The Blood Ballad (23 page)

“
No.
”

“
Do you have any suspicions?
”

“
Could be anybody.
”

“
What about you, Roscoe? Were you in love with Belle Morgan?
”

“
Everybody was. Most beautiful woman I ever laid eyes on.
”

“
Are you admitting to being in love with Belle?
”

“
Sure. But never did nothing about it. I been faithful to Hattie.
”

“
Roscoe, think about this carefully. Where were you the day Belle went to the mill?
”

“
Over in Simpson, helping the preacher man put a new steeple on his church.
”

At this point, the interviewer made a note that he had checked with Brother Olnik at the Baptist church, and Roscoe had indeed been at the church all day helping him with repairs.

The interview with the famous Scott Morgan was a little more colorful:

“
Mr. Morgan, sir, did you know about Belle's love affair with another man?
”

“
No.
”

“
No? It seems everybody else did.
”

“
Well, I heard some rumors here and there, but I didn't really know for sure.
”

“
Were you aware that she was leaving?
”

“
No.
”

“
No? Your wife knew.
”

“
Well, guess I'd heard something about it. Just thought she was going off on one of those vacations.
”

“
So you have no idea who she was seeing?
”

“
No.
”

“
Did you ever ask Eddie about it?
”

“
No.
”

“
You didn't want to know who it was?
”

“
No, look, this was none of my affair. Eddie can take care of himself. If he can't, then I suppose he gets what's coming.
”

“
What do you mean?
”

“
I mean, if his wife is gallivantin' around with some other man and Eddie don't do nothing about it, then he can't really complain when she leaves him.
”

“
Mr. Morgan, that's pretty harsh. He's your son.
”

“
I know, and he's always been a softy. I swear, any woman with legs could sweet-talk Eddie out of his life savings. Always has been like that. Looks like he just finally got one that would actually do it.
”

“
Do you think Belle took money from him?
”

“
No, she took his heart. Worth a lot more.
”

“
So, clearly this means a change for the Morgan family.
”

“
What? You mean the music? It won't change none. They don't come to see just her. They don't buy our records to hear Belle. I can get another guitar player.
”

“
So, this won't change things at all?
”

“
No. Now if it was Miriam that was gone, then I'd be worried. Nobody plays a fiddle like that gal.
”

I knew for a fact that a few months later Scott Morgan had changed his tune. Publicly, he was quoted as saying things like “I can't believe Belle would do this to us.” Scott Morgan was right. He could have replaced Belle with another guitar player. She wasn't that outstanding. She didn't have a unique picking style like Lefty Frizzel or a voice like Rosetta Tharpe. She did blend beautifully with the rest of the singers in the band and she was a very good guitar player, but still, very replaceable. The people you couldn't have replaced in his band were Miriam, Toot, and Scott Morgan. Toot had an amazing sound on the harmonica, one I'd yet to hear anybody duplicate. My grandpa used to say it sounded as though Toot was wheezing into the harmonica. Miriam was just the most fantastic fiddle player I'd ever heard, and Scott was not only the front man and the main voice but wrote most of the music, too. As songwriting went, Eddie would have been sorely missed, too, but as far as musical talent went, Roscoe, Eddie, and Belle could have all been replaced with just as equally talented musicians.

So then why had the band fallen apart?

“Earth to Torie,” Mort said. “Find anything useful?”

“Why is it when you're hot on the trail of something like this, there're always more and more questions before you get even the smallest of answers?”

“Nature of the beast,” he said.

“Oh, speaking of beasts, here comes my stepfather,” I said, glancing out the front window.

Colin didn't knock, just walked right in and made a beeline for me. “Hey, I looked in my book to check on this jewelry.… Good God in heaven, you're wearing a quilt,” he said.

“Better a quilt than camo,” Sheriff Mort interjected.

“Save your jokes,” I said. “What have you got?”

“That necklace is definitely a Cunningham Brothers necklace. They made it in 1921. It's a locket. So I'd be interested to see what's inside. Anyway, sorry it took me so long, but I had to wait for Sheriff Marceau to fax me a picture of it so I could look it up.”

“Great,” Mort and I said together.

“Right, well,” he said, rubbing his hands together. “I just wanted to pass that along.”

“Thank you,” Mort said. “I'll give Marceau a call and ask if they've opened the locket to see what's inside.”

“Good,” he said. “Well, I'm having lunch with Chuck. Talk to you later.”

As Colin left the museum, I turned to Sheriff Mort. I thought long and hard about the words that came out of my mouth next. “Colin is miserable as mayor.”

Mort scratched his neck with his finger, then leveled a gaze at me with those violet eyes. Why is it guys get things like long eyelashes, or naturally curly hair, or violet eyes? I mean, who has violet eyes? Other than Elizabeth Taylor,
nobody!
But I didn't have time to think about the injustices of Mother Nature.

“I gathered as much,” he said.

“He would like to get back into law enforcement.”

There was a really long pause—so long, I began to get uncomfortable. I figured if it went on any longer, I'd have to make some insipid comment about the weather.

“What exactly is it you'd like me to do?” he asked.

“Well, nothing, exactly.”

“You wouldn't have mentioned it if you didn't want me to do something. I like my job. I'm contracted for—wait, are you planning on knocking me off?”

“No!” I said. “Don't be stupid.”

“Then what?”

“Offer him a job as a deputy,” I said.

“What? Are you serious? Do you really think he could handle being a deputy when he used to be the boss of all the guys he'd be working with? He'd be their equal, not their superior. Could he be a deputy when he used to be sheriff?”

“Here's the thing, Mort. He is absolutely miserable. I mean, he's starting to get philosophical, and that's just outright dangerous. Not to mention scary. He wants back in law enforcement; he said so himself. But he's not going to come and ask you for a job. I know he won't.”

“Too proud?”

“And how. He might casually inquire about openings in the department, but he's not going to say he's interested. You'll have to offer him the position,” I said. “Do you even have any openings?”

He shook his head in the negative. “Not right now. Maybe in a year or two. I've got one thinking about going back to school to be a CSI.”

“Great. You could just say something to him like ‘Hey, I might be getting an opening in the department. When your time is up as mayor, would you be interested? I could sure use a … seasoned veteran.' Or ‘I could use a pair of trained eyes.' Yeah, that sounds good. No, the ‘seasoned veteran' sounds better, but I'd be afraid that he'd think you meant he was old. Damn. I don't know which you should say, but you get the picture. Right?”

“I don't need a script to offer a man a job.”

“Good,” I said. “Could you do that? Because then he would at least feel like he had options.”

“Sure, I can do that,” Mort said, smiling.

“What?”

“Why do you care?”

“'Cause if he's miserable, then I bet he's driving my mother crazy.”

He shook his head. “No, I think you're worried about him.”

“Mort, when Colin gets philosophical, I get scared. Really scared. Just do this for me, please.”

“I will.”

Twenty-one

One of the great things about having a mother is that you can always go back to her house and eat dinner. No, seriously. I cannot explain how fantastic it is to eat dinner with my mother. Not just because she's a great cook, not just because she instinctively knows what food I'm in the mood for, but because I'm partaking of a meal with my
mother
. Nobody loves you like your mother, even if you don't get along. Which, I guess, could be a bad thing, if you were the type of person who had a lot to hide. But sitting at the dinner table, with the silverware clanking against the dishes and the conversations floating back and forth and the smell of chicken fried in a cast-iron skillet, and green beans made with bacon grease and Rhodes raw-dough bread baked to perfection … well, I know that someday there will come a time when I'll give almost anything to have these moments back.

A few days after my conversation with Mort, we were having just such a dinner at my mom's house. Even the girls were behaving and actually laughing—with each other! I had to admit that I was a bit irked that they could behave for Grandma but not for me. At that moment, I hoped all of my children would grow up and have, like, six kids apiece and I'd get to return the favor.

“Christmas is only a little while away,” my mother said. She was wearing her deep green sweater, and it made her cheeks glow. The kids all piped in with what they wanted for Christmas, and, of course, Rudy had to complain about all the hype and money spent at this time of year. I swore that he was turning into my father.

At any rate, I had just taken a bite of my green beans when the conversation finally got around to bowling.

“No, really, Rudy, you almost had a strike on that last frame,” Colin said, chuckling. Rudy was agreeing wholeheartedly, because almost getting a strike in their bowling league was just as good as actually getting one. Last time I'd checked, Rudy was leading the league in nine pins knocked down, which said a whole lot about the other bowlers.

“My concentration was off,” Rudy said. “Otherwise, I think I would have actually gotten the strike.”

“Amazing,” Rachel said in a condescending tone from behind her chicken leg.

“Oh, I see you're wearing that ring I gave you,” my mother said to Rachel. “Haven't seen it in a while.”

“Well, that would be because Mary stole it out of my room and hid it.”

I kicked her under the table. “You just can't let it go, can you?”

“No, the whole world should know just how big of a brat she really is,” Rachel declared

“That's great, Rachel, but while you're spouting your mouth about how big a brat she is, you're just letting the whole world see how big a one you are, too,” I said.

“I don't get it. She's the thief, and you call me a brat.”

“Do you ever listen to yourself?” I said. “You never, ever, let anything slide or give anybody a break. I just want to know when you're going to live up to this perfection you expect everybody else to live up to.”

“Whatever,” she said and did the perfunctory eye rolling. “Whatever” is the word that most American teenagers would be lost without. Take it away, and they can't communicate.

“Having a sister is pretty tough, huh?” Colin said to Mary.

“You have no flipping idea,” Mary replied.

But that was it. They returned to their formal angelic state, because they were in the presence of Grandma. I ate in silence for a while, enjoying every bite. “So, Torie, are Stephanie and her family coming for Christmas?” my mother asked.

“As far as I know,” I said.

“And your father?”

“Yup.”

Stephanie is the love child my father had with another woman while my mother was married to him, but my mom's just amazing like that. Stephanie is always welcome at her house. The great thing is, Stephanie likes my mom and never turns down an invitation. I know it sounds like my mother is perfect, but she's not. I swear, she does have a few flaws. For example, she likes to tell everybody when they're doing things wrong, especially me, and she's pretty bad about rubbing it in when she's right.

“So, you guys will never guess what happened,” Colin said.

“What?” Rudy asked.

“Mort asked me if I wanted to be a deputy,” he said, beaming.

“You mean you wouldn't be mayor anymore?” Rachel asked.

“Well, I'd finish out my sentence first,” he replied.

“You mean your term,” my mother corrected.

“What? What did I say?” he asked, piling another heap of mashed potatoes onto his plate.

“‘Sentence,'” Rudy repeated and laughed.

“Oh, sorry, my term.”

“So, you're going to do it, right?” I asked. “I mean, isn't this what you wanted?”

Colin gave me a peculiar expression then. As though a window in his mind had been wiped of the grime and he could get a clear picture now. I knew that he knew that I had asked Mort to offer him the job.

“I don't know,” he said. “I told him I'd have to think about it.”

“Why?” Mary asked.

“Colin's not sure how awkward it would be working with everybody again,” my mother added. Clearly, he'd discussed this with her before dinner.