Penumbra (18 page)

S
ome fifty years had passed since Jonah had the first memory of coming up the long drive to the isolated house where he’d grown up. Jade’s home now. He was proud that he and Ruth had been able to give it to her.

Trees that had been saplings were now thick of girth. Some older trees had died, rotting back into the soil from which they’d come. As a young boy, Jonah had walked the driveway two and three times a day, going to the road to wait for Mose to come home. He always had a sense of peace when he was on the property of the old home place, and he sought that peace now, praying for guidance in the things he had to say to his daughter. He drove slowly, knowing Lucille would be fit to be tied if she knew he was running personal errands in her car. Jade was more important than Lucille’s tantrums. He had to talk to Jade.

He rounded a curve by an old mimosa tree, his mind on his daughter. He was completely unprepared for the big black Hudson that came at him, careening around the curve. Jonah wrenched the wheel, and the Buick swerved into the woods, taking down a small sapling and some huckleberry bushes. As it was, he narrowly avoided a head-on crash with Jade. He looked in the rearview mirror and saw she’d slammed on the brakes, sliding in the sand until she came to a sideways halt in the driveway, her body slumping against the steering wheel. He got out of the Buick and ran to her, fearing she’d struck her head. He opened the door and was relieved to hear her sobbing.

“Jade,” he said, pulling her into his arms. “Jade?”

“I’m okay,” she said.

She clung to him in a way she hadn’t done since she was a small girl. Anger rushed to his head, and he thought of killing Frank as he held his daughter. “What did he do?” he asked.

“He was watching through the window.”

Jonah didn’t understand. He’d seen Frank heading out the highway to the scene of the murder. “Who was watching?” “A man.” Jade burrowed into him.

Jonah stroked her hair and back, rocking slightly with her. The anger was gone, replaced by a fear colder than anything he’d ever experienced. “What man?” he asked, when her tears had begun to dry.

“I didn’t see who it was. He watched me through the bathroom window. He left flowers on the porch.”

He felt her relax, and he assisted her in sitting upright. There were things that had to be done, but for this moment, he would hold her and keep her safe. She was his daughter, the one thing he loved most of all in this world. No one else could hurt him as she could. Jade, alone, had the power to tear out his heart.

When she had quieted and he could feel that she’d gathered her emotions, he asked, “Did anyone know you were at Frank’s?”

He felt the subtle shift in her body, the shift from pliant to tense. “No one saw me,” she said. “There wasn’t anyone else on the roads. This isn’t about Frank.”

“Are you sure?”

“If you think this is retaliation … Have you considered that Lucille might have told?” Jade’s words were angry.

“She couldn’t have, Jade. She wasn’t in the car with me when I went to Frank’s. I left her at the hospital with Marlena, so she doesn’t know anything.”

She bowed her head. “I’m sorry, Daddy.”

“It’s okay. I would have thought the same.” He hesitated. “Jade, she’s your birth mother.”

“And that wouldn’t make an ounce of difference to her,” Jade said. She touched Jonah’s face with a gentle hand. “You’ll never believe that about her, will you? You’ve always been in love with her. But in this, Mama is right. Lucille would sacrifice me or you or Marlena or anyone else if it came down to it.”

Jonah felt as if her words were small pebbles pelting him in the face, penetrating to his heart. “You misjudge her, Jade.”

“Do I?” There was no anger in the question. “I don’t think so, Daddy. I hope you’re right, for Marlena and Suzanna’s sake, but I don’t think I’m wrong.” She sighed, and Jonah felt as he had when Lucille had first confided that she was pregnant by Slidin’ Jim Preston, a New Orleans sax man who’d come to Drexel to play one of the Longier parties. Jonah had been totally helpless to influence the future. Events had escaped him, left him behind with only emotions to feel and no actions to take. He thought of an animal in a trap, the way a fox or bobcat would gnaw off a leg in an effort to escape. He felt like that, and he hated it. This was the price of love. When love was invoked, all bets were off.

“Let’s go talk to the sheriff,” he said.

“I don’t know.” Jade looked out the windshield. “Let’s see how bad you banged up Miss Lucille’s car. She’s going to be upset.”

“Miss Lucille will get upset if the rooster crows on the left side of the house instead of the right. Truth is, she’ll get over it. There isn’t anyone else to drive her but me.”

He saw the surprise in Jade’s eyes, and for a moment he foolishly felt as if everything would sort itself out.

Heat danced on the hood of the big blue Ford as Frank walked around it. There were no skid marks on the highway, no indication that the driver, Sam Levert, had stopped suddenly or lost control of his car. It would seem he’d slowed down and stopped in a reasonable manner. And then someone had jumped him and beaten him so severely that he died.

Frank studied the asphalt and tried to reconstruct the scene in his mind as Huey and Jonah had described it. Huey shouldn’t have moved the car, but he understood that an elected official wasn’t going to block a highway. Now, he had to rely on details observed by someone else.

The car was unlocked, a fact that made him grit his teeth. He climbed in and went through the cracker wrappers, candy bar papers, and soft drink cans on the floor. Jonah had told him about the coaster from the Friendly Lounge. He shifted through the trash again. The coaster was gone. “Damn it to hell,” he said softly to himself. Huey had left the car unlocked for anyone to stop and go through. Sometimes the sheriff didn’t use the brain he’d been given.

Stepping onto the verge, Frank looked around. He saw where Levert had dragged himself down the embankment and into the ditch, probably in an attempt to get away from his attackers, or else he was so disoriented by the beating that he didn’t know, or care, which way he was crawling. He heard the flies and followed their sound to where they swarmed around a hunk of flesh with dark hair attached. Not far away was a tire tool, blood all over it. He picked it up carefully and put it in the patrol car for evidence, certain he’d found the murder weapon.

A scene was developing in his mind—Levert driving toward Pascagoula when he sees a car blocking the road. He stops to check it out. He’s attacked, beaten, and robbed.

Jonah had repeated what Levert said about two men in hoods taking two hundred dollars. There was no prevarication in Jonah’s account. He’d said the same thing twice.

Frank had done a good bit of traveling after he was released from the army hospital. He’d bought a car and driven from Norfolk, Virginia, to St. Luis Obispo on the California coast. Working odd jobs, he lingered in the West Virginia mountains, drifted through the spring beauty of the lake states, and tilled the fields of the Plains. One winter he’d driven a snowplow at the Continental Divide. The solitude and grandeur of the Rockies had almost captured him forever. Sometimes, late in the evening when the first stars came out, he could hear the rattle of the ice-covered spruce trees when a wind blew over the mountains, and he felt a longing that was hard to explain. He’d never gone back, though. He knew he never would.

After the Rockies, he traveled through the desert where he pumped gas for two months. Whenever the mood struck, he packed up and left town. Along the way, he met a lot of people, most of them okay, but enough mean ones to leave their mark. There were only two reasons he’d have stopped along a dark highway. One was to help someone in trouble, and the other would be if a law officer pulled him over. Sam Levert had slowed and stopped for a reason.

Walking through the tall grass, Frank searched for more clues, but his mind returned to the coaster from the Friendly Lounge that should have been in Levert’s car. He could think of only one reason someone would take such a thing. To hide the fact that Sam Levert had been in the Friendly. The logical conclusion to that thought was because someone who’d seen him in the Friendly had set out to harm him.

Marlena’s beating and Suzanna’s disappearance were related to the brutal death of Sam Levert. Frank knew this, though he had no way of proving it yet. With Levert, the beating had been even more vicious, and there wasn’t the sexual element that had been involved in Marlena’s attack. Both attacks had been committed by men in hoods, though. Frank could almost fit the pieces together, but not quite.

From among the reseeded pines and scrub oaks that grew on paper company land, he heard the sound of someone walking. He scanned the trees and found her, standing just at the edge of the young pines that came barely to her shoulders. His mother watched him, her arms still crossed over her chest, the lone rose clutched in her hands. She didn’t speak, but he understood what she wanted. To let it go. To walk away from all of it. To stay safe, and alive.

Something shiny in the grass at his feet caught his eye, and he knelt. The piece of plastic paper fluttered in the grass and he picked it up, recognizing the emblem of the Big Sun chip company as he held it in his hand. There was no way to know how long the paper had been tumbling along the ditch. It could have been thrown out by anyone, days ago. He knew better, though. John Hubbard was the center of the maze. He had to find him.

T
he front door of the Kimble house was open. Dotty stepped inside, wondering when, if ever, it would become Frank Kimble’s house, or even Frank’s house. Never. In Drexel, the past hovered over everything like a shroud. Folks who couldn’t spell “cat” were able to recite everything that had happened to their families since they’d come over from Ireland or Scotland, or England, or Africa, for that matter. It was disgusting. No one looked toward the future because they were all so damn busy preserving the past. In the entire county of Jebediah, Dotty owned maybe one of a dozen televisions. A lot of folks didn’t have a telephone. They lived in the dark ages and they liked it that way. Folks acted like Lucille Longier and Lucas Bramlett were the end-all and be-all of society. Well, she had information that was going to blow the whole social fabric of the town apart. Lucas, with his orders to bend over here and his hands grasping her hair and forcing her head down, well, he’d get his share of those activities when he was locked up in Parchman Prison. Maybe she’d even go up and visit him, flaunt a little of what he’d never have again. She had the goods on him, and she was going to tell Frank Kimble, just as soon as he got home. The slow wheel of justice would start to grind. She liked that. She’d heard it on some television show, and she liked it immensely. Lucas was going to be dust when she finished with him.

Her thoughts were distracted from Lucas as she looked around the foyer of the Kimble house. The staircase was like a graceful movement frozen in time, and she walked forward, unable to resist touching the banister. Lucas thought he had such a fine home, but there was nothing in that two-story house on the highway to compare with the Kimble house. Frank needed to have some parties, show the place off. She crept forward, knowing she was an uninvited intruder and yet unable to stop herself.

As far as she could tell, nothing had been changed in a hundred years. She peered in the doorway of the parlor and saw an old Victorian sofa in faded burgundy velvet that has once been plush. She wandered into the room, spying the cut glass decanters. A shot of bourbon was her due, she thought. Frank should have been home to offer her one. She poured two fingers into a crystal glass and sipped as she explored.

The portrait of Greta caught her attention and she walked over for a better view. The fair-haired beauty in the foreground was compelling, but it was the dark-haired woman, almost a shadow, that sent chills down her body. She stepped away and avoided looking into the dark corners of the room. She had the sudden, unpleasant sense that she wasn’t alone. The house was clean, but it had the smell of a place abandoned to all but spirits.

The kitchen held little interest. The refrigerator contained milk, cheese, a carton of eggs, butter, the staples of bachelor life. Two champagne glasses were in the sink, and her interest was piqued. The cabinets were empty, except for dishes. She went back to the staircase that had first caught her eye and went upstairs. One door was open, and she went there first, finding the unmade bed that looked as if a football team had wallowed in it. A thrill raced through her and she crawled on the bed on her hands and knees, sniffing. The scent was undeniable. Sex. Frank Kimble, or someone, had had sex in that bed, and recently. She climbed out of the bed and began to search the room for clues to the occupants. It had to be Frank. She was excited by her find. Everyone thought Frank was some kind of hermit or saint. He was simply discreet. The idea thrilled her. But who had he been making the two-backed beast with? That was the most interesting question.

There were no clothes in the closet or the bureaus. Frank had to have used the bed. No one else ever stayed at the Kimble house. So who was Frank seeing? She thought of a list of the youngish ladies in town and could come up with no one that seemed right for Frank. Thwarted, she finished her bourbon and thought to go back to the decanter for a refill. Frank should have been home by now. It was Sunday, and he never went to church.

She heard a car and went to the window, a vantage point that allowed her to see the driveway clearly. She put her glass down to use both hands to move the sheers in a way that would keep her concealed. The approaching truck was one she didn’t recognize. She hurried down the stairs and out onto the front porch, leaving the door open behind her. She’d just taken a seat on the steps when the pickup chugged to a stop. A handsome man with dark, intense eyes and a two-day growth of beard looked at her with cool insolence.

“Frank’s not here,” she said, realizing even as the words left her mouth that she sounded like someone close to Frank. It pleased her and she smiled. “He won’t be back for a while. Can I do something for you?”

He grinned. “I do believe you can.”

When he didn’t say anything else, curiosity got the better of her. “Who are you?” she asked.

“I’m an acquaintance of your husband’s. Dantzler Archey’s my name.” He got out of the truck slowly, his eyes never leaving hers. As he walked toward her, Dotty realized that she’d made a mistake. Maybe the biggest mistake of her life.

The switchboard operator at the Forrest General Hospital sounded haughty and more than a little put out at Frank’s persistence.

“Dr. Herron won’t make rounds until this evening. It
is
Sunday, you know.”

“Call him at home,” Frank said. “It’s urgent.”

“If I bother the doctor at home, I’ll lose my job,” the woman said, more annoyed than scared.

“If you don’t get Dr. Herron on the phone in the next ten minutes, I’m coming up to Hattiesburg and I’m going to arrest you. This is an official investigation, and unless I get a call back at the number I gave you, I’ll have you in jail for obstruction of justice.” Frank tugged at the collar of his shirt. It was an empty threat, but he had to talk to the doctor.

“You can’t do that.”

“Oh, yes, I can, and I will.” Frank hung up. He’d left his number on Saturday evening, when he’d first tried to reach the elusive doctor, and he’d given it again just a few moments before. He had two questions that only the doctor could answer.

If the hospital operator could find the doctor, Frank had no doubt he’d soon be getting a call. He put his feet on the desk in the sheriff’s office and waited. Normally, he would be at home on Sunday, or driving around the county, as he tended to do on his off days. He was just as glad to have something to do, though. Jade had insisted that she needed to spend the afternoon with her parents. He hoped she’d tell them about her feelings for him. Jonah already knew they were involved, but it might look like a sexual liaison to him, and Frank wanted both Jonah and Ruth to understand it was a lot more than that. Sexual satisfaction was easy to find, even in a town like Drexel. It was true emotional connection that was difficult, and he had that with Jade. She made him feel anchored to a reality that held hope. He wasn’t about to let that slip away, no matter that she was of Negro lineage.

The image of Jade, asleep in his bed, was a gift. Neither of them had meant to become involved. Both knew the problems they’d encounter. But what they felt for each other was beyond mere attraction. If a circle of fire enclosed Jade, he would walk through it to be with her. They would see one another again, and again, and again. But after a while, that type of bond would shatter, unless there was something stronger growing beneath it. If Jade refused to acknowledge their relationship, it would continue hot and passionate, and then die. The idea was unacceptable. His thoughts disturbed him, and he got up and paced.

Huey was at the First Methodist Church of Drexel dinner on the grounds, where he was every third Sunday. The sheriff had no great belief in God or Jesus Christ, but church was politically expedient, and as Huey was quick to point out, it didn’t do any harm. Frank had no patience for the cruelty of a mob, even if it was one garbed in Sunday best and singing hymns. He left the sheriff’s office and walked down the hallway to the front door of the courthouse. The afternoon had grown heavy with clouds, and he could almost feel the thunder collecting. When it finally cut loose, it was going to make the normal July thunderstorms seem like an April shower. There was a chance the phone lines would go down. That fretted him, and he walked back to the office and sat, looking at the phone.

It rang, and he jumped, a little ashamed that he was so much on edge.

“This is Willard Herron. What’s the emergency?”

Frank heard arrogance and impatience in the man’s tone. Well, it was Sunday afternoon, and like lawmen, doctors worked a hectic schedule.

He identified himself. “Do you have a John Hubbard for a patient?” he asked.

“I do, but that’s none of your business.”

“Mr. Hubbard has been missing since Thursday afternoon. He’s a material witness in a beating and kidnapping. I have reason to believe he may be in trouble. Now if you’ve heard from him, that would relieve my mind a good bit.”

There was a pause, and Frank could hear what sounded like rushing water on the line. It was already raining in Hattiesburg; he could tell by the sound of the phone.

“I saw Mr. Hubbard about two weeks ago for a checkup. He was in good health.”

“You gave him a prescription for phenobarbitone,” Frank said. “What condition does he have?”

“I can’t reveal that. Patient confidentiality.”

“Doctor, if Mr. Hubbard has a serious medical condition, I suggest you tell me. He doesn’t have his medication with him. I have it right here, in my hand.” He shook the pill bottle loud enough that the doctor could hear it.

“He’s an epileptic.”

Frank thought a minute. He knew that epileptics were prone to seizures, and that in certain circumstances, they could die. “How bad off is he?”

“Controllable, with medication.” The doctor sounded worried. “Mr. Hubbard has suffered his entire life with this illness. You can’t begin to imagine what it’s like, the way people react, the social ostracism. He’s made a life for himself in Forrest County. Please keep this in confidence. If his employer learns of this illness, they’ll fire him.”

“I appreciate your concern,” Frank said. He’d seen men fall into seizures from blows to the head, wounds, or just plain fear. The other soldiers had shrunk back from them, isolating them, whispering that they had been possessed by Satan or an evil spirit. Frank didn’t believe in evil spirits, or Satan, but he did believe in the barbarity of men. He knew what the doctor was saying. “I’m worried about Hubbard’s life. What’s liable to bring on a seizure?”

“Stress, over-breathing, loss of sleep. The cause can be emotional or physical.”

“If I find Hubbard and he’s alive, what should I do?” Frank needed him alive.

“Take the medication. Get him to take one. Get him to a hospital, preferably up here at Forrest General where I can tend him.”

“Thanks, doc.” Frank replaced the phone. During the length of the conversation, the sheriff’s office had grown dark. He looked out the window and saw that the sky was an angry gray bleeding to black at the edge of the front. All hell was about to break loose in Jebediah County.