The Rivers Webb (13 page)

Finally, Roy Rivers turned his eyes away from the train, now long past. The sunken cheeks and haunted expression gave him the appearance of a man lost. It was a little startling for Dan to see the man he had admired for so long in such a state. Since he was a boy, Dan had admired the strength, determination, and out-and-out life that had been so evident in Roy Rivers.

“Spit it out,” Roy demanded.

Dan took a moment to collect himself. He'd already angered his boss—his hero—and it seemed as though he was well on his way to causing permanent damage to their relationship. A part of him kept wondering if it was worth it, but Dan's own conscience won out. This must be said.

“It's just that the town is seeing an awful lot of people workin' real hard to catch this killer. And some of 'em are bein' heard askin' why you ain't among 'em.”

Whenever you prepare to ask a question or make a statement like Dan just did, you usually have some kind of an image in your head as to what the resulting reaction will be. Whatever expectation Dan may have had, it was not realized. Roy Rivers' face was virtually unreadable, as though Dan's words came as no surprise and held no concern.

Dan fought the urge to ask if Roy had even heard him at all. It seemed as though an eternity went by before Roy responded.

“And what, exactly, did you tell them, in response to all those questions?”

Dan paused a moment, just long enough to make it seem like he was hesitating.

“I've been tellin' ever'body the same thing. That we're workin' several leads, and you're very busy coordinatin' our efforts…” Dan paused for effect, then, “In short, I've lied.”

Dan allowed his words to sink in. He didn't want to be cruel, but there came a time when a man had to be clear enough that his words could break through the haze of grief and anger.

Now was just such a time.

“Don't get me wrong, Sheriff. I don't think there's a man alive that could hold up better'n what you have, considerin' what all you've had to see. But that's Roy Rivers I'm talkin' about. And though it sure as hell ain't fair, the simple fact is the folk of Coweta ain't concerned about him—not one little bit. Na'ssir. They are scared and confused, and they are countin' on their sheriff to set things right. Not Roy Rivers, but Sheriff Rivers.”

In the distance, the train whistle sounded faintly against the Georgia heat.

“It's up to you, sir,” Dan finished. “You gotta decide who you gonna be today…the man, or the sheriff.”

Roy looked the deputy straight in the eye for a moment, as though seeing him in a way that had never occurred to him before.

“So, Dan. What do you need from me? You want my badge?”

“No, sir, I do not. What I want is to catch the son-of-a-bitch that killed your brother and your nephew, and I'll do whatever the hell I hafta to do it…even listen to that natterin' northerner son o' yours goin' on about how much smarter he is than ever'body else!”

This, finally, drew a slight smile across Roy's face. He clapped a weary hand on Dan's shoulder, much as a father would a son. He held it there for a moment, and took one more long look out across the unchanging Georgia plain.

“Thank you, Dan. I suppose it is time I got back to my responsibilities.”

“Far as I'm concerned, you never left 'em. Ya' jest needed to take a step back and collect yer thoughts. Same as anybody does…now and again.”

The sheriff of Coweta County and his deputy stood in silence for a moment, then Dan pulled away. With a sheepish grin, he walked back to his car. Over his shoulder, he called back to his boss.

“I'm headin' back to the station. I promised Fred I'd give him a chance to stretch his legs for a while.”

It wasn't just a schedule update, and Roy knew it.

“I'll see ya' there. I got a couple o' things I gotta see to first,” Roy replied. Dan turned, nodded, satisfied. Then, he got into his car and sped off back toward town, kicking up the dirt, sand, and clay that was Georgia. Now alone, Roy looked down along the tracks, toward a freight train long since out of sight.

* **

Coweta County, Georgia: Geographically speaking, it is an unassuming stretch of land in Northwestern Georgia, just a two-hour drive from Atlanta. Its abundant wildlife and winding rivers make it a pleasant spot, while the simple charm of those who call it home make it a nice place to live. Coweta County. On paper, it sounds just about perfect.

But to Annie Ruth Stovall, with four children to feed, Coweta County had a very different look and feel. Today, especially. Because on a summer day like this, when it was too hot to stay in the house and there just wasn't anyone to lend a hand, it meant that wherever Annie Ruth went, she did not go alone.

“Mama, I'm tired o' walkin'. I wanna go play,” begged her oldest daughter, Geraldine. To her credit, she managed to keep it just this side of a whine.

“We're almost there, Sweetheart. Jest you remember to stay in sight onct' we get to the playground,” Annie Ruth assured her. She hiked little Hazel Jean a little higher on her hip, as the little one-year-old began to stir in the midday heat.

Geraldine stamped her feet a little as she walked the next few steps, and her nose crinkled furiously. At the age of nine, she was young enough to still need a close eye on her, but old enough to resent it. Annie Ruth knew this, of course, just as she knew that, to Geraldine's thinking, there wasn't a single person or thing in Sales City that she didn't know, and therefore, nothing that she should be afraid of. Annie Ruth just wished that last part was true.

By some standards, the little strip of grass beside the Methodist Church was hardly a playground at all. Just a few old swings, a rusty seesaw, and a picnic table. But there was plenty of shade, and on a day like today there would be other children for them to play with. Plus, there were bound to be other mothers watching, which meant she could pull away from the kids long enough to get some shopping done at the general store.

Hazel Jean stirred again, reminding her that she couldn't quite get away from all the kids. But even with Hazel Jean still in hand, keeping Geraldine, Harold, and Carol Ann occupied would make buying the few necessities she could afford much simpler.

Just as she had hoped, the playground was full of children, and Mrs. Thorpe was more than happy to keep an eye on the little dears, and was even willing to let Hazel Jean set up camp on her lap—a blessing Annie Ruth would have been afraid to hope for. With a quick round of kisses and a reminder to Geraldine to keep watch over the younger children, Annie Ruth rushed to the General Store.

She was fortunate there, as well. Mr. Frank, the owner, was in sore need of eggs, since the Putnam's chickens were put off laying by a fox that had been running loose near their property, and the Albright's farm was quarantined because of a bad fever. Which left the Stovalls' brown eggs looking suddenly very desirable. In short order, she had agreed to supply 10 dozen eggs a day for the next week, and in return she would get 10 pounds of flour, six bundles of burlap, and 3 new work shirts for Arthur. She was feeling rather good about the whole thing, and felt comfortable enough to splurge on some sugar, cocoa, and vanilla for a cake.

It was while searching for the vanilla that she heard a familiar voice call her name.

“Annie Ruth?”

She turned to see Sam Posey at the end of the aisle.

“Doc? It's good to see you. I'm surprised to see you so far from home, though.”

“It's Mr. Frank's custom dog feed. I made the mistake o' lettin' that ol' badger trade me a couple bags for some buckshot I had. Ever since, that old bluetick o' mine won't settle for anythin' less. So I come up once a month or so and get 'im his supply.”

Sam came closer, as if to say something of a more conspiratorial nature.

“Actually, I was hopin' I'd get the chance ta' talk with ya' while I was in town.”

“Really? And why's that, Doc?” Annie Ruth asked, obviously curious.

“I been worryin' about you a little, I guess. What with all this mess goin' on…”

Suddenly a little thrill of fear went straight through Annie Ruth.

“What're ya' sayin', Doc? You ain't…you ain't
seen
nothin', have ya'?” Without realizing it, Annie Ruth had closed the distance between them, and had now placed a hand on his arm. Sam Posey looked at her curiously for a moment, and then realized her meaning.

“Oh. No. No. Nothin' like that, I promise,” he quickly assured. Annie Ruth slumped with relief.

“Ya' 'bout scared me ta' death!”

“Oh, my Lord in heaven, I'm sorry, Annie Ruth. I jest meant that, well… I been thinkin' about how you must be feelin' right now. This whole business has got ever'body lookin' over their shoulders—jest as nervous as can be. An' I was curious as to how you was holdin' up?”

“Well, that's real nice of ya' ta' worry over me, Doc. An' truth be known, I feel just as jumpy as anybody… I ain't one to worry, not really, but I'll tell ya'—I have been findin' myself castin' more than just a passin' glance at the winda' anytime there's a shadow come acrost it. I know how silly that must make me look, but it's true.”

“Not at all,” Sam said, encouragingly. “I'd dare say there's a good many folk in Coweta County that's lockin' their doors at night for the first time, ever. An' more 'an a few been findin' themselves spendin' more time in earnest prayer than they'd ever admit to.”

“Well, I can't say as that's a
bad
thing. I know quite a few folks as could use a bit more time on their knees,” Annie Ruth replied, only partially sarcastically.

Sam laughed quietly in reply, though the look of concern never left his eyes.

“I daresay, you're prob'ly right. Though, at such a cost…”

“Such a cost,” Annie Ruth repeated thoughtfully.

“I don't want you to worry none, though. It don't help none, no how. 'Sides,” Sam said, hoping to lighten the mood, “if I were some fella bent on doin' harm ta' anyone, the last place on God's green earth I'd come to do that would be the Stovall house. Even if I was to get past ol' Arthur, that would jest mean I'd haf'ta face off against you. No man alive would be crazy enough ta' do a thing like that!”

Annie Ruth blushed a little at the compliment.

“That's kind o' you to say, Doc.”

“Ya' know, Annie Ruth, since we are kin, an' we been friendly for a long time, now…don't ya' think you could jest call me Sam? Doc's fine and good for most folks, I guess. But it just don't seem right when you say it.”

“Alright,” Annie said. “After all, we have been friends now for…well, as long as I can remember, really.”

“Since the Pelham County Fair o' 1902,” Sam said quietly.

“Good Lord. I was four years old, Sam…”

“But you remember it like it was yesterday,” he replied

“Emma Lou took me with 'er that day. We saw us a three-headed hog, and a monkey that smoked a cigarette. I had my first taste o' cotton candy, and Emma Lou flirted with the boy runnin' the Ferris Wheel so's he'd let me ride, even though I was s'posed to be too small.” Annie Ruth smiled at the pleasant memory, but it was an incomplete smile, and Sam Posey didn't need a special vision to know why. “We also got in line to talk to a young man they said could tell your future. 'Course, he must'a been tired by the time we got to 'im, ‘cause he couldn' tell us nothin'.” Annie Ruth looked Sam straight in the face when she said this. “'Course, you and I both know that ain't true, don't we, Sam. I overheard you talkin' to the fella' behind us as we walked away. Emma Lou didn't…but I did. You said…”

“I said, ‘That girl ain't got no future,'” Sam interrupted.

Annie Ruth looked over the items on the counter, as though she were trying to pretend that this was just a friendly chat. But she knew they were past that.

“I guess it must be hard. Knowin' things that are goin' ta' happen. Knowin', maybe, that somebody aint gonna get to see the next sunrise. I think that, if I knew that kinda' thing, it might be easier to lie to someone, right ta' their face, then hafta hear the pain in their voice or the cries and pleas—as if you could somehow change it. Yeah, I s'pose I'd just plain lie. And I s'pose, after doin' it for forty years or so, I'd get pretty good at it.”

“Yes,” Sam said bitterly, “you would.”

Annie Ruth pulled her attention from the cans on the shelf and looked at Sam, hard. There was a cold edge in her eyes that frightened the man a little.

“Well, I'm not cryin'. I ain't got the time or the wherewithal to fall apart with bad news, and I know better'n to ask you to try an' change things. So damnit, Sam, I don't want to hear any lies. I jest want to know the truth…is ever'thin' gonna work out alright?”

“Alright, Annie Ruth? I can tell you it's gonna work out, but whether or not it's gonna be alright…I just don't know.”

Annie Ruth would be thinking about that answer for some time. It would invade her thoughts, making it difficult to concentrate on anything else. It would prevent her from sleeping as well. In fact, she was lying awake later that night, pondering its meaning, when a sound like distant thunder rumbled across the Georgia landscape.

Chapter 6

Friday, May 27th, 1942

Wilhelmina Rivers was, in a sense, a creature of habit. More precisely put, she was a creature of other people's habits. She had become accustomed to her daily schedule, and enjoyed keeping it in its minutest detail. From her breakfast, which was perfectly laid out on the small table by her bedside, to her newspaper and coffee downstairs in the kitchen, to her daily drive into town, Wilhelmina was uncompromising in her schedule. And it never occurred to her that it was slightly more demanding on those who prepared her breakfast, laid out her paper, and got her car washed so that she would look her best as she drove by. The people who made her daily schedule possible were never a concern. Wilhelmina was a woman of means, and therefore a woman of privilege.

Had she given more thought to the people around her, she might have had a slightly better start to her day. As she rubbed the sleep from her eyes, and reality started to creep into the haze of waking, she became aware of three distinctly important things.

First, she realized that she had been allowed to oversleep, and then she noticed that her breakfast was not laid out, and then it caught her eye that the yellow and blue dress that she had requested for today had not been pressed and made ready for her. In anger and frustration, she got out of bed and rushed to her bedroom door and called out into the hallway:

“Opal? What in all creation are you thinkin'? I am far behind schedule this morning!”

There was no answer. Wilhelmina might have had a spark of concern, but it was overridden by her sense of outrage at what she could only perceive as a failure by her dutiful sister to meet her responsibilities. She walked back into her room and grabbed a dressing gown before returning to the hallway.

Wilhelmina had always suspected this day would come. Opal had always managed to keep her responsibilities despite any excesses she may have indulged in the night before, but it was inevitable. Wilhelmina marched down to Opal's room and slammed her fist on the door repeatedly.

“Opal! Wake up, now. You have responsibilities!”

She continued to yell without result.

“I'll not stand for this. I have warned you before that I would give you no sympathy should your quiet little habit interfere with your duties. Now get out here right now and face me!”

If Wilhelmina was expecting a response of any kind, she was to be disappointed. There was not so much as a rustle of bedsheets. Wilhelmina began to wonder just how much Opal had drunk the night before.

“Miss Wilhelmina?” came a familiar voice from behind her. She jumped visibly, turning to see Gerald standing at the end of the hall. She quickly clutched her housecoat to cover the single square inch of skin that might possibly be exposed and uttered her very best outraged gasp.

“Gerald, what on earth do you think you are doin', standin' there like some kind a' peepin' tom!?”

“Oh, Ma'am, I am so sorry, I didn't mean ta' scare ya' like that!” Gerald said quickly, backing slightly down the hall.

“What are you doin' here, anyway?”

Gerald looked as if he were trying to decide whether he was embarrassed, nervous, or just plain miserable.

“Well, Ma'am, I heard all the ruckus and…beg y'er pardon, Miss Wilhelmina, but ya' couldn' he'p but hear it.”

“Gerald, I ain't got time for y'er yammerin' right now. Would you j'est help me get this door open, so's I can wake Opal?”

“That's what I came up here to tell ya', Ma'am. Miss Opal…she ain't in there.”

*

The smells of fresh cut grass and summer flowers, carried along on a light breeze, usually can inspire even the most foul-mooded individual to a heartfelt smile.

Of course, it loses a lot of that effect when it is mingled with the scent of burnt metal, charred wood, and a sickly sweet odor that might be hard to pinpoint, but somehow places a person at immediate unease.

It was that odor that had put Dan in such an intolerable mood this morning. The four volunteers that he had managed to get to help with the unpleasant task before him could tell he was going to be a bear, and had the situation been any less than what it was, they would probably have told him he could do the job by himself and left. He knew this, just as he knew that the same thing affecting him had an adverse affect on them, as well. He made a mental note to find a way to thank them later, as he picked up a shovel and started back on the nasty chore of clearing debris.

From behind him, he heard the familiar sound of a car horn. Turning, he saw the well-known burgundy Studebaker that Wilhelmina Rivers drove through town everyday. She was the last person he wanted here right now, and the men around him knew it. They all managed to discreetly make a very wide circle around the deputy.

“Deputy Merrill, Deputy Merrill. I need your assistance, immediately!” Wilhelmina cried out as she exited the car and ran—yes, actually ran—across the field to where he stood.

“Deputy Merrill, I…” Wilhelmina stopped mid-sentence, as she suddenly noticed the sight directly behind him.

“My dear God in Heaven, Dan! What on earth has happened here?”

Dan turned to inspect the horrific scene of destruction he had been working through all morning.

“The granary exploded late last night. Sent pieces o' metal an' wood all over, not to mention all this burnt sorghum,” Dan said, then sneezed, as if to emphasize the point.

“Well, that's just awful, but I don't see how it merits takin' up your time, especially when there is a much more pressin' need at hand!”

Dan put up his hands placatingly.

“It's not that simple, Ms. Rivers.”

“Dan, Opal is missin'!”

“I'm sorry…what?”

“Opal. She's gone. I don't know why, but when I woke up this mornin' she was gone, and Gerald says she's been gone all night. I have got to know where my sister has got to, Dan. You simply must help.”

“I will, Wilhelmina, I will. But get me up to speed a little bit here. How does Gerald know she's been out all night?”

Wilhelmina took a steadying breath before beginning. Dan was glad to see it, but there was a little nagging at the back of his mind that was quickly working its way forward.

“Last night, Opal took the truck Roy uses to check on the livestock and drove it out to deliver some fried chicken and pole beans over to the McDermot house. Mrs. McDermot's over in Atlanta nursin' her Mama right now, so's the only one takin' care o' those young-uns is that worthless husband o' hers, David…” Even Wilhelmina could tell she was starting to ramble. “Anyway, Opal felt sorry for those kids, 'cause she figg'ered that man wouldn't know how to fix a proper meal, so she took the truck and off she went. Gerald had offered to take her, but she told him it wouldn't be necessary…”

Dan got the picture. The Rivers liked to pretend that nobody knew about their little indiscretions, but it just wasn't so.

“You figure she might have wanted to run some ‘other errand' while she was out?”

Wilhelmina nodded stiffly, uncomfortable with revealing something so private about her sister, even couched in innuendo.

“Gerald saw that the truck weren't back this mornin', and I had already discovered her absent from her room. That's when I came lookin' fer you.”

Dan was getting more and more disturbed by this turn of events, which he only partially managed to hide from Wilhelmina.

“Tell ya' what. I'll be done here real quick, then I can head on over to see David McDermot, find out what time Opal came over with dinner, then I'll shoot on over ta'…”

Dan caught himself before he said “Hank Groves' Liquor Store.”

“Well, I'll jest see what old David has ta' say, and I'll take it from there. In the meantime, I want you to go to the sheriff's office and tell Fred to get out there and look for yer truck.”

Wilhelmina nodded gratefully, and started back toward her car, apparently oblivious to the nervous looks Dan was making over his shoulder back to the wreckage behind him.

Halfway back to the car, Wilhelmina turned again, as if to search out some kind of answers among the twisted metal and burnt sorghum.

“How does somethin' like this happen, Dan?” she asked.

“Oh, ya' know how it is with these old silos, Ma'am. Grain gets left in too long, starts to ferment, gas builds up, turns the whole damn thing inta' some kinda' bomb, just waitin' for the sun to heat it up an'…”

Dan left the obvious result unsaid.

“Well, thank you so much for that science lesson, Deputy Merrill. It ain't as though I been livin' around these things longer 'an you been born, after all.”

Dan smiled sheepishly at the biting sarcasm.

“Yes, Ma'am. Of course.”

“What I'm askin' is, how did this happen in the middle o' the night, when there ain't no sun to set it off?”

It was a good question. It was, in fact, the very question that had inspired Dan to drag four volunteers out here to sift through the rubble. The problem was, in order for Dan to tell her that, he would also have to tell her why he was so determined to search through every inch of the damage site, and why he was trying so hard to get her out of the area before…

“Deputy!” came a shout from one of the volunteers, “Deputy, we found somethin'!”

Dan took the opportunity the interruption provided him and ushered Wilhelmina the rest of the way to her car.

“Ma'am, I gotta take care o' this. But I won't be too long, ya' have my word. Now, let's not waste any time, ya' hear? You get on down to the station and talk ta' Fred. I'll handle everything here.”

Wilhelmina seemed satisfied to put her curiosity on hold for the moment. As she drove off down the road, Dan's shoulders slumped down in an odd mixture of relief and foreboding.

With leaden feet, he walked to where his four volunteers were gathered. The center of their attention was half-buried under sorghum, ash, and a piece of sheet metal off the silo, but it was unmistakable. It was the source of that putrid odor. It was a body, and just as Dan had feared ever since Wilhelmina had driven up, it was wearing the remains of a very well-made sundress.

It was fully three hours after Dan had discovered and identified Opal's body at the silo explosion that Sheriff Roy Rivers and Deputy Fred Flandon were driving at ridiculous speeds down Highway 47. Roy was angry, and it showed in his driving.

Fred could clearly see how upset the sheriff was, and how that was affecting his driving, but he was too terrified of the man to say anything. Truthfully, Fred had always been a little afraid of his boss. But the events of the past few weeks had engendered a deep and honest terror of the man. Opal's murder had deepened that fear a little more, so when Roy had stormed into the office and barked at Fred to get in the squad car, it was only an extreme act of willpower that kept him from wetting himself. Of course, it occurred to him now that, had he not employed that act of self-control, the sheriff probably wouldn't have wanted him along for this near-suicidal race down the road…

The sheriff had yet to locate John Webb. This was the cause for his dangerous driving. He had already secured Wilhelmina and Arnold at the Rivers Estate, with Gerald and a few others he trusted in place to keep them safe. But with this morning's murder, it was becoming entirely too clear that their killer had very specific targets, and whether John wanted to admit it or not, he was a Rivers.

That's why Roy's first stop that morning had been to the Boarding House. John was supposed to have left word as to where he was going in case there had been some break in the case and they needed to reach him. But Mr. Ellswhite couldn't tell them anything. Apparently, John had left rather early that morning, before anyone else, and left no word or message. Since then, he had driven to every place that had been on John's list of planned visits to try and locate the man, with no luck.

And now, he had to put that search on hold.

Dan had found something at the explosion site. That was why Roy had rushed back to pick up Fred. It was why they were racing down to the Stovall home as fast as the car would carry them. Not that speed was an issue. You could walk to the place in half an hour, but the sheriff was mad, and driving fast was just one of the ways he showed it. So, fortunately for Fred, the terrifying ride only lasted about a minute and a half.

Unfortunately for Fred, the sight that greeted them when they arrived at the Stovall home only served to deepen the sheriff's bad mood. There in the front yard, in plain sight, was the all-too familiar Studebaker that John Webb had been driving.

“How did Mr. Webb know we was comin' for Athur Stovall?” he asked, before common sense told him to shut up.

“He didn't,” Roy said through clenched teeth. It was at that moment that Fred realized how great a mistake it was that he didn't just pee his pants back at the station when he had the opportunity.

Fred had been there when Ephraim Moss had gotten too drunk for his own good and started shooting up the boarding house. He had broken up more than his fair share of fights between angry neighbors. He had even single-handedly faced down the Rivers' prize bull when it had broken out of the pen and started terrorizing picnickers in a nearby meadow.

All these things were familiar to him, as they were regular occurrences for a small Georgia town.

Walking up to a man's home to place him under arrest for suspicion of three murders, however, was very far outside of his realm of experience. At this moment, Fred was at a total loss for how to hold himself. He tried to think of detectives he'd seen in movies; how they had held their hand with a thumb hooked into their belt, close to their gun, just in case trouble came, and how they kept their hard eyes fixed on the ground before them, until that fateful moment when they raised them up to look the suspect straight in the eyes.