His unshaven chin clenched tightly and his glittering eyes darted wildly from my face to the men who’d gathered behind the patrol car.
“All I wanted was to be left alone so me and my boys could make a living like we always done. But they keep changing it, telling us we can’t do this, we can’t do that, and Andy worn’t gonna let me have the engine and that bitch over to Beaufort worn’t gonna let me finish building the boat. I told her just give me till the end of May and me and my boys’ll pick up every scrap of our stuff. It worn’t doing her no harm, but she just stood there on the end of her landing like she owned the world and everything in it and said she’d given me all the time I was going to get from her.”
“She shouldn’t have said that,” I soothed, “but think of Guthrie, Mahlon. How’s he going to feel if he comes home from school and hears you’ve killed innocent people that never did you any harm?”
“Turn around,” he said.
“Mahlon—”
He jammed the rifle barrel into my stomach. “Dammit, I said turn around!”
I turned and a dozen thoughts crowded through my head at once: how sad my daddy was going to be and my brothers, but at least it’d be quick and—”Kidd, no! Go back!”
Again that deafening explosion of the gun in my ear and an instant of bewilderment until the rifle crashed to the deck behind me.
When I looked back, Mahlon had slumped against the cabin ledge, a bloody hole beneath his chin.
14
O sinners, the heralds of mercy implore,
They cry like the patriarch, “Come.”
The Ark of salvation is moored to your shore,
Oh, enter while yet there is room!
The stormcloud of Justice rolls dark overhead,
and when by its fury you’re tossed,
Alas, of your perishing souls ‘twill be said,
“They heard—they refused—and were lost!”
—Kate Harrington
“You suspected Mahlon Davis all the time?” I asked.
“Well, him and three more,” said Quig Smith. “One of the neighbors saw him coming in from that direction around one o’clock.”
We were seated at the kitchen table sharing a six-pack and a big bag of corn chips. It was a little before twelve and the rescue wagon had been and gone twice; the first time with the seriously wounded waste disposal man, the second time with Mahlon’s body. Except for a steady stream of island neighbors bringing food and comfort to Mahlon’s family, the crowds had dispersed and there was little to show for what had taken place that morning.
At last things had quieted down enough for Quig to take our statements and to satisfy my unanswered questions.
I rooted around in the refrigerator and found pimento cheese and some stuffed olives, which I set on the table. “Who were the others?”
“Remember how Jay Hadley tried to make us think the whole family went to church Sunday morning?”
“Yeah?”
“Her son Josh was seen out near the lighthouse around eleven and then again at one. He’s sixteen and a hothead and we heard he didn’t like Andy flirting with his mom. Then there was Scratch Kinlow. You know him?”
I shook my head.
“Lives on the north side of the island. He tried to punch Andy out over the weight of his catch last month, and he made some serious threats. Nobody actually saw him out near Shackleford, but his buddy was there and you don’t usually see the one without the other.”
“What about Chet Winberry?”
“The judge?” He rubbed his chin and gave me a quizzical look. “You thought maybe him?”
“Well you were the one asking me at Andy’s funeral how good a friend he was, and it was awfully convenient that his guns got stolen when they did.”
“Oh, they turned up yesterday evening. Pawnshop over in Havelock.”
I was too embarrassed to tell him my theories. That first day in his office, he’d reminded me that some men took messing with their livelihoods more serious than somebody messing with their wives, but had I listened? No, I’d gone looking for fancy upstate motives instead of basic bedrock.
And Kidd sat there through the whole exchange, eating corn chips and pimiento cheese with a bland expression on his face, and never said a word about fiduciary trusts, the Ritchie House or forged signatures. Who can find a virtuous man who doesn’t blab everything he knows? His price is above rubies.
“Sure would have helped if you’d thought to mention about Davis bringing in oysters last Sunday,” Quig said as he popped a final olive in his mouth and rose to go.
“If you’d told me about oysters being out of season and not growing on tidal sandbars,” I reminded him, “maybe I would’ve.”
“We gotta get her a schedule and teach her some rudiments of marine biology,” Quig told Kidd. “And that reminds me. You gonna be at the clean water hearing tonight?”
“No, I don’t think so,” said Kidd.
Quig grinned. “Naw, I didn’t think you would.”
While Kidd walked out to the car with him, I called Chet’s number.
“Deborah!” he said. “You just missed Barbara Jean. She’s gone antiquing with a friend over near Goldsboro.”
Was his tone a little too hearty?
“That’s good,” I said evenly, “because it’s you I’m coming to see.”
• • •
Kidd rode over with me.
The light on the Earl C. Davis Memorial Bridge went from green to yellow and I accelerated across before it could draw up to let a tall-masted boat through.
“Who was Earl C. Davis anyhow?” I wondered aloud when I was safely on the other side.
“Owen and Earl/Own the world./Watch out! Soon/They’ll own the moon.”
“Huh?”
“That’s what they used to say down here when I was a boy. Right after the moon landing. I guess Owen Fulcher and Earl Davis were supposed to be sharp traders.”
“Like Linville Pope?”
“Don’t know, shug.”
We rode in silent thought through Bettie, then across North River, and south on Highway 70. When we neared the outskirts of Beaufort, Kidd said, “What are you going to do with those papers?”
“What should I do with them?”
“Not for me to say, Ms. Judge.”
• • •
I left Andy’s papers locked in the trunk.
Chet seemed not to have heard of the morning’s events and I was too edgy to tell him. He was surprised to see Kidd with me, but made a smooth recovery as he showed us out to the sunlit terrace and said, “Get anybody a drink?”
I refused and Kidd allowed as how maybe he’d walk down to Chet’s landing. “Give y’all a chance to talk.”
“He knows, doesn’t he?” Chet asked, sitting heavily in one of the Adirondack chairs beneath the purple wisteria.
“Yes, but no one will ever hear it from him.”
“What about you?”
“Chet—”
“Look, I’m not going to beg. Just try to understand, okay? Between Jill starting to date and the fishery, too, Barbara Jean had her hands so full that she didn’t have any time left over for me.”
“And Linville did?”
“She was the one who encouraged me to get into politics. My career was going nowhere till then. I was just a small-town attorney, tending to the legal needs of my father-in-law’s business. Hell, Deborah, half my outside clients were court-appointed.”
He got up and freshened his drink. “Sure I can’t—?”
“No.”
“You don’t make it easy, girl.”
“News flash, Chet: not every ‘girl’ is in your world to smooth things over for you.”