Penumbra (16 page)

A moth fluttered against the screen of the hospital window, and in the silence of the room, Frank heard someone walking down the hall. The footsteps passed, and he took a long breath.

“Where was Hubbard?”

“I don’t know. The two men started kicking me in the stomach and ribs and face. I tried to crawl to Suzanna, but they kicked me back. I looked up, and Johnny was standing about fifteen feet away. He looked right at me. He started to say something and then he turned and ran.”

“Did the men go after him?”

She shook her head. “No. They must not have seen him. The skinny one sat on my head and held my arms, and the big one spread my legs and told me if I didn’t quit struggling, he would hurt me bad. And he did. He hurt me.”

“Marlena, did they rape you? Do you remember?”

She shook her head. “They put a limb in me. They said I was too filthy for their dicks to be inside me, so they used a limb. Then the big one got a knife and began to cut me. He said he was going to take out everything that made me a woman.” She turned her head away. “I’m tired, Frank.”

“Just a few more questions.” He got the glass of water from the table beside her bed and held it so she could sip out of the straw. “What happened next?”

“I must have passed out. When I woke up, they were gone. Suzanna was gone, too. I crawled around looking for her. I couldn’t see very well. I got up and tried to find the road. That’s the last I remember. I went down the river some and then headed west.”

“I found you in the woods. You Were unconscious.”

“You should have left me there to die.”

“Marlena, did you know these men?”

She didn’t answer for such a long time that Frank wondered if she’d slipped away into sleep. He wouldn’t have blamed her. What she’d endured was too brutal.

“I’ve thought about that,” she finally said. “How would they know I was a whore? If they were strangers, why wouldn’t they think I was married to Johnny? Why wouldn’t they think Suzanna was our daughter?” She looked at him. “They had to know me.”

Her logic touched him with cold, because she was right. “Would you remember their voices if you heard them again?”

“I don’t know. They were excited. If they sounded like that, maybe I could.”

“Why are you so certain Suzanna is dead?”

She hesitated. “Because if they knew who I was and they knew who Suzanna was, they would never have hurt me like they did unless they’d already killed her. Once they’d killed Lucas’s daughter, they figured they couldn’t do anything worse, so they just did what they wanted to me.”

“And Hubbard. Do you think he was involved in this?”

Marlena closed her eyes. “Please, Frank, just leave me alone.” Her hand reached up and grasped the nurse call. She pressed the button. “I want morphine. Ask the nurse for it, please. Tell her I’ve been moaning in pain and need something.” She turned her face away from him. “I’m not going to talk anymore.”

O
nly the third story of the Kimble house was visible from the road, and that during the day. No lights burned in the third floor windows, so in the darkness, Jade felt as if she were riding into the unknown when she turned down the driveway. Some Kimble had loved plants. Imported camellia bushes lined the driveway and then, neglected, had grown from shrubs into dense, towering trees. The driveway was a tunnel of darkness, and Jade’s headlights kept picking out shapes that moved and shifted as the car crept forward, giving the illusion that ghosts flitted ahead of her.

Jade had heard Jonah talk about the Kimble house and the many wonders that his father, Mose, had built into it. She’d never been inside, though. Never even in the yard. There had been no need for her to go there. When her headlights picked up the first floor of the rambling old Victorian, she slowed to get a better look at the intricate gingerbread trim. She finally stopped, awed by the craftsmanship that had gone into the detail. The front door opened and Frank stepped out onto the porch. He’d changed clothes and looked more relaxed, though sadder. When he beckoned closer, she drove to the steps, killed the lights, turned off the car, and got out. The momentousness of what she was about to do held her frozen beside the car. Frank came down the steps and drew her into his arms, giving her time to resist if she chose to do so.

“What did Marlena say?” she asked, knowing that she was simply stalling the inevitable. If Marlena had revealed some clue as to Suzanna’s whereabouts, Frank would have gone to hunt for the little girl.

“She believes the men who attacked her knew her.”

Jade was stunned. She’d assumed all along that strangers had done this terrible thing. No one who knew Marlena would hurt her in that way. No one would take Lucas Bramlett’s daughter and not fear what it would cost them. “Do you believe that?”

“Yes.”

His fingers clasped her elbow, and she allowed him to lead her up the steps and to the front door. She heard the paint crunch beneath her feet, and it registered that the house was well-maintained, except for the peeling porch. She went inside, stopping in the foyer. Her gaze swept up the curve of the staircase. “Jonah talks about this staircase all the time. His father, Mose, made it.” She walked over and touched the wood. “It’s warm, just like Jonah said.”

“Your grandfather was an accomplished carpenter. He put life into the wood.” Frank’s hand covered hers on the banister. Jade felt something tighten in her lower belly.

“He isn’t really my grandfather.” Jade slipped her hand from beneath his. If she did not, she would turn into his arms and kiss him. She stepped away. “I’ve heard Jonah talk about the Sellers family, but he would never say much about my father. Just that he was a handsome man with a talent for music. He says that’s where I get my singing voice. Then on the other side … to think that Lucille is my mother is bitter.” She stared at a landscape without really seeing it. “I wish Ruth and Jonah were my real parents.”

“None of us got to pick our relatives. We just make the best of what we’re given.” Frank came up behind her. He touched her arm lightly. “Are you hungry?”

“No.” She hadn’t come to eat.

“Would you like a drink?”

“Yes.”

“What would you like?”

She hesitated. “I haven’t drunk a lot. I don’t know. I don’t like whiskey or beer.”

He touched her shoulder lightly, turning her so that she faced him. “I know just the thing.” He kissed her cheek, then led her into the parlor. “Have a seat,” he said, waving in the direction of a sofa and wing chairs. “I’ll be back.”

He left the room, and she heard him in the back of the house. Instead of sitting, she went to the mantel and examined the portrait of the lovely blond woman who gazed at her so frankly. Behind the blonde there was a darker woman, almost hidden. From the back came the sound of a hollow pop, and Frank returned with two tall, slender glasses filled with a pale gold liquid. She took one and saw the bubbles rising in it.

“Champagne,” he said.

“I’ve never had any.” She tasted it, feeling the fizz of the bubbles against her lips. It tickled the inside of her mouth. “It’s good.” “But not good for you,” he answered.

“Who’s the woman?” she asked, raising her glass toward the painting.

“Greta Kimble, my grandmother,” he said. “And the other woman, the dark one?”

“She wasn’t in the portrait originally,” Frank said. “I painted her in myself. It’s my great-aunt Anna.”

“You painted her in?” Jade examined the painting more closely. It was impossible to tell two different artists had done the work. “It’s very good.” The dark eyes of Anna Kimble held her. “A little troubling, though. Why is she in the background like that, almost sinister?”

“Anna killed my father’s twin. An accident, I’m sure. Then my grandfather killed her, and that wasn’t an accident. I painted her the way I see her.”

Jade had the sense that someone had reached out from a dark corner of the room, a grave-cold hand touching her arm. Chill bumps rippled down her back. “The way you see her?”

“Yes,” he said. “I see the dead. They watch me.”

“I’m not afraid of the dead,” she said. She was far more concerned with the living and the cruelty they committed on a daily basis. “Why do the dead watch you?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “When I was younger, I thought they meant to harm me. I thought it was because I wasn’t supposed to be in this house.”

Jade spent hours alone with the mortal remains of those who’d crossed over. She knew their thoughts and wishes, heard their voices speak to her when their mouths were sewn shut. “But that isn’t what they want, is it?”

“You aren’t afraid?”

“Not of the dead,” she said. She downed the champagne and held her glass out. Frank took it wordlessly and went to refill both glasses.

Jade went to examine a curio cabinet that contained tiny perfume bottles. She wanted more champagne. Liquor dimmed the small voice in her head that warned her to use caution, that told her she was starting something that could only end in tragedy. All of her life, she’d listened to that voice and avoided danger. Tonight, though, she would not.

Frank returned, and she took the glass he handed her and drank it, letting the tiny effervescent bubbles dance down her throat. Frank had brought the bottle, and he refilled her glass while she stood, one hand on his shoulder to steady herself. “Jade, be certain—”

“Hush,” she said, hearing her own voice, slow and lazy. “I don’t want to be certain. I don’t want to be careful. I don’t want to deny myself this because it might not be the right thing.” She held the fragile glass lightly, drained it, and leaned into him. She kissed him in a way that left no doubt what she wanted. When she stepped away from him, she saw the need in his eyes. Her hand went to his crotch, and her fingers found the hard length of him.

“Don’t talk,” she said. She started toward the stairs, leading him. “Don’t make any promises or talk about tomorrow. Tonight is all we have, all we need.” The champagne had done its work. She no longer heard the voice. Her hand found his penis again, and she rubbed down the shaft, making him moan, chasing away any last lingering doubts he might have had.

In the moonlight that illuminated the bed, Jade looked like a sleeping goddess. She was the most beautiful woman he’d ever known. In the Kimble library, there was a book of illustrations of the Greek and Roman gods and goddesses. As a child, Frank had loved the book. He’d spent hours looking through it, imagining Aphrodite, Zeus, and Hermes come to life in the backyard. Now, lying asleep beside him, was Artemis, goddess of the hunt. It would not take a big stretch of the imagination to see Jade with a garland of leaves in her hair, a bow in one hand, and a shaft of arrows strapped to her back, a white tunic flowing high on her thighs.

He’d never imagined Jade to be so strong, but she’d surprised him, both with her passion and with her physical prowess. There had been moments in their lovemaking when he’d felt the pursued and she the aggressor. She was a woman with ardor. The memory of it awakened his penis, and he felt the head thump against the sheet. In the darkness he smiled. It had been a long time since he’d felt such heat, such pleasure.

There had been a young woman in France. She’d taught him to cook, had educated his palate for fine wine, had made him understand that it wasn’t French men who were such renowned lovers, but the women who carried them to the heights of passion. She’d taught him to laugh. Her name had been Giselle, and he loved her without reservation, because he’d never understood that love could cause pain. He’d been a young man, untouched by personal loss. He’d seen death in many forms on the battlefield. Had given death when he had to, but he’d never lost someone he loved. Until Giselle. They’d had a blissful autumn together before he’d been sent on a mission. When he returned, he’d found her body. He’d pieced together what the German soldiers had done to her, and for several weeks he’d been insane with grief and pain. He’d never thought he would love again, never wanted to. But the woman beside him had touched him in the private place where all his pain resided.

In her sleep, Jade shifted, snuggling closer to him even though the moonlit night was humid and warm. Her hair brushed his cheek, hair so fine and soft that he wanted to drag his fingers through it. Jade kept her hair short. He wanted to see it long, hanging down her back in curls that invited his touch. A rush of longing for the future made him swallow. There were moments to be shared between them, if Jade would allow it.

A breeze rustled the limbs of the big oak that grew beside the bedroom window, and Frank let his thoughts drift. Something had awakened him, a not uncommon event. He’d heard or sensed something and opened his eyes, disoriented. He didn’t use the second floor bedrooms. He’d prepared this one special, putting fresh linens on the bed and quickly dusting the furniture, on the chance that Jade might stay the night. When he’d first opened his eyes, he hadn’t been certain where he was. He’d felt the weight of the woman beside him, and the confusion of where he was, sensations that ignited his panic. When at last his heart rate had settled down, he could no longer tell if it was something external or something in his dreams that had pulled him from sleep. He settled back against the pillow, slipping an arm around Jade to bring her closer. She sighed, and he kissed her forehead. A slight breeze stirred the oak tree outside the window, causing the pattern of leaves to marble the bed. Moonlight rippled through the room.

He saw her then. She was standing in the far corner of the room, and as he watched, she stepped forward into the moonlight. She wore shorts and a blouse, and her feet were bare. Her brown hair hung in two braids, one over either shoulder. Blood had clotted on the right side of her head, and she touched the wound as if she didn’t understand what had happened to her.

“Help me,” she said. “Please, help me.”

Frank knew that Marlena was right. Suzanna Bramlett was dead.

J
onah slowed the Buick, his gaze on the mess up ahead in the road. At last he brought the car to a stop, ignoring the noises of protest from Lucille. He couldn’t go any further, no matter how much she fussed. A car was parked directly across the road, blocking it, and the Jebediah County patrol car was parked on the verge. The morning sun beat down on the tarmac, and through the heat waves, Jonah could see Huey’s broad behind hovering over something in the ditch.

“What’s going on up there?” Lucille asked angrily. She moved her head from side to side, trying to see. She’d needed glasses since the age of thirteen but was too vain to wear them. The good point in her vanity was that she wouldn’t drive herself anywhere, so her vision hadn’t proven fatal. Yet. “What are they doing in the middle of the road on a Sunday morning?” she asked querulously. “I’m trying to get to the hospital and then go to church. I need to go pray for my daughter, and some fool has left a car across the road.”

“Looks like trouble,” Jonah said, inching the Buick a little closer. The car that blocked both lanes was big and dark blue, almost black, a strange car he didn’t recognize. He put on the brake and killed the engine. “Miss Lucille, you need to stay here. Looks like Sheriff Huey could use some help.”

Huey was dragging something out of the ditch, a body, a man soaked in rainwater. Jonah got out of the Buick.

“Jonah, don’t you leave me alone here in this car,” Lucille said, but Jonah ignored her. He hurried to the ditch. High blood pressure reddened the sheriff’s face, and relief spread across it when he recognized Jonah.

“Give me a hand here,” Huey said. “I got a call that the highway was blocked, and I found this fella. He’s had the hell beat out of him, but he’s still alive.”

Jonah grabbed one of the man’s arms and helped Huey move him up beside the road. Blood was everywhere on the man’s body. He’d been savagely beaten, and he lay in the high grass as if dead. The damage was severe, Jonah could see that much. Part of his scalp had been peeled back from some kind of blow, and his pants and shirt were soaked in blood. Beside him, a patch of black-eyed Susans nodded in a light breeze.

“Let me call for an ambulance,” Huey said, going to the patrol car and using the radio to get help.

Jonah saw Miss Lucille start to get out of the car and he went over to stop her. “What’s happening?” she asked. “Is that a dead man?”

“He’s not dead,” Jonah said, wondering how long it would be before he was. “He’s hurt bad, though. Somebody worked him over and meant to kill him.”

“What in the world is going on in Jebediah County?” Lucille put her church handkerchief to her mouth, pressing hard against her lips. “Something evil is afoot here.”

Jonah looked in the direction of the injured man. Only his feet were visible, the rest of him blocked by his car. He wore brown socks and no shoes. “Stay in the car,” Jonah said. “I’m gonna make sure the sheriff doesn’t need more help.”

Instead of walking to the patrol car, Jonah went back to the injured man. The man’s eyes were open. Blue eyes that reflected the summer sky. Jonah leaned over him. “What’s your name?” he asked.

“Sam Levert,” the man said, gasping. “Back broken?”

“I don’t know,” Jonah said. He put a gentle hand on the man’s shoulder, holding him steady. “The ambulance is on the way. They’ll take you to the hospital where someone can look after you.” The man’s breaths were quick puffs of pain. Jonah thought he’d played out his hand. Why it had happened that Sam Levert, a stranger to the area, would meet his fate on the secondary highway to Drexel, Mississippi, Jonah could not say. He picked up the man’s hand and held it tightly. “Who did this to you?”

“Two men. With hoods. Stopped me. Searched car. Beat me. Took two … hundred dollars.” His chest moved up and down but he hadn’t the strength to say more.

“Just rest,” Jonah said, squeezing his hand. “Just lay right here and rest until help comes. Could be you have a rib punching a hole in your lung or something along those lines. They can fix it right up.” He tried to think of more positive things to say, but he knew that Sam Levert would not live. He wondered if it was kinder to lie or tell the truth, let the man prepare to meet his maker. One thing he was certain about was the need to keep hold of Sam’s hand. Everyone died alone, but it was good to have company during the vigil.

“Thanks,” the man gasped out, and he squeezed Jonah’s hand back.

Jonah heard the ambulance’s siren, and he continued to hold Sam Levert’s hand even though the strength had gone out of it. The hand was still warm; the first chill of death had not touched him. When the two ambulance attendants came up, Jonah looked at them. “He’s gone,” he said. At last he released the hand and rose slowly to his feet.

“Take him on to the hospital,” Huey said, sweat running into his eyes so that he squinted.

“He’s dead,” one attendant said.

“Take him to the hospital.” Huey ground out the words. “We’re gonna have an autopsy.”

Jonah helped them load the body into the ambulance and then gave directions to help them turn around on the narrow road. The siren was silent as the ambulance headed back to town.

“What about his car?” Jonah asked the sheriff.

“Shit,” Huey said. “I hope the keys are in it.” He looked in the driver’s window. “We’re in luck. Can you get it out of the middle of the road?”

Jonah glanced back at Miss Lucille, wilting in the front seat. She’d picked up a piece of cardboard and was fanning herself, her mouth set in a grim line.

“I guess I better get it out of the way. Miss Lucille’s unhappy. She wants to get on to church.”

“I wish my biggest problem was an unhappy white woman,” Huey said. “Now let’s move the car.”

Frank Kimble had told Jonah once that each crime scene told a story. Though Jonah wasn’t certain moving the car was the best thing to do, he got in the front seat. Huey was the sheriff. The car was cluttered with cracker wrappers and empty soft drink bottles in the floorboard. There was an invoice from Cook Hardware in Drexel, and a cork coaster with the Friendly Lounge on it. The car started easily when Jonah turned the key, and he backed up and maneuvered until he was parked on the verge pointed toward town. He rolled up the driver’s window, removed the key, and got out. Huey took the key he held between his thumb and forefinger.

“I’ll send a tow truck,” Huey said.

“Should I go get Mr. Frank?”

Huey considered. “That’s a good idea. Frank worked all day yesterday looking for Suzanna Bramlett. I hate to call him out this morning, but he should be here.”

“I’ll get him,” Jonah said, glad to be able to put Miss Lucille’s car in motion so that a breeze would cool her. She was fractious when she got overheated.

Jonah went back to the car and headed toward Drexel. “Sheriff Huey needs me to get Frank Kimble,” he said.

“I didn’t realize you were on the Jebediah County sheriff’s department payroll.” Miss Lucille’s voice dripped acid.

“That man was beaten just like Miss Marlena.” He didn’t say more, just let her put it all together so that it was her idea.

“The two cases could be related,” she said. Her voice registered fear.

“That’s possible,” Jonah said. “So Mr. Frank needs to come so he can look at the scene. Maybe figure out what happened here.”

“Then put the car in gear and let’s go get him,” Lucille said testily. “I’m ‘bout to die here of heat stroke and all you want to do is flap your gums about what might be possible.”

Jonah drove toward the Kimble house.

The aroma of the brewing coffee crept up the stairs and into the bedroom where Frank sat on the side of the bed. Jade was stretched across the bed, a sheet pulled over her hips, but her beautiful back uncovered. Frank let his gaze drift over her. From her dark, curly hair to her red-painted toes, she was a work of art. A lifetime ago, before the war, he’d thought about becoming an artist. He had talent. Gerard Marchette, a portrait painter in New Orleans, had offered to take Frank beneath his wing, a rare opportunity to work with a real master painter. Frank had declined. Painting was a fantasy, something he kept as a dream. Real life had to do with pain and tragedy, the stuff of a lawman. Now, though, he regretted that he hadn’t at least practiced drawing, because he would like to paint Jade, just as she was now with her long legs extended from beneath the white sheet, her back, tight muscle over the perfect scapulas and framing her rib cage, and the gentle knobs of her spine clearly visible. Her slender neck gave elegant support to her beautiful head, which was turned to reveal her profile. In sleep, dark eyelashes rested on her cheeks. Her skin was flawless, one smooth, mocha expanse of perfection.

She began to stir, and he let his fingers dance on her smooth calf and up her thigh. She worked on him. They’d made love almost all night long, and now, just touching her, he wanted her again.

“I smell coffee,” she said, rolling so that her full breasts were exposed, the dark areolas tipping slightly up. Completely at ease with her nakedness, she sat up.

“Would you like some coffee?” He wanted to look at her forever, just as she was, rumpled by sleep with a hint of sexual satisfaction in the lazy curl of her lips.

“I’d do anything for a cup,” she said, smiling. She looked at him and her smile faded. “Is something wrong?”

He considered all he wasn’t telling her. She wouldn’t be shocked that he’d been visited by Suzanna’s spirit, but the little girl’s death would bring Jade grief and suffering. He could not bear to tell her just yet. “Nothing’s wrong,” he said. “I’ll get the coffee.”

“Frank?”

She was watching him, and suddenly he wanted her again. Like a thirst for whiskey, he wanted her in a physical way, but more. She was warm and filled with life. When he touched her, she infused him with both those things. Looking at her, he could imagine a future.

“Will you really do anything for coffee?” he asked, knowing that she was aware of his arousal.

Her eyes sparkled, that unsettling shade of green like a rippling pool. “Anything that involves hot water, soap, and a toothbrush.” She reached a slender hand out and rubbed against the grain of his beard. “We could shower together.”

The idea was erotic. His dick tapped the sheet that covered his lap, and she laughed. “The sleeping giant awakens,” she said.

“I’ll get us a cup of coffee.” He stood up, aware that her gaze lingered on his bare buttocks as he walked across the room. He went down the stairs and got two cups of black coffee from the kitchen. He was headed back upstairs with them when he heard the sound of a vehicle coming down his drive. He paused, wondering who would be coming to his house so early on a Sunday morning, or any time, for that matter. He didn’t have a lot of visitors, didn’t encourage such. Solitude was his comfort, and he guarded it.

“Damn!” Jade yelled from upstairs. “It’s Miss Lucille’s car. Daddy must be driving it.”

He heard her feet thud on the floor as she ran into the bathroom. Water ran through the pipes. He held the coffee cups and did nothing. Possibilities oozed around him. He imagined himself walking out onto the porch and telling Jonah and Lucille Longier that he and Jade were getting married. He put the coffee down and went upstairs for his pants and shirt. He was dressed when a tense Jonah knocked at the front door.

“Sheriff Huey needs you down on the highway,” Jonah said, his gaze shifting past Frank to the inner recesses of the house. He was looking for his daughter.

“What’s going on?” Frank kept it easy, casual.

“A man’s been beat to death. He was in the ditch. He died before the ambulance came.” At last Jonah’s gaze met Frank’s. “I held his hand while he died. He said the men who beat him wore hoods.”

Frank couldn’t see if Lucille Longier was sitting in the car or not. “Thank you, Jonah,” he said. “I’ll head out there.”

“Mr. Frank”—Jonah’s eyes were dark and hot—“there’s meanness in this town. Real meanness. Miss Marlena never hurt a soul and she’s hurt bad. I don’t want my daughter caught up in this.”

“I don’t want Jade hurt, either.”

“Then leave her alone. She’s got a good life. If it gets out that she’s been here, with you, things will change for her. It won’t be good.”

Frank nodded. “I’m falling in love with Jade.”

Jonah’s mouth tightened into a thin line. “You think that means something? It doesn’t. Love is a weapon when it’s directed at the wrong person, and Jade is wrong for you. It won’t be you who pays the price, it’ll be her.”

“Jonah, I—”

Jonah waved his hand around the house. “Your family is cursed with tragedy. Don’t bring it into my home or visit it on my loved ones. Leave Jade alone.”

He walked across the porch and got in his car. Frank watched him drive away, right past Jade’s car without even looking at it.

She came down the steps behind him, her footsteps soft and feminine. “What did Daddy say?” she asked.

When he turned to her, he saw she was dressed, the stylish green brocade a mocking nod to morning. “He doesn’t want me to see you.”

She nodded. “I could’ve told you that. Why did he come here?”

“A man’s been beaten on the highway. Your father tried to help him, and he came to tell me so I could go look at the scene.”

“A man killed?”

“Beaten to death. The men who did it wore hoods, like the men who attacked Marlena.”

“This is terrible.” Jade sat on the steps as if her legs could no longer support her.

He got a cup of coffee and handed it to her. Once he retrieved his cup, he sat down beside her, his arm supporting her. “No,” he said, “this isn’t terrible. This could be a break in the case.”