Dark Corner (8 page)

The waitress returned. She placed a dish of peach cobbler
on the table, and two spoons.

"I hope y'all saved room for some dessert," the waitress
said. "Willie says this is on the house, 'cuz the Hunter boy's
new in town, and y'all make such a pretty couple, too"

"Ooh, that's so sweet," Nia said. She called out across the
room, "Thank you, Willie!"

David couldn't wipe the embarrassed grin off his face.

"I might as well tell you," Nia said, dipping a spoon into
the cobbler, "in a tiny town like this, an unattached young
man and woman having lunch is big news. By this evening,
they'll be speculating about when we'll get married and
what we'll name our kids."

"You are too much." He laughed. "Speaking of this
evening, are you doing anything?"

"Oh, yeah. There's so much going on in Mason's Corner.
I run into fine, available young men all the time here, you
know. My social calendar is kicking."

He grinned. "How about dinner and a movie?"

"We'll have to drive to Southaven. They don't have a theater here in town. Is that okay?"

"That's fine with me"

"Okay, pick me up at wait a minute. You don't have a
girlfriend waiting for you in Atlanta, do you? Or a wife?"

"I'm an unrestricted free agent. No girlfriend, no wife.
What about you?"

"Nader. I date here and there, but like I was saying,
Mason's Corner doesn't exactly have it going on socially."

He was more relieved than he dared to let on. "So when
should I pick you up? Seven?"

"Seven sounds good"

"Cool. That gives me time to go home and cut the grass.
The lawn hasn't been cut in weeks"

"Wait a couple hours, until it cools off some. I don't want
you to have a heatstroke"

"Good point. It gets hot in Atlanta, too, but this is a whole
new level of heat"

"Ain't nothing like summer in Mississippi, honey," she
said, exaggerating her southern twang.

They finished eating. After he paid the bill, he walked Nia
to her car. They hugged, and she felt wonderful against
him warm and firm, yet as soft and inviting as a favorite
pillow. Her clean, feminine scent filled his nostrils and made
him dizzy.

She gave him her phone number and directions to her
house.

"See you tonight," she said.

Smiling, he watched her drive away. What a beautiful, intelligent woman. He could not wait to see her again that
evening.

His gaze traveled across the blue horizon and stopped at
the old, antebellum mansion. Jubilee. Sitting on the hill, it
overlooked the town, like a forbidden castle.

His smile fell away.

Junior Hodges had been working all day.

Every Saturday throughout the spring, summer, and fall,
Junior awoke at sunrise, and if it wasn't raining, went to the
tool shed behind their trailer home, unlocked it, and rolled
out his old John Deere lawn mower.

He'd push his mower across town, making stops at each
house on his list.

There was good money in cutting grass. He'd earn anywhere from ten to twenty-five bucks per yard. When he
reached the end of his list, he'd usually made over a hundred
dollars, sometimes as much as a hundred and fifty, depending on how generous people were feeling and if he could
squeeze in some extra lawns or quick jobs.

Sometimes, kids made fun of him, calling him dumb,
teasing him for being a thirty-year-old man who made a living doing odd jobs like lawn mowing. Junior didn't let their
mean words stop him. He'd push his mower through town cutting grass until he was an old man, God willing. He didn't dare tell those youngsters how much money he was making. He didn't want any competition.

Still, sometimes the teasing hurt. He wondered whether
they were right about him being dumb. Mama, when she was
alive, used to say that he was "special," and Junior had liked
that-but Pa was one of the people who called him dumb.
He'd never done well in school, and had pretty much
dropped out in the tenth grade. He could read a bit, and write
things, too, especially the names of people who were going
to hire him for work, and jobs that he had to do. As far as
math, he could add up how much money he'd made and subtract the cost of gas and other stuff, to get at his profit. Mama
had taught him how to do that she called it "business
math." She'd run a hair salon out of their house, back in the
day.

But Junior knew that he could never be as smart as a guy
like Doc Bennett, for instance. That old guy was a walking,
talking book. He cut Doc Bennett's grass every Saturday,
and afterward, if Doc was around and Junior had time to
spare, Junior liked to talk to him and soak up everything he
said, and learn new words.

He wasn't sure whether he was really dumb, and he figured he shouldn't worry about it too much, though it bothered him every now and then. All he knew for sure was that
he loved to work. One Sunday, Reverend Brown had spoken
on how God respected the man who put in an honest day's
work. Junior thought about that sermon whenever he felt bad
about himself. He'd rather have the respect of God than a
bunch of sassy kids.

Around three o'clock that afternoon, Junior was rolling
his mower along the sidewalk. He was a bull of a man, sixfoot-three, and coal-black, with a large, flat nose. He wore
his favorite work overalls, a T-shirt, and work boots. His
giant hands, curled around the push-handle of the mower,
were padded with calluses.

It had been a steaming day, but he was used to the heat,
having lived in Mississippi all his life. He couldn't afford to
be lazy and stay in, waiting until it cooled off to cut his
lawns. There was too much money to be made. Sometimes
when it was especially hot, he imagined that he could see
crisp dollar bills wedged between the blades of grass, and
the image kept him motivated to suffer through the heat.

He was saving money to buy himself a truck. He'd seen a
black Ford pickup sitting in the parking lot of Earl's Used
Autos, and how he wanted it! With a truck of his own, he
could get around to his jobs faster, and have time to do more
work, and more work meant more money. The truck cost
three thousand dollars, and Junior had saved two thousand
so far. He'd only been able to save the money by putting it in
a secret place in the trailer, otherwise, Pa laid his hands on
his money to borrow it. Pa never paid him back.

Ahead, Junior saw the last house on his list for today:
Vicky Queen's place.

He always made her yard last, on purpose. Not only because it was on the way to the basketball court at the park,
where he planned to go when he was done working, but because he liked to take his time at her place, too.

Her white Cadillac was parked in the driveway. She was
home.

His heart beat a little faster.

He pushed the mower into the driveway, beside the
Cadillac. He went up the steps to the front door, knocked.

"That you, Junior?" a soft voice said from within.

"Yes, ma'am," Junior said. He wiped sweat from his forehead with a ragged handkerchief. "I'm here to cut the grass."

The door opened. Vicky Queen was so pretty it hurt to
look at her. She wore a white blouse that showcased her
ample cleavage, a tight black skirt that rose well above her
knees, and heels. The sweet scent of her perfume enveloped
him like a mist.

Her big eyes were precious gems. They sparkled.

Junior smiled. "You look real nice. You going to work
today?"

"I sure am, Junior. A queen has to work, too, sometimes."
She cracked a smile. "You want some ice water, honey?"

"Ice water sure would hit the spot"

"Come on in, then"

He stood just inside the door while she sashayed into the
kitchen.

Her place was full of nice stuff-leather furniture and expensive-looking vases and artwork everywhere. Folks said
that Vicky Queen got mostly everything she owned-from
the new Cadillac to her clothes, to the plush things in the
house-from the rich men she met while working at the
casinos in Tunica. Junior didn't believe it was true until he
rode his bike past the house one morning (on the way to doing
a paint job) and saw a white limousine parked out front.

But seeing it didn't change the way he felt about her. He'd
been in love with Vicky ever since they had lived next door
to each other, as kids. She was pretty, but she had always
been so sweet to him, too. What she did with her life was
none of his business. She was one of the nicest people he
knew.

Vicky came out of the kitchen with a dripping glass of ice
water. She walked right up to him, never letting her lovely
eyes leave his.

His mouth got dry. He needed that water badly now.

"I can't stand to let a man go thirsty." She handed him the
glass.

"Thank you, ma'am."

She watched him closely as he drank. Sometimes, he
wondered if Vicky liked him, as more than a friend. There
was something about the way she looked at him ...

Naw, he was fooling himself. Vicky liked those high roller
guys. He couldn't compete with them. He'd never be rich.

He finished off the water and handed her the glass. "Thank
you for the water, ma'am."

"How many times I got to ask you to stop calling me
`ma'am'? I'm the same age as you, Junior." She smiled.

Although she smiled, he couldn't tell if she was serious or
not. He stammered, "Uh, I'm sorry, ma'am I mean, Miss
Queen-"

"Vicky"

"Vicky," he said, and the name sounded foreign rolling
off his tongue. He never called her by her first name, and his
heart beat a little faster. "Well, uh, Vicky, I better get to
work"

"You're welcome, Junior. You let me know if you need
anything else." She batted her long eyelashes. "Anything at
all."

"I sure will." He felt her watching him as he went outside
and started up the lawn mower.

She acted funny sometimes. He wondered, again, if she
liked him. But it seemed like a crazy thought. He'd only get
his feelings hurt if he kept thinking about it. A beautiful,
classy lady like her would never want him.

But as he mowed the lawn, he imagined himself driving
that shiny black pickup ... with Vicky Queen sitting by his
side.

David was finishing the lawn when the police cruiser
parked in front of the house.

Although it was a quarter past four and the day had cooled
by a few degrees, it was still the most intense humidity he
had ever experienced. He'd worn an old Nike T-shirt and
ragged denim shorts, and in short time, sweat had glued the
clothes against his skin. He'd drunk two bottles of water, too,
and seemed to sweat it through his pores so quickly his skin
might have only been a sieve.

While David worked in the yard, King watched him from
the front window. The dog wanted to come outside, but it was too hot for the furry canine to spend much time outdoors. He'd take King for a walk later.

David switched off the mower. The blades thumped into
silence.

A stout officer stepped out of the vehicle. David crossed
the yard to meet him, severed blades of grass clinging to his
boots.

"Good afternoon," David said. "How can I help you?"

The officer inclined his head to indicate Franklin Bennett's
home across the street.

"Doc Bennett told me you'd moved here. Figured I'd stop
by to welcome you to the town. My name's Van Jackson. I'm
the chief of police." He extended his hand.

The chief had a strong grip. "Pleasure to meet you, Chief.
I'm David Hunter, but you probably know that already.
Everyone else here does"

"News travels quickly in a small town, buddy." Jackson
hooked his thumbs through the loops of his belt. "With you
being the boy of the only celebrity this town's ever produced,
well, I thought that deserved a personal visit."

"I appreciate that," David said. "As you can see, I'm getting things in order here. The grass hadn't been cut in a few
weeks"

"You moving here for good, or you just here to put things in
order?"

"I might be here for a year or so. I visited the town a long
time ago, but I've never lived in the country. I grew up in
Atlanta."

"Is that so? Nice city. Been there myself to see the King
center and catch some Braves games," Jackson said. "What
kind of work you do?"

"I design Web sites. I'm self-employed, so I'll be working
out of the house"

"Nothing like being your own boss" Jackson nodded
with approval. "I hope you like our town, and stay a while. We ain't got enough young folks here. Lot of 'em split soon
as they graduate from high school."

"How long have you lived here?"

"Me? All my life, buddy. My pa was chief before me, too.
I ain't never wanted to live anywhere else."

"Did you know my father?"

Jackson leaned against the side of the cruiser. "Nah, not
that well. We chatted here and there, but Hunter, he liked his
privacy, and I respected that. He had enough folks hounding
him as it was"

"Like who?"

"Oh, tourists, mainly. They'd drive past the house here or
try to catch him when he was walking. Nosy folks like that"

"I've seen a couple of cars cruise past the house since
I've been here," David said.

"I ain't surprised. Kind of unfortunate way Hunter went,
that's bound to draw more snoops than usual. You be sure to
let me know if anybody causes you a problem."

"I sure will," he said. "Is there much crime here?"

Jackson shrugged. "Incidents here and there. Vandalism,
shoplifting, breaking up fights at the pool hall. And drugs.
Drugs more than anything. Ain't just a big city problem anymore, they're everywhere" He sighed. His face, which already appeared perpetually sad, looked even more melancholy.

"Franklin says this town has a colorful history. Such as
the haunted house-"

"You mean the Mason place?" Jackson's eyebrows
arched. "Someone moved in there"

"Are you serious? That old, run-down house on the hill?"