Shooter reached over and closed the magazine. Outside, the wind had come up, and the arborvitae shrubs at the corner of the house were scraping the siding and making a noise that put him on edge.
“What did you do after you saw the goats were all right?”
“I don’t remember.”
Captain was looking down at the cover of the magazine. Hot Rod Drag Week—2010, the cover said across a picture of a white Chevelle, smoke coming off its rear tires. Shooter reached down and cupped Captain’s chin. He lifted his face, made him look him in the eyes.
“The sheriff might ask you questions.” They’d heard the news about the fire marshal’s report on WPLP at supper, and ever since, Shooter had been thinking about everything that might happen. He was thinking that it might be time for him to have a talk with Biggs. “You’re going to have to know what you’re going to tell him,” he said to Captain.
Shooter had meant to tell the fire marshal’s deputy when he’d been by earlier to question him that he’d seen Ronnie come from behind the trailer the night of the fire. Then Shooter started thinking about Biggs asking questions, as he surely would, and how sooner or later he’d want to talk to Captain, and Shooter had put off going to the authorities a day at a time because he couldn’t bear the thought of Captain being in the spotlight. Hadn’t there been enough wrongheaded stories and out-and-out lies about him? Sure, Shooter had heard them, rumors boys spread about Captain having done this and that. Malicious gossip about deviant sexual practices, devil worship, anything the boys could make up to give themselves a thrill. Any right-thinking person would know those stories to be lies as soon as they heard them, but there were the idiotic and the cruel who wanted them to be true so they could feel justified in what they’d always thought but perhaps had been hesitant to say: that Wesley Rowe — that Captain — needed to be put somewhere for those of his kind, somewhere he couldn’t hurt anyone. Shooter had sworn he’d protect him, but now that the fire marshal had ruled the fire suspicious, he knew he couldn’t wait much longer. He’d have to start talking, and so would Captain. Shooter didn’t want him to appear to be dumb when he made his answers. It was important that he offer up the facts with honesty and clarity so no one would be able to doubt him.
Shooter squeezed Captain’s jaw, and Captain said, “I went to Della’s to check on the goats.”
“And that’s when you saw Ronnie.”
Captain nodded. “He was behind the trailer.”
“That’s right.” Shooter let go of Captain’s jaw. “He was behind the trailer, and what was he doing?”
“He was — I think—” Captain stumbled along. “He was behind the trailer, and—”
“What did he have with him?” Captain squinted as if maybe that would help him see the answer. He chewed on his lip. “A can of gas,” Shooter finally said.
Captain’s face relaxed. His eyes opened wide. “He had a can of gas.”
“Yes.”
“Behind the trailer.”
“Good.”
“He had a can of gas behind the trailer.”
“And did he see you?”
“No, he didn’t see me.”
“Right as rain.” Shooter ran his hand through Captain’s bangs. He petted his head. This boy. His boy. “You tell the sheriff that.”
23
The news about Brandi turning Ronnie out of her house broke when Anna Spillman admitted that he’d spent the night with her. “It wasn’t like what you might think,” she said. “He just showed up, said Brandi locked the door on him, and he needed a place to sleep. Didn’t say anything more than that, and I never in the world would have thought — well, I mean, I just wouldn’t have thought it of him, would you?”
By this time, late afternoon the next day, the word was out. Missy Wade had called Sheriff Biggs that morning, who in turn had called Laverne Ott at Children and Family Services to express concern for the safety of Ronnie Black’s daughters, and Laverne, when she heard the story that Missy had told Biggs, knew she’d have to look into the matter.
It was just before noon when Laverne walked into the Wabash Savings and Loan and said to Brandi, who was about to take her lunch break, “There’s something we need to discuss.”
Brandi was putting on her coat. “I’ve got an hour for lunch.”
“Why don’t we just get that lunch together?” She handed Brandi a business card with her cell phone number on it. “So you can get in touch with me whenever you need to,” she said.
It was the waitress at the Mi Casita, Maxine New, who let it slip that Brandi and Laverne Ott had been talking in hushed tones and that Brandi seemed upset. Meanwhile, in Goldengate, Willie Wheeler was at the Real McCoy Café telling Pastor Quick that there seemed like there’d been trouble at Brandi’s last night. He’d heard Ronnie pounding on the front door and begging to be let in. Bit by bit, the word made its way around Phillipsport and Goldengate: something was out of kilter with Ronnie and Brandi, and now Laverne Ott from Children and Family Services was involved. It wasn’t long after the noon hour when Pastor Quick, who was pumping gas at Casey’s convenience store, looked across the pump and saw Missy Wade on the other side, filling up her van.
“Missy,” he said. “I’m worried about what’s going on with Brandi Tate and Ronnie Black. Seems she threw him out last night. What’s that mean for his girls?”
“So she threw him out.” Missy took the nozzle out of her tank and returned it to the pump. “Good.”
“They say Laverne Ott is involved. Do you know anything about it?”
“I called the sheriff.” Missy screwed her gas cap back in place. She opened the door of her van and got in. Before she closed the door, she said, “I had to. I’ve got to take care of those girls.”
All of this was happening while Brandi and Laverne talked at a back table in Mi Casita.
“We really ought to be talking about this in my office,” Laverne said. “Or at your home. Somewhere more private.”
“I don’t mind.” Brandi stirred a little sugar into her tea. They were in the corner along the back wall where the restrooms were, and no one else was sitting at the tables around them. “It’s not an easy thing to talk about no matter where we are.”
Laverne knew that was true. She’d seen it time and time again: a woman coming to her, ashamed, afraid to say what she suspected might be the ugly truth about a husband or a boyfriend — something not on the up and up, but the woman not wanting to believe it.
As soon as that woman said what she feared — said it to Miss Ott — she knew it became something to be investigated; she knew her life was about to change. For that reason alone it took more than one woman a while to work up the nerve. She had too much to lose — the man himself, maybe, and the way she’d always thought of him. The money from his paycheck, sometimes even the house where they’d all lived. Some women tried to talk themselves out of it, tried to convince themselves that the facts didn’t add up and the allegations were just that: talk.
Laverne had to coax the story out of so many of the women, but that wasn’t the case with Brandi. She looked Laverne straight in the eye. She said, “What Missy told you is true. I was just waiting for my lunch break to tell you myself. I’m starting to believe that Ronnie burned up that trailer. I confronted him last night, and he didn’t deny it.”
“He said he did it?”
Brandi swirled her straw around in her tea. “He was out there that night. Shooter Rowe saw him, and Angel found Ronnie’s knife behind the trailer. At first, I didn’t want to believe it, but now I know too much. He was there and he was behind the trailer and then it burned.”