Michaela Thompson - Florida Panhandle 01 - Hurricane Season (13 page)

Bo Calhoun was making preparations. He ignored Sue Nell, who had returned from the fish camp early that morning saying she had some things to pick up. She watched him oil his shotgun and then oil it again a few hours later. He had talked on the telephone with each of his brothers and now, in the late afternoon, the four of them were gathered on the front porch drinking beer. Their conversation drifted through the open window into the living room, where Sue Nell sat on the floor, sorting through a tackle box.

The children were still at Sonny’s. Sonny’s wife, Missy, with every appearance of disapproval, had offered to keep them for a few days. “Until your nerves are better,” she said to Sue Nell.

“I don’t reckon I’ll ever have as much nerve as you do,” Sue Nell shot back, and Missy retaliated by offering to have the doctor look at the rash on Little Bo’s legs, which really shouldn’t have been let go so long.

“You left. Why the hell didn’t you stay gone,” was all Bo had said when Sue Nell walked in.

“I’ll be gone soon enough,” she said.

That had been right before the call came from Elmore. After the call, Bo didn’t speak to Sue Nell at all, but went ahead with his planning as if she weren’t there. She, for her part, packed a cardboard box with an assortment of supplies: clothes, canned goods, and a lump of lead for making weights for a net and the mold to make them with, corks and fishing line, a ten-pound sack of corn meal, a nickel-plated pistol with a bone handle. Arrayed on the floor in front of her was a tangle of fish hooks. She sorted them by size with her forefinger. Her red hair clung damply to her neck.

Bo’s voice surged with energy. “He comes up the canal in a cabin cruiser. Elmore will be at the entrance to the slough at eight o’clock to meet him. You all be there at seven. Park on the fire road and come up over the ridge.”

There were murmurs of agreement and a shuffling as the men got to their feet. Then Lester’s voice, thin with excitement or fear: “What about Daddy?”

“We’ll tell him afterward.”

The voices faded as they walked down the steps, Bo accompanying them to their cars.

The hooks were sorted, largest to smallest, in a neat line. Sue Nell scooped them up, undoing all her work, and dropped them into an empty metal Band-Aid can. She stood up and put the can in her cardboard box briskly, with the air of someone who has made a decision.

Josh felt uneasy, watching the mainland come closer. Venturing into unfamiliar territory without knowing what to expect wasn’t his style, and Murphy’s order that he help make the delivery tonight had been unexpected. His task, Murphy had said, would be to transfer cartons of liquor from the boat to a truck. That was all. As long as he didn’t break anything, it sounded simple. He glanced sidelong at Murphy, who was driving the boat. Murphy’s blubbery profile looked grim in the fading light.

They passed the ferry landing, the pilings stark in the twilight. A few more miles down the coast, the cruiser made a right-hand arc into the mouth of the canal.

Here it was darker, the tall cypresses cutting off much of the last light. There was a brackish smell of mud and rotting leaves, and overhead a flock of birds wheeled through their last arc of the evening. Josh, straining his eyes ahead, was the first to see the shadowy outline of a bateau in the middle of the canal. He sat forward. There was a figure standing up in the boat waving a flashlight.

“Watch it,” he said. To go around either end of the boat would be to risk knocking a hole in the cruiser’s bottom on cypress knees. Murphy cursed and cut the motor while Josh scrambled out on deck. “Hey,” he called. “Did your motor conk out?”

The flashlight went off, but the figure didn’t answer at first. As the cruiser drifted closer a female voice said, “I’ve got something to tell you-all.”

They were close enough now to converse normally. “Something to tell who?” Josh’s mouth filled with saliva, and he wished suddenly and violently for his shotgun.

“You’re going to meet Elmore, aren’t you?” said the voice.

“Just a minute.” Josh returned to the cabin and said to Murphy, “It’s some lady, says she has something to tell us if we’re heading to meet Elmore.”

Murphy grunted, took his gun from the rack, and went on deck. Josh trailed behind. “What was it you wanted to say?” Murphy asked.

“Don’t go there,” said the woman. “Somebody’s there waiting for you.”

Murphy rubbed his belly for a moment, then said, “Ma’am, head over to the bank and tie up. I’d like to talk to you.”

There was the gargle of a small motor being cranked—not more than five horsepower, Josh guessed—and the bateau slid toward the bank. As Murphy started the cruiser and followed, Josh saw the figure tie up to some bushes, then come to the back end of her boat and wait for the cruiser to drift alongside. When it did, she grabbed the ladder and climbed up, disregarding the hand Josh offered to help her on deck.

From what he could see in the dusk, she was skinny and wore pedal pushers, a sleeveless blouse, and sandals. Her long hair, frizzing in the evening humidity, was pulled to the nape of her neck. “You were about to get your ass shot off, boy,” she said.

Josh was unsure how to respond. “Come on in here,” he said, indicating the cabin.

She followed him, and Murphy greeted them with a nod, then said to Josh, “I’m heading up that creek a little ways. Get out there and drop the anchor.”

When the boat was anchored in a winding slough the three met in the cabin. Murphy stood in the doorway with the shotgun cradled in his arm. Josh lit a lantern, and in its light he could see that the woman’s hair was dark red. She had a strong chin, which was thrust forward, and she stood with her legs apart, looking from one to the other of them. “Now, what are you talking about?” said Murphy.

“My husband and his brothers are waiting for you. They plan to hurt you bad.”

The answer was so prompt and sharp that Josh thought Murphy seemed taken aback. “What for?”

“He figures you blew up his still and stole his business.”

Murphy sat on the edge of the bunk and pinched the bridge of his nose between finger and thumb. “Who the hell are you?”

“Sue Nell Calhoun.”

The Calhouns, Josh thought. I was afraid of this. Sue Nell, he noticed, looked highly stimulated. She moved jerkily around the cabin, the corners of her mouth curving upward. Although he knew he should let Murphy do the talking, a question escaped him: “Why are you telling us?”

She glanced at him. “Reasons.”

“I tell you what, little lady,” said Murphy, getting up. “I think I better have a look at what’s going on up there. And while I do, I think you better stay here with my boy Josh.” He rubbed the back of his neck meditatively, then turned back to Sue Nell. “I’m going to take your boat back to the landing.” He said to Josh, “I got a truck parked there.”

Sue Nell nodded. “If you go up the fire road you’ll see some Oldsmobiles. That’s them. But you better not get too close, or you’ll be sorry.”

Murphy motioned for Josh to join him on deck. Outside, he said, “If she’s telling the truth, I got to let somebody know. She don’t go anywhere until I get back.”

“All right,” said Josh. Murphy took up the anchor, and Josh drove the cruiser back to the canal and Sue Nell’s bateau. He heard a thump as Murphy landed in it. As he swung the large boat back toward the creek, he saw Murphy’s dark form heading the bateau toward the mouth of the canal. He anchored in the creek again and returned to the cabin.

Sue Nell had kicked off her sandals and was looking in Murphy’s ice chest. “Thought maybe there’d be a beer,” she said.

Josh shook his head.

“There must be moonshine, then,” she said. “That’s why you’re in this mess, isn’t it?”

“We got some liquor on board. You saying you want some?”

“Don’t go to any trouble.”

Without responding to the sarcasm, Josh went to the stack of cartons against the wall and removed a demijohn. He found two glasses in the cupboard, poured each half full, and gave one to her. They drank in silence, Josh listening to the water slapping the sides of the boat and listening, too, for any unusual noises. The whole thing might be a trick. A plot to hijack the boat and the whiskey.

He looked at Sue Nell. She was sitting on the bunk, feet tucked under her. She wasn’t pretty at all. Scrawny, with a yellowish pale face, freckles, and eyes like swamp water. Frizzy red hair coming loose. Just the type to be lying, and now Murphy had left him here alone. He climbed up to the steering cabin, took his shotgun from the rack, and returned, feeling better.

Sue Nell watched him over the rim of her glass. “You going to shoot me?”

Josh didn’t reply. He propped the gun next to him. Most of his drink was gone. He’d better take it slow.

She held out her glass for a refill. “My husband makes better whiskey than that.”

Pride of workmanship overrode Josh’s caution. “If your husband makes such good whiskey, why are you here? Why aren’t you helping him shoot us to pieces?”

“I didn’t come here because he makes bad liquor.”

“Why, then?”

“He does other bad things.” She swallowed deeply from the glass he handed her, and Josh thought he saw her eyelids droop.

“He’ll be mad, if he finds out what you did.”

“Oh hell. Let him be mad. I don’t even live with him anymore.”

“Why not?”

“None of your business.”

“Where do you live?”

“None of your business.”

Josh sipped his drink. He had no head for moonshine. He didn’t like Sue Nell Calhoun. It was likely to be a long time before Murphy got back. Josh would’ve given a lot to know who he was going to see, and he might’ve been able to find out if it wasn’t for being stuck with Sue Nell. A wave of anger filled him with his next swallow. “You’re something,” he said. “I’m glad you’re not married to me.”

She looked him over swiftly and said, “So am I.”

Sue Nell hummed a few bars of “The Tennessee Waltz,” got to her knees, and looked out the window. “Wonder where your big old ugly friend is.”

“Don’t you worry about it.”

“Keeps you hopping, does he, calls you ‘my boy Josh,’ tells you what to do?”

Josh said nothing.

“I’m thirsty,” she said, holding out her glass.

Josh refilled it and his own. She looked at him speculatively. “Where you from?”

“Near Columbus.”

“Georgia boy. That explains a lot.”

“Like what?”

“About your personality and all. Bet you grew up on a farm.”

“What if I did?”

Sue Nell snickered. “I could tell, that’s all.”

Strands of her hair were escaping from the rubber band. I would like to take and snatch that red hair out, Josh thought. I would like to give this lady a clip up beside the head, just enough to shut up that smart mouth. He said, “I guess Georgia people aren’t nearly as nice as St. Elmo people. We don’t even hardly ever beat up girls and kill them.”

Sue Nell sat very still. “That’s what you folks do, isn’t it,” he went on recklessly. “Murder your own congressman’s daughter? Nice people.”

“Maybe you ought not to mouth off so much about something you don’t know about.” Her voice was harsh.

The blood rushed to Josh’s face. “And how do you know what I know about and what I don’t? Maybe I know more about it than you think.”

They glared at each other. At that moment, it struck Josh forcibly that with her face flushed, making her eyes look gold, Sue Nell didn’t look so bad. Her mouth, which he hadn’t noticed before, struck him as being particularly soft and pink.

As he watched, her lips began to quiver. It seemed an effort for her to form the words, “What do you mean?”

“Nothing. Never mind,” said Josh. “Did you know the girl or something?”

Her expression didn’t change, but he saw that she was shaking. The liquid left in her glass sloshed, and it took both her hands to steady it.

He picked up his drink and went to sit beside her on the bunk. “I’m sorry,” said Josh. “Was she a friend of yours?”

Her lips twisted. “No friend of mine. My husband’s lover.”

“Oh Lord.”

Without thinking, he put his arms around her. She pulled back at first, but then he saw her eyes change. She leaned forward and rested her head against his shoulder.

Josh stroked her hair. The palms of his hands felt warm. “It’s bad. Real bad,” he said, not sure what he was referring to. She didn’t answer. “You saved us,” he said.

She sat up and looked at him solemnly. Josh saw drops of perspiration clinging to the fine hairs above her upper lip. She swayed a little, her eyes dilated. “I saved you. Don’t forget that,” she said.

Josh ran a finger over the knob of her ankle. “I been on that island, nobody to talk to,” he said. “We live in a shed, nothing but a shed. There’s bugs.” He closed his eyes, trying to remember what he had meant to say. “Nothing but a shed,” he said. The words filled him with such sadness that his eyes prickled.

He felt her palm cradle his cheek. “At least you’re free,” she said.

He turned to her. “I’m not,” he said. “There’s Murphy first, and then there’s—” Her mouth was close to his, so close he couldn’t read her eyes. When he kissed her, she tasted faintly of salt. He felt a rush of yearning so strong that before it engulfed him a small, separate part of his mind was dismayed. Minutes later, when he ran his hand over her small breasts, he said, “Oh God.” Sue Nell said nothing.

Josh had been with an assortment of women, but Sue Nell displayed an abandon that was outside his experience. It made him feel craving mixed with fear, as if he might be swallowed up and lost.

When it was over, he said, “I have to see you. Where do you live?”

Sue Nell shook her head.

“I mean it,” said Josh. “Even if you don’t tell me, I’ll find you.”

“Why?”

Josh wasn’t sure himself. “I need to see you.”

Her eyes narrowed. “There’s a fish camp on Tupelo Branch. That’s where I’m staying. I’m telling you because I don’t want you asking about me, not because I want you coming around.”

Josh took her by the shoulders and kissed her hard. Now he knew he would see her again.