Authors: Reavis Z. Wortham
Unraveled (21 page)
Grandpa radioed Mr. John on the way to fair. “John, you working tonight?”
The Motorola was the only light in the car, glowing bright enough to see his leather sap on the seat between us. His .38 was in the worn holster on his belt. I was sitting with my leg cocked up on the seat because my foot was throbbing.
Mr. John's voice cut through the static. “Yessir. I'll be out for a little bit, after I make one more stop. I need to keep an eye on that carnival, too.”
“That's where we're headed. I got the kids with me. I need to run out to Tigertown after while. You want to go?”
“Sure. I'll see you there and we can take my car to save you the gas. You oughta let the county pay for more trips like that.”
Grandpa keyed the mike again. “Good. I'll take 'em to the house after a little bit and then we'll go from there.”
He hung the microphone on the bracket screwed into the dash and joined the line of vehicles turning in to the parking lot. Grandpa stopped at the far end of a ragged line of cars and killed the engine. He hung his elbow over the seat to see Pepper and Mark in the back. “Now y'all listen to me. I'm gonna give you money for rides and something to eat, but I don't want you to spend one dime of it on them crooked games.”
Pepper had that look in her eye and I figured I'd have to rein her in at some point.
Grandpa handed me a few bills. “You're in charge of the money.” He glanced over his shoulder at Pepper. “I'd put Mark in charge since he's never been to a fair before, but I got a good suspicion that Pepper'd talk him into doing something with it he shouldn't.”
She rolled her eyes and I tried not to grin.
“And I don't want y'all leaving the grounds. If you get tired or your foot gets to hurtin', come wait by the gate. I'll drift around by there ever now and then to look for you, and we're going home at ten.” Grandpa opened his door. “All right. Let's go.”
The grass underfoot was dead and beaten into the damp ground. I figured half of those footsteps pointed toward the gate, all excited and full of energy. The other half most likely came back slow and sore-footed, and probably a little lighter in the billfold after the games and greasy food soaked up the money in their pockets.
We were used to grease. Most of what we ate was fried, and if it wasn't, it was cooked in bacon grease. Even a salad Miss Becky liked to make was nothing but leaf lettuce with hot bacon grease poured over it. She called it wilted lettuce. Come to think of it, bacon grease was in just about everything from biscuits to popcorn.
The grease at the carnival smelled delicious on the humid night air. The crushed grass mixed with the odor of damp dirt, frying food, and sweet caramel apples and cotton candy made my mouth water.
The lady at the ticket booth saw us walk up with Grandpa and waved us on through. Once inside, Pepper gave him a little tootles flip with her fingers and we split off. I followed her and Mark, limping a little because no matter how good I said it felt when Grandpa asked me, my foot was starting to hurt something fierce.
As soon as we were out of sight, Pepper took Mark's hand. “What do you want to do first? There's a Tunnel of Love over there.”
His eyes were bright. “Get some cotton candy.”
She snorted and I figured she wanted to ride in the dark with him and hold hands, and maybe even give him some sugar, but he had other ideas. I grinned and her eyes flashed at me, but Mark pulled her toward the line of food wagons in the middle of the midway.
We joined a group of kids waiting for the woman running the cotton candy machine to sweep the long paper cone around and around until it made what looked like a beehive hairdo. It was our turn when I saw Mr. Ike Reader.
A clown carrying a bouquet of bright balloons came by and Mr. Ike stopped like somebody jerked him back with a rope. He ducked behind a big woman buying a corny dog and waited until the clown was gone, then Mr. Ike disappeared into the crowd.
I started to laugh, but then felt bad about it, because everyone in Center Springs knew he was deathly afraid of clowns. I didn't want to make fun of anybody, because I was afraid of enough things to fill a book.
Unusually fidgety, The Wraith went back inside to get ready for work. He stared into the mirror and frowned at the sunken side of his jaw where Cody Parker once knocked out several teeth. There'd be payback for that tonight, one way or another.
***
Miss Sweet shared a small but neat frame house with her twin sister in Chisum. Neither she nor Miss Sugar ever married, but were aunts to most everybody who knew them. Miss Sugar was more of a homebody, and took care of the house while helping kinfolk and people who lived within walking distance because she couldn't abide riding in cars.
It was already dark when John turned into the two-track dirt driveway south of the tracks and killed the engine. The windows were open to catch the late evening breeze and Miss Sweet heard his door slam. She pushed the screen door open and limped out onto the porch.
“Law Pete! Look who's here. You bend down here and hug my neck!”
He stepped into her outstretched arms and folded nearly double to hug the short woman. “Miss Sweet, you're as purty as ever.”
She squeezed him tighter, then pushed him away and slapped his shoulder. “You mind your manners around an old woman. I don't need no more lyin' in this old world than what I've already heard.”
He laughed. “Where's Miss Sugar?”
She reached into the pocket of her house dress and fished around. A second later she popped her teeth into place. “She goes to bed with the chickens, and me, I don't hardly seem to sleep no mo'. Set down in that chair right there. The sun's down low enough it's kindly cool.”
Sweat rolled off John's face and he bit his lip to keep from chuckling at her “thin blood.”
“Where's your car?”
“Ralston took it for the night.”
“Don't he have no job no more?”
“Sure 'nough. He's 'bout off probation and mechanicin' on cars over't Dale's station.” She grunted as she dropped heavily in a cane-bottom chair. “Set down I said.”
John took the chair beside her. “How does he get off to run y'all around?”
She adjusted her blue house dress to make a pouch in her lap and reached into a bucket of purple-hull peas sitting beside the chair. Her crooked fingers shelled the peas while they talked. “Dale's always been good to us.”
John leaned back against the wall and plucked a hull from the bucket. He flicked it back and forth. “You been doing all right?”
“Fair to middlin'. Arthritis is bad and these old knees don't bend like they ought to.”
“Mine are giving me trouble, too.”
“You're filling out some. Looks like Rachel's feedin' you good.”
John laughed. “Well, my britches are a little tight these days. I don't need no more to carry around, though.”
“Your frame'll handle it.”
John broke the hull open and used his thumbnail to shuck a pea into his mouth. He chewed for a minute, savoring the fresh taste. “Miss Sweet. I got something to ask you.”
“I know it. You're here about all this fightin' and killin'.”
Nothing about the old woman surprised John. “For one thing. How'd you know?”
“That's all they're talkin' 'bout at church, and I can't call the last time you set on this porch with me.”
He flushed with embarrassment. “I know it. Miss Sweet, I ain't gonna ask you if you know who's to blame, but I need to ask you to see if you can settle these folks down.”
“You don't think I'm-a doin' that already?”
“Well, I figured, but if you was to say I'd talked to you, it might help.”
Peas rattled into the pan. “I'll do what I can, but it ain't much.”
“I know that. But there's been some push back from the Mayfield side, too. Houses burned and such.”
“Houses will burn.”
“Yessum. Now I got another question and I don't like asking it.”
“Go ahead on.” She threw a handful of hulls off the side of the porch and took some more from the bucket.
“Maggie Mayfield.”
Miss Sweet's gnarly hands slowed for a minute and a pea popped out onto the porch. “What about her?”
“All this started with her and Frank Clay, but somebody said they saw her and Ralston coming back from Frogtown not too long ago. I know she wasn't no angel, but is there some connection between them that I oughta know about?”
“I can tell you this for a fact. Ralston weren't messin' with that gal.”
John didn't respond.
“None of this he'n and she'n is any of my business, and it goes on all the time, but Ralston's done straightened up. He's got him a little girlfriend out towards Honey Grove.”
“That a fact?”
“It is. He don't say much about it, 'cause Honey Grove's in Fannin County and he ain't supposed to be leaving thissun', and John Washington, don't you go to gettin' on to that boy on my say-so, you hear?”
He stifled a grin. “Yessum.”
“Well.” She paused and allowed her arthritic hands to fall limp in her lap. “I sent Ralston out to Frogtown to get her.”
“You did?”
“I did.” She bit her dentures back into place. “See, she didn't have no business over there.”
“You're raising everybody around here?”
Miss Sweet smiled, added another acre's worth of wrinkles in her face. “She ain't mine to raise. She was done growed and that was part of it.” She threw another handful of hulls off the porch and stopped. She sighed. “John, I don't know if I should be talkin' 'bout this.”
“Well, I'm asking as a lawman, not somebody that's nosey.” He watched the profile of the old woman he loved as much as his own mother. He also knew the secrets she kept for those folks she treated. “Miss Sweet?”
She worked her lips as if trying to sound out the right words. “You know about such things they do out behind them places out in Frogtown?”
“Gambling and prostitution.”
“Lawd, no. I'm talkin' 'bout worse, but not in back rooms of that joint, I'm'a talkin' about them shacks futher back, where the po'est folks lives and the nasty things they do for money.”
John frowned. He could tell she was struggling for the right way to describe what she knew, but there were stumbling stones in the way and she was picking her way through.
“Hon, I do my healin' for good. I work for the Lord and for them that ain't got no money for any of those fancy medicines or expensive doctors, though they do the Lord's work too. There's some things I won't do, though. What I'm talking about is the things that are done there that ain't legal ner right with the Lord.”
“You ain't talking about juju or clay men, are you?”
“Naw, bless your heart, hon. You ain't seen what I have. The dirty side of doctorin' on tables where they take them poor little babies before they ever draw a breath.”
Her old eyes filled, and she salted the raw peas in her lap while she spoke of a secret she'd sworn to carry to her grave. “She couldn't do it. She couldn't do it, praise the Lord. But she told the baby's daddy, and he was glad. See, Frank was a good man and lost in the love that had died with one woman, and was set afire with another.”
“Maggie.”
“You're a-hearin' me.”
“That's why they were in the car together on the dam?”
Miss Sweet nodded. “I 'spect. It weren't right, ner wrong. It just was.”
Cody and Norma Faye sat in his El Camino parked where he could see both the fair and the parking lot. Crickets and frogs sang a melody as dusk gathered. Cody didn't want to drive the sheriff's car; it attracted too much attention and he was still trying to lay as low as possible.
She cut her eyes across the cab. “This reminds me of when we used to go out at night and have fun. But sometimes I feel like my mother, washing, ironing and cleaning day after day.”
“I know what you mean.” He gave her hand a pat and rested it there, feeling the small wedding ring on her finger. “Four years ago we were dancing on Saturday nights, now we spend most of them at home, when I can get off and be there.”
“You think this is better than going to the movies?”
He'd checked the paper before they left to see what was showing. “We don't have much choice. The Plaza's showing that Disney movie
Monkeys, Go Home!
, and the Grand has a documentary about that horrible singer, what's his name? Bob Dylan.”
She grinned at her husband who only listened to country music. “Now how do you know about him?”
“Your niece. Pepper listens to his music, but I couldn't tell you why to save my life.”
“
My
niece.”
“You bought in, so it's share and share alike.”
“I gotcha. I love that girl, but sometimes I want to ring her neck.”
“Because she reminds you of you.”
She glanced at the lights. “That, and other things. So Mr. Big Spender, you brought me to this cheesy carnival instead of a happy Disney movie.”
“Right.” His attention wavered as a cluster of Mayfields stopped at the ticket gate. He'd already seen at least one Clay and his wife in the parking lot. He hoped those who ran into each other would let it go and simply enjoy the carnival.
Norma Faye noticed where his attention was focused. “You're not here to work, are you?”
Cody brought himself back with a mental yank. “Nope. We're here for a little safe excitement and to have a good time.” He watched the Tilt-a-Whirl spin screaming customers in a blurred circle as the lights flashed by in streaks of color. “Hey, how about next weekend we go to the Sportsman and do a little dancing? What's the fun of owning a honky-tonk if you can't enjoy it?”
“Well, it'd be fun if we went and you didn't work. You promise not to talk business?”
He realized she'd seen through the idea. He wanted to spend some time with the customers he recognized, looking for information, because he still couldn't get his mind off the accident. “All right. We can go once all this is wrapped up. But we're here tonight. I promise you a lot of fun, how about that?”
“Rides?”
“None that'll make me sick.”
“Well then, we'll probably wind up on the carousel or one of those little kid rides that move plywood boats or cars in a circle.”
“Any of that'd make me dizzy for sure. We can fool around in the Tunnel of Love, or I'll grab your butt in the Funhouse.”
“All right, you can have your way with me in a cheesy little cart, but you have to buy me a hotdog and some cotton candy first.”
“Deal.”
Norma Faye gathered her purse and didn't notice Cody's frown as he saw Royal and Cecil Clay loafing near the entrance gate, looking like they were waiting for someone.
His stomach tightened when Royal spat a stream a tobacco juice in the direction of Bryce Mayfield who ignored the challenge and stopped at the first game at the entrance, to lose some of his hard-earned money at the Bottle Toss.
