“I heard how you handled that situation in Holiday. Sounded like you done good.”
“I think so.”
“Fella got lynched anyhow.”
“Do what?”
“A crowd broke in and got him out of jail and cut his things off and set him on fire. They even took pictures. They were selling them over at the general store as postcards.”
“That’s horrible. I didn’t do no good at all.”
“You brought a murderer to justice.”
“No, I brought a murderer to a lynching, which was what they were trying to do in Holiday. They done to him just what he said they’d do to him. It’s like I didn’t do nothing but put off what was gonna happen.”
“They were gonna kill him anyway. Had it coming.”
“Maybe so. But not burned to death with postcard pictures made of it. Jesus Christ. The law would have at least been quick and there wouldn’t have been no pictures to sell-I guess it’s quick. Damn.”
“They say it was the law there let them have him.”
“I hope that ain’t true.”
“Sorry, Sunset.”
“Me too. More than sorry. Hell, maybe they’re right. I ain’t much of a constable. I’ve had a dead baby and dead woman and I don’t have a clue who done it or why, and the one thing I thought I done pretty good worked out just like it would have if I’d stayed at the house. And now there’s folks think I did the crimes I’m supposed to be solving, and when Henry and Willie get through, more folks will know.”
They drove along for a bit in silence. Marilyn broke it with: “I’m gonna do what I can to keep you constable. But I can’t make no promises. It was one thing when it was thought you killed someone beating on you, and there was a nickel raise, but if Henry adds this to it, convinces folks you might have killed Jimmie Jo, and a baby, or at least talks them into believing you ain’t doing enough to solve it…”
“When’s the meeting?”
“Couple of weeks. Thursday, noonish. And it’s just gonna be the camp bigwigs, not the whole camp.”
“I’ll be there.”
“You might not want to do that,” Marilyn said. “It could turn ugly as the ass end of a bulldog.”
“I know.”
“Got any idea at all who done this, or why?”
Sunset shook her head. “None. But there’s some things that have occurred to me, and I’m gonna try and run that around in my head a little more today, then go and do something about it.”
“Darling, sure would be good if you could figure this out before that meeting.”
“Frankly, that ain’t likely. But I’ll work on it. And Marilyn…”
“What, hon?”
“Things like they are, you’ve done right by me. I really am sorry about Pete.”
“I ain’t gonna lie to you, Sunset. Some mornings I wake up and I want to kill you. I know better, but I want to kill you, and I can’t understand why Pete’s gone or why you done it. Then a few minutes later, I know exactly why you done it. But I still don’t like it. I also miss Jones. I wouldn’t have taken him back or nothing, but I miss him sometimes.”
“I hurt about it a lot,” Sunset said. “I ain’t proud of it, but I thought he was gonna kill me. I ain’t never gonna put up with that kind of thing again.”
“Thing is, you and me, we got to stick together. We got to make sure things are good for Karen. Where is Karen?”
“Sleeping.”
“This late?”
“Yep, she’s a regular Rip Van Winkle. Kind of got into prettying herself up. Guess she’s getting to be a woman.”
“For that little boy she was seeing?”
“She’s kind of forgotten him. Think she’s got a crush on Hillbilly.”
“Better watch that.”
“He knows she’s a kid. It’s one-sided. She just walks around moon-eyed a lot.”
“You don’t know him well enough to know that, know if he’d turn it two-sided.”
“I think I do.”
“But you’ll watch it?”
“Sure.”
“Another thing. That girl you found, she was shot with a thirty-eight.”
“So I’ve heard. Damn, how’d you know that?”
“They done spread the word, honey. That gun, it could be Pete’s, and he could have done it, I suppose. I don’t like saying it, but he beat on you, he could have shot her if he found out she was carrying his baby and he didn’t want it. Could have been that way, and if you don’t know who did it, a case could be made. Hell, Jones has a thirty-eight in that glove compartment right there in front of you. Lots of people got thirty-eights.”
“I’m surprised you’d suggest that Pete done it.”
“Not because I like the idea, or know he did it, but it could save you some time, till you found out who. It might be the answer they need at the town meeting.”
“And if I don’t find out who did it? If it ain’t Pete?”
“Reckon he can take the blame good as any.”
Sunset saw Marilyn blink, then a tear squeezed out of her eye. She had a very fine face but the way the sun was shining on it the wrinkles were more visible, like little plowed lines, and her hair had come loose in places and dangled on her cheeks and forehead. Sunset thought it made her look like some of those Greek statues she had seen in books, thought of the story she had read about Helen of Troy, thought Marilyn might look as Helen would have looked at sixty. Still beautiful. Sort of face an artist would want to carve in granite.
When Marilyn wiped the tear away with the back of her hand, Sunset said, “We don’t need to talk about it no more.”
Marilyn nodded. “Let’s ride a little. Something I want to show you.”
They threw up a lot of dust on sandy back roads and came to a small house with a big porch, and sitting in a rocking chair on the porch was Bill Martin. He had a pair of crutches beside him.
Next to the house was an old blue truck speckled with rust, and a black Ford that wasn’t too old and looked in pretty good shape.
“What happened to him?” Sunset asked as they pulled into the yard.
“A tree kicked back on him. Got out of the way mostly, but it hit him some. He’s sprained up. Heard about it from Don Walker. Ain’t much goes on at the mill that Walker and Martin don’t blab about. They know everyone and everything.”
Marilyn killed the engine, said, “Fact is, I think he’s probably faking some to get a few days off work. He likes money, but he don’t like working for it.”
“Why are we here?”
“He borrowed some money from Jones. Thinks with Jones dead maybe I don’t know about it. Or so I figure. I heard about this extra car he’s got, and I got an idea.”
They got out of the truck and walked up to the porch. When they did, a dog that had been asleep under it, embarrassed he had been snuck up on, leaped awake and banged his head on the porch, started barking.
“Shut up!” Bill said. The dog, to show who was boss, barked a couple more times, went silent, lay back down in the soft sand beneath the steps. Sunset could see his beady eyes watching them as they walked up to the porch steps and stopped. The dog was a big black-and-white hound with cut-up floppy ears, souvenirs of past coon hunts.
“Good morning, Mrs. Jones, and Constable Sunset,” Bill said.
Sunset thought when he mentioned her name he sounded a little snide, but she let it pass, as it was really too early to just shoot him, and it wouldn’t look good, shooting a man on crutches.
“Good morning, Bill,” Marilyn said.
The door opened and three heads appeared. Children. Ranging from age nine to twelve, Sunset thought. The way their heads poked around the screen it looked as if they were stacked on top of one another, two girls, and at the bottom the youngest, a boy with a face like a rat, eyes like goat berries. Sunset figured none of them had ever seen the inside of a schoolhouse, such as it was. Camp Rapture’s schooling only went to the ninth grade. You wanted any more after that, you had to go over to Holiday, where it went up to the eleventh. Most didn’t bother after learning to read and write and cipher. Beyond there was just fieldwork or maybe store work, or for the damn lucky, barber college over in Tyler.