He had run from the house, from the bleeding bodies, dog and mistress. He had departed from the road and waded into the thickness of the water, slapping himself, testing the parameters, finding out where his body ended and the bayou began. He kept falling, water filling his mouth and choking him. Then as the muddy liquid was coughed back to the bayou, he knew the edges of self and the beginning of water, even before his father screamed in anguish and rushed into Finger Bayou to drag him back to the solid ground, and finally to home and bed, saying all the while, “Ira, what were you doing there?” But Ira couldn’t answer his father. He was still seeing images of Cass mingling her blood with the dog’s.
The sandwich man came toward him again. “I need a direct answer to a direct question, Ira. Do you know who threw rocks at Cass? Did you see -
“Daddy.” He began to rock, harder and harder, consoling himself as only he could do. He had never looked outside himself for comfort. Outside was only pain.
“What?”
“Daddy threw the first rock at Dr. Cass.” Ira beat his head against the wall.
The sandwich man restrained him. “Your father was part of the mob?”
“Yes!” he screamed, his back sliding along the wall. He sank down to the floor. “Daddy! Daddy threw rocks at Cass!”
“That’s enoughl” His mother stood by the open door, hands covering her face, and she was shaking.
“Mommy, make him go!”
And his tiny mother did make the large man go. She pushed the sandwich man out of the room and slammed the door after him.
Now she came at Ira, falling to her knees in front of him, as he drew in his legs and made himself into a ball. Her hands danced all about his face and body, never touching him, wild to get at him, but fluttering only, like terrified birds that could never light on any branch of arm or leg for fear of causing him fresh pain.
CHAPTER 19
When Charles knocked on Augusta’s door, Henry Roth admitted him and made the common sign for silence. “Augusta has company.”
Charles entered the kitchen as Riker was holding out his identification and detective’s shield for Augusta’s approval.
She bent low and squinted over the small card bearing the detective’s photograph. “I need my eyeglasses. I won’t be but a minute.” She gave Charles a curt nod in passing and hastily disappeared into the other room across the hall.
Glasses?
She had never needed them before. In fact, on the day they met, he had found it odd that she could read the fine print on his business card with no trouble at all.
Now he turned to Riker, who was looking around the room with great interest.
“Let me guess,” said Charles. “You’ve been following Henry.”
“Yeah.” Riker turned around to face the sculptor. He spoke slowly for the benefit of the man he believed to be a deaf lip-reader. “Not your fault, pal. You were pretty good at shaking off that rookie deputy, but you didn’t figure on a second cop, did you?”
Augusta returned with a pair of glasses set low on her nose. The antique frames and thick lenses must have belonged to some ancestor with badly impaired vision. Her eyes were greatly magnified.
Curious.
“Now let’s have a good look,” she said, leaning closer to Riker’s identification card. Now she was staring intently at his face. “Well, that’s a real good picture of you.” She introduced him to Henry and Charles, adding, “Mr. Butler’s been kind enough to help me with a few legal problems settling an estate.”
It was an interesting moment in the complications of deceit. Riker had not acknowledged him, in keeping with the lie that they were unconnected; Augusta was maintaining the executor’s ruse; and Henry appeared to be keeping everyone’s confidence, or, in plain parlance, he ducked. Charles elected to follow suit as he shook hands with Riker.
Augusta went to the stove and began to stir the contents of a pot. “You’ll all stay for lunch, I hope.”
“I don’t want to trouble you, ma’am.” said Riker. “I’m looking for information on the sheriff’s prisoner. Her name is Mallory.”
“Well, I can direct you to the sheriff’s office. You go through the cemetery and come out on the road back to the bridge and – ”
“I’ve already seen the sheriff. He says the prisoner broke jail, ma’am. Day before yesterday.”
“Oh, my Lord.” She turned slowly and walked back to the table in faltering steps. Alarmed, Charles moved toward her. Standing just behind Riker, Henry Roth motioned him to back off.
Augusta sank down to a chair at the table, and Henry’s hands flew into silent explanation. “It’s the strategy of the southern woman. She can lift her weight in canned goods, but right now she’s trying to convey that she is fragile.”
She seemed to be conveying it rather well. Riker’s face was filled with genuine concern. He only saw the gray hair, the lined face, the greatly enlarged blue eyes of a woman who must be half blind to need such thick lenses.
“I’m sorry, ma’am,” said Riker. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
Augusta waved the air weakly, as though fighting for breath. “Water?”
Riker flew to the sink to fetch a glass and fill it. He brought it back to her and then pulled up a chair on the other side of the table.
“Why, thank you.” She gripped the glass with both hands and sipped the water. “I can’t imagine it. A murderer loose in Dayborn.”
“I don’t know if she actually killed anybody,” said Riker. “I don’t think you’re in any danger.”
“Now that’s a real comfort. Do you think you’ll catch her soon?”
“I don’t have the authority to arrest anybody, ma’am. I’m just visiting in Louisiana.”
Augusta’s hand delicately fluttered up to her face and she smiled almost shyly. “Oh, well isn’t that nice.”
Henry’s hands were flying with the translation: “Dithering ambiguity to avoid tipping her hand or taking up sides.”
“I think this Mallory woman can help me,” said Riker. “You see, I’m working on a homicide case.”
Augusta’s hand covered her mouth. “Oh, well isn’t that awful.”
Henry explained that this was a companion tenet to ‘Isn’t that nice,’ and had about the same meaning.
“I understand her mother was killed by a mob. Do you have any idea what – ”
She moaned and put the back of her hand to her forehead. “I can’t bear to think back on that terrible murder.”
Henry explained that this rather antiquated maneuver was called ‘the vapors.’ It was used to table a discussion, and bide time.
“I’m sorry to put you through this, ma’am,” said Riker. “But I really need your help.”
“I’m so flattered that you think I could help you.”
Charles looked at Henry, who shook his head. “She would never give aid and comfort to the enemy, not even if Riker was bleeding to death.”
Since Charles was standing in plain view of the detective, he could not return the courtesy of apprising Henry of Riker’s reactions. It was clear that Augusta had gone too far with her cliché when she picked up a sheet of paper and began to fan herself, casting her eyes up to heaven. Riker’s eyes flashed with understanding and a silent Gotcha! The detective was reappraising Augusta as an adversary now.
Riker scanned the kitchen, eyes flying from one surface to the next. He breathed deeply, taking in the odors of cleaning solvents. And now Charles also looked around the room.
Yesterday the kitchen had been relatively tidy, but today it was immaculate. The glass of the cupboard doors was invisible now, free of the yellow tobacco tinge from Augusta’s cheroots. Inside the cabinets, all the canned goods and boxes were perfectly aligned. The copper pots gleamed and lustered. Even the herb pots on the windowsill had been shined up, and now each one was equidistant from each other. Most unnerving, all the plant leaves gleamed as though they had been recently washed. This cleaning job was definitely beyond the norm, nearly deranged. She might as well have left her fingerprints on the sparkling, stain-free porcelain sink.