Dark River Road (45 page)

Rainey’s throat worked for a minute. He crushed his cigarette out in a dirty ashtray, then he laughed, but it sounded uncertain. “I didn’t say nothin’.”

“Yes. You did. I heard it. And I bet Mikey heard it, too. He was standing right there, the same as me. I didn’t remember it at first, everything happened so fast, us fighting and Mama coming in and trying to get between us, but I finally remembered. I remember your exact words: ‘Stupid bitch, I’ll kill you.’ That’s what you said, Rainey. Loud and clear. And then you did. You killed her. I’ll swear to that in any court.”

“Like the courts are gonna believe a lyin’ little troublemaker like you?” Rainey said after a minute, but he sounded scared now.

“If they don’t, they can put me on a lie detector. I’ll pass it. You know I will. Can you say the same thing?”

Rainey surged to his feet. His eyes looked wild, like they had that day in the hospital. He drew back his arm, hand knotted into a fist like he was going to hit Chantry, then Mikey said, “I heard you, too, Papa. You told my mama you was going to kill her. Then you did.”

Chantry glanced at the doorway. Mikey stood with both his arms braced against the wood frame, his eyes a vivid blue in his pale face. He’d be seven this month, but he looked as old and weary as Chantry felt. Only something fierce lit his eyes, righteous anger, grief, whatever it was, it burned brightly.

“You’re gonna burn in hell for that, Papa. God don’t forget. He might not give you the answer you want, but He don’t never forget what you asked for or what you did. You gotta ask for forgiveness if you want it. But even then, you still gotta pay for what you done or you won’t never get to heaven.”

Rainey looked at him, then laughed, a harsh sound. “Damn Bible thumper, just like your mama. I got both ends of the same stick livin’ under my roof. Shit.”

Turning, he stomped out the back door, letting it slam shut behind him. Chantry heard the truck start a few moments later, turning over smoothly, the engine humming a ten thousand dollar tune. He looked over at Mikey.

“You okay, sport?”

He nodded. “Just hungry. Can we eat now?”

Chantry looked for the mail after he’d fed Mikey a couple of chili dogs with cheese. It had to be here somewhere, a letter or something that would tell him just how much money Mama had left behind. He’d go to a lawyer, or ask Dempsey what to do, maybe. There had to be a way to keep Rainey from spending all that money and leaving Mikey still in leg braces. He just had to get the proof.

It was in the last possible place he ever would have thought. Stuck in Mama’s Bible. He hadn’t known Rainey even knew what a Bible looked like, much less that there was one in the house. But he found the letters there, tucked carefully in the middle. Copies of two Farmers Insurance policies that’d been issued to Carrie Callahan Lassiter, one a five thousand dollar policy payable to her surviving spouse in the event of her death. Should the death be accidental, there was a clause called double indemnity that provided twice that amount. Mama’s other policy listed Chantry and Mikey as major beneficiaries of a twenty-five thousand dollar policy, to be handled in trust. Rainey had the truck
and
ten thousand in cash. How’d he gotten around that?

Bert Quinton, of course. He’d figured out a way. He had all kinds of tricks in his bag.

Chantry sat and tried to figure out what to do, who he could go to with this that would be able to help. There weren’t a whole lot of options. The only ones in town who weren’t owned by Quinton were men like Doc and Dale Ledbetter. Doc may do all right, but most of his clients were people who worked for Quinton. Ledbetter now, his livelihood didn’t depend on the residents of Cane Creek. He had old money, family money, and his Ford dealership was just a sideline. Maybe he’d give him some advice on how to keep Rainey from getting his hands on all the rest of the money. There was no love lost between Ledbetter and Quinton, that was for sure. Yeah, he might start with him.

He folded the letters and copies to put them back in the envelopes, but the last one wouldn’t fit quite right. Something was stuck in the envelope. He pulled it out, and at first didn’t know what it was. Then he realized it was a check stub. Two check stubs. They totaled up to forty-three thousand, four hundred and seventy-five dollars. Across the top of the stubs was the name of a corporation he’d never heard of. At the bottom of each check stub, neatly typed, was the single line: Payment to the Carrie Lassiter Estate.

He was up waiting on Rainey when he came in that night around two-thirty, roaring drunk and in a lot better mood than when he’d left. In the hours spent waiting on him, Chantry had time to run a few things through his mind and now thought he had some answers.

When Rainey saw him sitting at the kitchen table he staggered a little, peering blearily at him as he tried to catch his balance. He had a metal box stuck under his arm and reeked of stale whiskey. Lurching forward, he put one hand on the table to steady himself.

“Wha’s goin’ on. Ain’t you s’posed to be in bed? Got school t’morrow or sumthin’.”

“You made a deal with ole man Quinton.”

“Wha’?” Rainey jerked out a chair and fell into it, swaying as he stared at Chantry. “Go to bed, boy. Ain’ got no time t’ talk t’ ya t’night. Gotta do
 . . .
stuff.”

Chantry stood up. Tension vibrated through him, made his voice rough. “You sold out Mama for a truck. Just like you sold out Mikey for a deal with Quinton. What’d you get out of it? I know Quinton doesn’t do something for nothing. Neither do you.”

Silence fell, and that was more telling than anything Rainey could have said. He stared at him, struggling for control. Rainey already had that money. Except what he gave to Quinton for getting it for him. He’d spend it all. If he hadn’t already.

“It’s not right, Rainey. Mikey needs his legs fixed. The insurance doesn’t cover it all and Mama worked hard to save the rest. It’d be what she’d want. You know that.”

Rainey blew out a noisy breath and shoved a hand through his hair so that it stood up on top of his head like a fading rooster’s comb. “Yeah, well, your mama ain’t here no more. I got t’ do wha’ I think’s right.”

“We’re not going to Missouri.”

“Ain’t your choice. Done told you that. You go, or you wind up in foster care. Ward of the state. Ole Quinton said he’d see you got in a good group home.”

He just bet he would. The kind with chains and bars. He shook his head.

“You say one more word about Missouri, and I’ll go to the cops. I mean it.”

“Nah, you won’t be doin’ that.” Rainey sat back in the chair. “And won’t do you no good if’n you do anyway.”

“Let me guess. Quinton’s already fixed things for you. Does he know what you did?”

“Don’t be stupid. Think I’d tell? All’s I had t’do is jus’ say how you been givin’ me lots o’ trouble, makin’ wild threats
 . . .
look, boy. Me’n you ain’ never got along, won’t never get along. We jus’ natcherly hate each other. But do right and we can go along for a while, anyway.”

“Long enough for you to collect checks on me and Mikey?”

“Shit boy, I get checks on both o’ you ever’ month now. Social security from your mama. If you jus’ shuddup and let things lie, we’ll have enough money to live better’n we have in a long time.”

“I’m not stupid. You’ll get that money and drink it up like you always have. Mikey needs his legs fixed. Sign over Mama’s insurance money to the doctors for it, then take the rest. I don’t care. It won’t make any difference to me. Just keep our bargain.”

Rainey’s eyes narrowed. “You got a one-track mind. Looka here—jus’ look at all this money and tell me you can’t think of sumthin’ to do with it besides givin’ it to doctors.”

He slammed the box in the middle of the table and stuck in a key, turned it in the lock to flip open the lid. Hundred dollar bills tied in neat bank bands lined the box, neatly stacked. There had to be thousands there. Chantry looked up at Rainey.

“You’re crazy. What are you doing with all that money?”

“Wha’, think I’ll put it in the bank? Hell no. They’d cut my disability. I worked it out so’s no one knows how much I got or even tha’ I got it.”

So that was where Quinton came in. And how. The insurance checks were made out to the estate and to Chantry and Mikey, no doubt, filtered through a Quinton bank or corporation and now cashed and in Rainey’s pocket. Courtesy of Bert Quinton. With half of it in Quinton’s pocket.

Chantry snatched the box, evading Rainey’s quick grab at it. He managed to flip through the top layer, counted at least four thousand before Rainey let out a holler like a bull and knocked the metal box from his hands. It spun to the floor, spilling bundles of hundreds and fifties across the tile. He just looked at it, frozen for a moment, remembering another time, another violent act, his mother lying on the floor right where the money lay now.

Then Rainey hit him, a swipe with the back of his hand that sent him staggering across the kitchen and into the wall. He caught his balance, stood upright, and turned just as Rainey came at him again, catching him around the waist and slamming him up against the stove. He knew he should fight back, hit him or shove him, but all he could think about was the last time they’d done this in the kitchen, and how Mama had tried to come between them. It was like it was happening all over again, everything going in slow motion, the memory of Mama falling backward, her head striking against the corner of the stove, then her lying there, blood pooling under her while he’d only stood and stared.

Rainey shook him, a fist full of his shirt in one hand, gave him another cuff, then shoved him toward the kitchen door and the hallway. Then he laughed, told him to go on to bed before he got hurt.

Maybe he wouldn’t have, maybe he’d have stayed and fought, but when he looked up he saw Mikey in the hallway peering at them with eyes squinted against the light, Shadow at his side with teeth bared. No. Nothing would be worth putting them in Rainey’s way tonight. There was always tomorrow.

“Come on,” he got out, and took Mikey’s arm and Shadow’s collar, “it’s okay. It’ll all be okay.”

He hoped he wasn’t lying.

Rainey’s TV woke him.
He couldn’t have been asleep too long. His eyes were burning and his throat raw. He coughed, rolled over in bed, and choked. Shadow nudged him, whining, nose cold and wet. His hand flopped out to pet him, and the dog grabbed his fingers gently in his teeth. He pulled free, gave him a shove away, groaning. Morning came too early these days. He was so tired. Sleepy.

Shadow didn’t give up. He jumped up on the bed, and when Chantry tried to push him down, let out a loud bark.

“No. Hush, boy.” All he needed was Rainey in here on him, yelling about the dog. But Shadow didn’t quiet, he barked again, louder and more insistent, until Chantry sat up in the bed and tried to see him in the dark. He’d left his window open like he often did at night, and a cool breeze sucked in the smell of smoke from somewhere outside. Who was burning garbage in the middle of the night?

After another push at the dog, Chantry suddenly realized that the smoke wasn’t coming in the window. It was in the house. Out in the hallway, seeping under the closed door to slither across the floor like a snake, silent and deadly.

Jesus. He reacted quickly, grabbed his jeans at the same time as he grabbed Mikey up from where he lay on the other half of the bed. There was no time for anything but getting out, no time to dress.

Mikey started coughing, and Chantry knew better than to try the door. Instead, he pushed out the window screen and lowered Mikey onto the porch, then urged Shadow out with him. In the dark, with the smell of smoke getting stronger, he felt for Mikey’s braces that always sat next to the bed, and tossed them out onto the porch as well. Then he crawled out after them, and still not dressing, carried Mikey out to the edge of the yard to set him down under the black walnut tree. “You okay, sport?”

He coughed again, but looked up. “I need my braces
 . . .
”