But was this police force that far down the road toward criminality and viciousness? He thought not, but Cliff Baxter certainly was, especially after being baited by Keith Landry.
He glanced in his rearview mirror but didn't see any headlights. He turned onto a series of farm roads and took an indirect way back to his house. The bottom line, though, was that there was only one road that passed his farm and one way in. If they were at all bright, they'd simply wait for him at either end of that road.
As he drove, he thought about what he'd heard in the church and in the parsonage, not to mention what happened outside. It all came down to Cliff Baxter, this sort of evil fog that covered the once sunny and happy countryside.
Enter the hero, the savior. "No. Exit the hero. Everyone here will get what they deserve, for better or worse." Wilkes was right. Leave it to God, or to Annie, or to the Porters, whoever acted first. "Do not get ego-involved in this."
"Here's the question, Landry if Annie were not the wife of Cliff Baxter, would you take on this fight in the interest of justice?"
Well, he thought, he'd done that often enough, though he'd gotten paid for it. But there wasn't enough money involved for the risks he'd taken. Obviously, he'd been motivated by patriotism and a sense of justice. But when that waned, he'd been motivated by a selfish desire for adventure and career advancement, and that wasn't enough. Here, in Spencerville, he found he could accomplish several objectives with one act: By killing Baxter, he could do the town and himself a favor, free Annie, and then perhaps have Annie. But that didn't seem like the right thing for the right reasons, no matter how he dissected it.
He found himself on the road that led to Route 28, his road. Rather than get onto 28, he swung the Blazer off the road and followed a dirt tractor path that crossed the Mullet farm through the cornfields. He put the Blazer into four-wheel drive and navigated by the dashboard compass, eventually making his way onto his property, which was planted with the Mullets' corn, and within ten minutes, he came out into the clearing of his own farmyard near the barn.
He shut off his headlights, turned toward the house, and parked near the back door.
Keith got out, unlocked the door, and went into the dark kitchen. Feeling both foolish and angry, he left the lights off and listened. He knew he wouldn't be doing much night driving anymore, and if he did, he'd take the Glock or the M-16 with him.
He considered going upstairs and getting his pistol, but his instincts told him it was safe, or if it wasn't, he'd be better off here in the kitchen, near the door. He opened the refrigerator and got a beer.
"So, should I turn the other cheek and leave, as Wilkes suggested?" But this was not what his life had been about.
He opened the beer and, still standing, took a long drink. "Or do I stalk Baxter instead of the other way around? I catch him coming out of one of his girlfriends' houses and cut his throat. A little wet stuff, one more time. Yeah, people think I did it, but there're a thousand other suspects, and no one's going to look too closely at it."
Sounded good, but that left a widow and two fatherless children, and maybe you didn't kill a man for being a bad husband, a corrupt cop, and a bully. "But why not? I've killed better men for less reason."
He finished the beer and got himself another one. "No, I can't murder the son-of-a-bitch. I just can't do it. So I have to leave." He went to the kitchen table and, by the faint light from the back door and window, he looked for the letter he'd left on the table, but didn't see it. He turned on the light hanging over the table and searched the chairs and the floor, but the letter was gone.
Alert now, he shut off the light and put the beer can down. He listened, but there was no sound. It occurred to him that Aunt Betty or any of that crowd may have come by to clean or deliver food. They'd seen the letter, took it, and mailed it. But that didn't seem likely.
If there was anyone still in the house, they knew he was there. He could forget about the guns upstairs, because even if he made it that far, the guns wouldn't be there any longer.
He moved quietly toward the back door and put his hand on the knob.
He heard a familiar squeak from the direction of the living room, then heard it again. He turned from the back door, went into the hallway, which was empty, and entered the living room, where the constant squeak came from. He turned on the floor lamp and said, "How long have you been here?"
"About an hour."
"How did you get in?"
"The key was in the toolshed, under the workbench, where it's been for a hundred years."
He looked at her, sitting in the rocker, wearing jeans and a pullover. The letter was in her lap.
She said, "I thought you'd be home, but you weren't, and I almost left, then I remembered the key, and I decided to surprise you."
"I'm surprised." But somehow he'd known it was her in the living room.
"Do you mind that I came into the house?"
"No."
"It still feels like my second home."
Keith had the distinct feeling this was not real, that it was a dream, and he tried to remember when he'd gone to sleep.
She asked, "Are you alone?"
"Yes."
"I thought I heard you talking in the kitchen, so I just sat here, quiet as a mouse."
"I'm alone. I talk to myself. Where's your car?"
"In the barn."
"Good thinking. Where is Mr. Baxter?"
"At a city council meeting."
"And where are you?"
"At Aunt Louise's."
"I see... did you hear what I was saying?"
I could only hear the tone. "Are you angry about something?"
"No, I just argue with myself."
"Who won?"
"The good angel."
"But you looked troubled."
"That's because the good angel won."
She smiled. "Well, I argued with myself about coming here. This is not a chance meeting on the street."
"No, it's not."
She held up the letter. "It was addressed to me, so..."
"Yes, that's all right. Saved me a stamp."
She stood and came toward him. "And, yes, I do understand. You're right. We can't... you remember that poem we both liked? 'Though nothing can bring back the hour of splendor in the grass, of glory in the flower, we will grieve not, rather find strength in what remains behind."
She added, "I think we liked it because we knew we were going to be star-crossed lovers, and that poem was our comfort..." She hesitated, then leaned toward him and kissed him on the cheek, saying, "Goodbye, darling." She walked past him and into the hallway.
He heard her go into the kitchen and heard the back door open and close. Be strong, be noble, be brave. But don't be a complete idiot. He turned and moved quickly into the kitchen as the screen door shut. "Wait!"
She turned as he came out the door and she said, "No, Keith. Please. You're right. This won't work. We can't... it's too complicated... we've been fooling ourselves..."
"No, listen... we have to... we need to understand... I have to know what happened... I mean..." He couldn't find any of the words he wanted or needed, then said, "Annie, we're not going to just walk away again."
She took a deep breath and said, "I can't stay here. I mean outside."
"Come in. Please."
She thought a moment, then came back into the kitchen.
He said, "Can you stay awhile?"