Unspeakable (39 page)

It was presumptuous to think she wanted his help anyway. Delray had suspected him of sabotaging the herd. Her father-in-law's suspicions, coupled with those of the deputies who had escorted him away this morning, might have convinced Anna that he was guilty. The hours of questioning he had undergone hadn't bothered him nearly as much as the reproach he'd seen in her eyes as he'd tried to explain to David why he was in custody of the deputies. All the way around, for a variety of reasons, she and her son would be much better off if Jack Sawyer were out of the picture. With this full tank of gas, he ought to drive away from Blewer and everyone in it. He could leave with a clear conscience, knowing he had benched Lomax long enough for Anna to consult another financial adviser.

Arrogant and smug is how he had felt when he left the bank. Now he cursed himself for being so reckless. He'd walked out of the sheriff's office today, but the next time law officers came after him it might not be so benign an experience. He'd been a damn fool to threaten Lomax. With his knife, no less. That was as good as waving a red flag. Yeah, the sooner he was away from Blewer, the better.

The service-station attendant returned with a can of oil. "This brand okay?"

"Sure. Fine."

While the oil was draining into the engine, the boy strolled back to the driver's side, propped one foot on the gas pump, and leaned against it. "Gum?" He offered Jack a stick of Big Red.

"Thanks."

When they were both chomping, he remarked, "I'd've remembered this truck. You ain't a regular."

"No."

"Headed in or out of town?"

"Haven't decided yet."

The young man glanced up and down the street. "I's you, I'd head out."

"Why?"

"Nothin' excitin's gonna happen 'round here. That's for damn sure."

"It's a pretty quiet town, all right."

"Unless them Herbolds show up. Then there might be some fireworks." He smacked his gum as though he welcomed the possibility. "My old man knowed 'em when they lived here."

"No kidding?"

"Says they's bad news. Says they might be headed back here, but I say who'n hell would want to come to Blewer, especially straight from prison? If it was me just broke out, I'd hit the big cities and find me some recreation." He winked and popped the gum between his molars. "Know what I mean?"

"Yeah, I know what you mean." Jack raised his hips off the seat and dug into his front pants pocket. "How much do I owe you?"

Taking the hint, the young man moved around to the front of the truck, tossed the empty oil can into a trash barrel, and lowered the hood. "Cash or credit card? If you pay by cash, you get a five percent discount and a free beer Koozie."

Jack handed him two twenty-dollar bills through the open window. "I'll take the discount. Skip the Koozie."

"You sure? My girlfriend and me collect 'em."

"Be my guest."

"Cool. Be right back with your change."

During their conversation, Jack had reached a decision: He wasn't going anywhere. Not until the Herbolds were either recaptured or killed in the attempt. Anna might order him out of the trailer and off her land, and he couldn't blame her if she weren't entirely certain of his trustworthiness. But he couldn't leave Blewer as long as Carl and Cecil were still at large and posing even a hint of threat to her and David.

"Here you go."

The young man gave him his change. "Thanks for the good service," Jack told him.

"You bet. Thanks for the Koozie." Nodding past Jack's shoulder, he added, "Wherever you're headed, Mister, if I's you, I'd try and outrun that."

Jack looked through the truck's rear window, and for the first time noticed the dark storm clouds gathering on the horizon.

***

"Dumb sons o' bitches."

Lucy approached the counter with a carafe of fresh coffee. "Who is, Ezzy?"

"Excuse my language, Lucy. I was just watching your TV there." He was taking a coffee break from boredom. For working folks it was near quitting time—

beyond the afternoon coffee break, verging on cocktail hour, too early for supper. Ezzy was the only customer in the diner.

He and Lucy had been discussing the upcoming Blewer Bucks football season, but he had kept one eye on the small. TV she kept on the work counter between the malt mixer and the microwave. He had noticed when Oprah signed off and the first edition of the local evening news came on.

The lead story was about the manhunt mounted for the convicts, who were still being sought more than a week following their escape. But there was a new chapter to the story. In northwestern Louisiana the bodies of two elderly women had been discovered on their farm at the bottom of the water well. Carl Herbold and Myron Hutts were shoo-in suspects; their fingerprints were found all over the house. Now law enforcement agencies in three states were coordinating efforts to capture them, along with Cecil Herbold and Connie Skaggs. The TV station was broadcasting live shots of a roadblock, where uniformed officers were barricaded, armed to the teeth, behind their patrol cars. The camera caught one yawning. That was what had caused Ezzy to curse.

After refilling his coffee cup, Lucy propped her fist on her hip and watched the broadcast with him until another story was introduced. "Who're you calling dumb, Ezzy?"

"Well not the Herbolds."

"You think the cops are going about this manhunt all wrong?"

He looked at her wryly. "If you'd escaped from prison, killed four people, then robbed a bank and killed some more, would you be traveling down a major highway?"

"Lord, Ezzy, I don't know. You're the crime expert."

He harrumphed. She was the only one who thought so. "Those roadblocks are a waste of time and taxpayers' money."

"So what's your opinion?"

He sipped his coffee thoughtfully. "If I was them—the Herbolds—I'd hole up somewhere till things calmed down. Sooner or later those police forces aren't going to pay men to sit on their thumbs and yawn on TV. They'll cut back on the manpower. Something else will distract them. They'll look the other way." He tapped the counter with his blunt index finger. "That's when I'd make my move and not before."

Even though he didn't order it, she served him a slice of apple pie. "Want ice cream on that? Or whipped cream? Some cheddar?"

"No, this is fine." He didn't want the pie, but to keep from hurting her feelings, he picked up a fork and dug in. It was delicious, though the crust wasn't as flaky as Cora's. "I knew those boys, Lucy. They weren't book smart, but they were cagey little bastards. I'd bet my next retirement check that they've got the law figured out. Instead of setting up traps the Herbolds are too smart to walk into, those officers ought to be out beating the bushes for them."

"That's lots of acreage to cover on foot, Ezzy."

"I know. It's impractical. No, it's impossible. I'm just saying that's how they'll be found. If ever."

"You think they could get away?"

"Wouldn't be all that surprised if they did. Especially if Carl's running the show, and he usually did."

"Be a shame if they escaped. Can you imagine him killing those helpless old ladies in cold blood? And that teenage girl?" She shook her head in a manner that said the world was going to hell in a handbasket. "Maybe you ought to share your theory with somebody, Ezzy."

"They wouldn't listen to me," he grumbled.

"Bet they would."

He knew better. He had offered his services to Sheriff Ron Foster and had been turned down flat. He wasn't going to humiliate himself again. "Nobody wants my services, Lucy. They think my brain is kaput just 'cause I look old and decrepit."

"Now you're fishing for compliments." Reaching across the counter, she playfully slapped his arm. "You're a far sight from old, Ezzy Hardge. And a long shot from decrepit, too."

"You haven't seen me getting out of bed."

Only after speaking the words did he realize that she might read something into them. Sure enough, when he looked up at her, he was met with a soft and misty gaze. His hand was unsteady as he reached for his cup of coffee. "Take my word for it, it ain't pretty. Cora teases me about being creaky."

He was no longer looking at Lucy, but he sensed her deflation. She said nothing for a while, then quietly said, "She's sure staying away a long time."

"Um-huh."

"When is she coming back?"

"Any day now," he lied.

"Hmm." There was another silence long enough to stretch out in. Then she cleared her throat.

"Well, till she gets back, I'm happy to cook for you. Anytime." Relieved that the boundaries had been reestablished, he looked at her across the blue Formica and smiled. "That's right decent of you, Lucy. Thanks." He forked up the last bite of pie, took a final sip of coffee, and stepped off the counter stool.

Treating him more like a visitor than a customer, Lucy walked him to the door. Since he had come in, there had been a distinct change in the weather. The sky had grown dark. The wind was whipping at the canopy above the door, making it pop like a mainsail.

"Looks like we might get some rain finally," Lucy said.

"Looks like."

"You be careful out there, Ezzy."

"Thanks again for the pie."

"Ezzy?" He paused, turned. Lucy was twisting a dish towel between her hands. "The other day, after you left, those old geezers..." She pointed toward the table where the spit-and-whittle group collected each morning. "They said that Carl Herbold had vowed to kill Delray Corbett."

"Not a threat any longer. Delray's heart attack beat him to it."

"What happened to make him say such a thing?"

"After his conviction for killing that bank guard in Arkadelphia, Carl filed for an appeal. It was granted, but he fired his lawyer and asked Delray to foot the bill for a new one. Delray told him he was on his own. Said he had done the crime so he could pay the consequences. Said Carl should be glad he wasn't having to face murder charges here in Blewer County for Patsy McCorkle.

"Carl swore up and down he had nothing to do with her death. Delray called him a liar and publicly denounced him. The boy went berserk and spouted all sorts of dire threats. He lost on appeal and blamed his stepdaddy for not coming through with a better lawyer. In fact, he blamed Delray for everything. Said if Delray had loved them, he and Cecil might have turned out different."

"Was their meanness Delray's fault?"

"Maybe. Some. But not altogether. Those boys were already bad when he married their mother." She glanced toward the empty table before bringing her worried eyes back to him. "They also said that... that Carl had vowed to kill you."

"Just talk from a bunch of old men who've got nothing better to do than jabber about other people's misfortunes."

"Did he?" she persisted.

"Something to that effect," he said reluctantly. "He said he was a repeat offender only because I jailed him so many times on pissant charges when he was a kid. On account of me, he said, he had a long record and that's why the courts in Arkansas came down on him so hard."

"It still bothers you, doesn't it?"

"Naw. Con talk, Lucy, is all it was. Can't take it seriously."

"No, I mean that McCorkle girl's death. It still bothers you." Her insight surprised him. Or was his preoccupation visible? Did it show up like a tattoo? It bothered him to think it might be that obvious to folks, but he answered her honestly. "It comes to mind now and then."

Her overmascaraed lashes didn't even blink. His pat answer hadn't satisfied her. Why was it that the women in his life were the most intuitive females on the face of the earth? "Yeah. Lucy, it still bothers me. And, actually, I think about it a lot."

"Those boys never had to answer for it." Her lined face formed a grimace of compassion for his torment. "And it haunts you 'cause you believe they did it."

"Not quite, Lucy. I'm coming to believe they didn't."

***

The wind was even stronger than it had looked through the window of the Busy Bee. Moving down the sidewalk toward his car, Ezzy squinted against the grit the gale churned up from the gutters. He held his hat on his head with one hand while using the other to fish his car keys from his pocket.

Earlier in the day, middle-school band students had gone from car to car parked in the downtown area and put flyers under windshield wipers. Freed by the wind, the announcements of the fundraising pancake supper were swirling around like a swarm of bright pink butterflies. Across the street from the cafe a kiddie pool featured in the sidewalk sale at the Perry Bros, store was tumbling along the sidewalk. It blew out into the street, forcing a van to swerve in order to miss it.

Ezzy got into his car and turned on the headlights. Even though it was hours before sundown, low scuttling clouds had made the sky as dark as twilight. Motorists were driving recklessly and fast, trying to reach their destinations before the approaching storm broke. On his way home, he witnessed several near collisions.

He drove with more caution than he wished. Eager to get home and ponder the words he'd unexpectedly heard himself say to Lucy, he regarded the storm as a gross inconvenience. But. inevitably, his adrenaline kicked in. He began thinking like an official faced with an emergency that jeopardized public safety. There would be a potential for flash flooding. Pylons should be rounded up and made ready to place at low crossings before some fool tried to drive through high, swift water and got his car swept into the river. The fire department should be on the alert to sound the civil defense alarm if a funnel cloud was sighted. Every deputy in the department should be mobilized.