, could be happy here, making his living processing traffic tickets, breaking up the occasional brawl, and watching out for drunks.

But Burke seemed content enough, just as he seemed content to be married for nearly seventeen years to the girl he’d gotten pregnant while they were both still in high school. He wore his badge easily and was affable enough to remain popular in Innocence, where people didn’t like to be told what they couldn’t do.

Tucker found him huddled over his desk, frowning over files while the ceiling fan stirred stale smoke and hot air overhead.

“Burke.”

“Hey, Tuck. What’re you …” He trailed off as he took
in Tucker’s swollen face. “Holy hell, boy, what did you run into?”

Tucker grimaced, the movement costing him no little discomfort. “Austin’s fists.”

Burke grinned. “How’d he look?”

“Della says worse. I was too busy holding my insides where they belonged to notice.”

“She probably didn’t want to hurt your feelings.”

Knowing the truth of that, Tuck eased himself down on the frayed seat of the swivel chair. “Probably. Still, I don’t think all the blood on my shirt was mine. Hope not.”

“Edda Lou?”

“Yeah.” Tucker poked gentle fingers under his sunglasses to probe his bruised eye socket. “Way he sees it, I debauched a lily-white virgin who’d never seen a dick before.”

“Shit.”

“There you go.” Tucker caught himself before he made the mistake of shrugging. “Thing is, she’s twenty-five, and I slept with her, not her old man.”

“Happy to hear that.”

Tucker’s quick grin pulled at his puffy lip. “Edda Lou’s ma must close her eyes and pray to Jesus every time he takes a poke at her.” Then he sobered, the image of Austin pounding it to his frail-boned, miserable-eyed wife too disturbing to dwell on. “Thing is, Burke, I want to do what’s right.” He blew out a breath, realizing there was more than one reason he’d come into town. This was the opening for the first one. “Things worked out for you and Susie.”

“Yeah.” Burke drew out a pack of Chesterfields, took one, then tossed the pack across the desk for Tucker. “We were too young and stupid to think they wouldn’t.” He watched as Tucker broke off a fraction of the tip. “And I loved her. Flat out loved her then. Still do.” He flipped his matches to Tucker. “It hasn’t been easy, with Marvella coming along before graduation, our having to live with my folks for two years before we could afford our own place. Then Susie pregnant again
with Tommy.” Blowing out smoke, he shook his head. “Three babies in five years.”

“You could have kept your fly zipped.”

Burke grinned. “So could you.”

“Yeah.” Tucker blew smoke between his teeth. “Well, it comes to this. I don’t love Edda Lou, flat out or any other way, but I’ve got a responsibility. I can’t marry her, Burke. Can’t do it.”

Burke tapped his ash into a metal ashtray that had once been blue and was now the color of smut. “I gotta say you’d be a fool if you did.” He cleared his throat before venturing onto boggy ground. “Susie tells me that Edda’s been bragging for weeks about how she’s going to be living up in the big house with servants. Susie said she never paid it much mind, but some of the others did. Sounds to me like that girl was set on life at Sweetwater.”

It was both a blow to his pride and a great relief. So it had never been him, Tucker realized. It had been the Longstreet name. But she must have figured that would get back to him sooner or later.

“I came in to tell you I haven’t been able to get hold of her since that day in the diner. Austin came down on me, figuring I was hiding her there at the house. She been around town?”

Slowly, Burke crushed out his cigarette. “I can’t say as I’ve seen her myself for a day or two.”

“Probably with a girlfriend.” The idea settled him. “Thing is, Burke, ever since we found Francie …”

“Yeah.” Burke felt a twang inside his gut.

“You got anything on that—or Arnette?”

“Nothing.” The failure had heat rising up his neck. “County sheriff’s mostly in charge. I’ve been working with the medical examiner, and the state boys have helped, but there’s nothing solid. Some woman was sliced up in Nashville last month. If they can find a connection, we’ll call in the FBI.”

“No shit?”

Burke merely nodded. He didn’t like the idea of federal officers in his town, taking over his job, looking
at him out of the corner of their city eyes and thinking he was a rube who couldn’t lock up a passed-out drunk.

“It was remembering Francie that had me worrying,” Tucker continued.

“I’ll ask around.” He rose, wanting to do so quickly. “Like you said, she’s probably staying with a girlfriend for a few days, thinking that’ll sweat you into a proposal.”

“Yeah.” Relieved that he’d passed his burden onto Burke, Tucker stood and limped to the door. “You’ll let me know.”

“First thing.” Burke walked out with him, took a long slow look at his town. Where he’d been born and raised, where his children raced the streets and his wife shopped. Where he could raise a finger in salute to anyone and be recognized and acknowledged.

“Look at that.” Tucker let out a little sigh as he watched Caroline Waverly climb out of her BMW and stroll toward Larrson’s. “That’s one long, cool drink of water. Makes a man thirsty just to look.”

“Edith McNair’s kin?”

“Yep. Ran into her the other day. Talks like a duchess and has the biggest green eyes you’ve ever seen.”

Recognizing the signs, Burke chuckled. “You’ve got problems enough, son.”

“It’s a weakness.” Tucker limped a little as he walked to his car. Changing his mind, he headed across the street. “I think I’ll go buy a pack of smokes.”

Burke’s grin faded as he turned toward the rooming house. He remembered Francie, too. Surely Edda Lou would have stayed close by to pressure Tucker into marriage. The fact that she hadn’t left a sick taste in the back of his throat.

She was settling in just fine, Caroline told herself as she walked across the heat-baked lawn toward the trees. The ladies she’d met in Larsson’s that afternoon had been more curious than she was used to, but they’d also
been friendly and warm. It was nice to know if she got lonely, she could drive into town for company.

She’d particularly liked Susie Truesdale, who’d stopped in to buy a birthday card for her sister in Natchez, and had stayed for twenty minutes.

Of course, that Longstreet man had come in as well, to flirt with the women and dispense southern-fried charm. His dark glasses hadn’t disguised the fact that he’d been fighting. When questioned about it, he’d milked sympathy from every female in the store.

His type always did, she thought. If Luis had gotten a hangnail, women were ready to donate blood.

Thank God she was through with him, with men, with everything about them. It had been pathetically easy for her to rebuff Tucker’s smooth charm.

“Miz Caroline” he’d called her, she remembered with a thin smile. She was quite sure his eyes had been laughing behind those dark lenses.

A pity about his hands though, she thought as she ducked under hanging moss. They were really quite beautiful, long-fingered, wide-palmed. It had been a shame to see the knuckles skinned and bruised.