Bootlegger’s Daughter

“Makes sense.” Dwight slurped his straw and tossed the cardboard cup into the wastebasket. “Three points,” he crowed, and I saw a lanky teenager in his grin.

“Two,” I said. “Your foot was inside the circle.”

He stood and stretched with his hands clasped over his head so that the thin fabric of his summer jacket tightened across his chest. Then he shook himself out and finished summing up.

“So Michael goes upstairs, suddenly realizes the thing’s missing. He can see his whole life hitting the fan. He might not know where De

“Michael lied to De

“You can’t start second-guessing everything you do, shug,” he said. “Anyhow, Janie’s got no brothers to avenge her and her daddy’s dead. ’Course Jed’s still living.”

And Will, I thought.

And who knew who else might’ve had reason?

“Doesn’t have to be a man,” I said. “There’s her sister, for instance.”

“Well, it sure enough doesn’t take much skill to hit somebody with a shotgun,” Dwight agreed.

“Chauvinist. A lot of women shoot as good as a man. You taking the slicker now?”

He nodded. I found a hanger for the red velvet cloak and he put it back on the top rack. Then we turned out the lights, he locked up, and we walked down the slope to my car. As he carefully laid the raincoat on the backseat, Dwight said, “I know you’re tired and it’s out of the way, but you reckon we could run by the Pot Shot a few minutes? I’d like to see where this was hanging and maybe get that dowel before it goes missing.”

“You sure it can’t wait till morning?” I grumbled. “I’m really not up to another session with De

Dwight undipped his walkie-talkie from his belt. “Well, I suppose I could call Jack to come back.”

“Oh, get in,” I said crossly. “You know good and well you’re not going to haul any baby birds out of bed when I’m here to cart you around.”

At that hour, most of Cotton Grove was sleeping and Front Street was deserted. We headed south on Forty-Eight, and in less than ten minutes, I was turning in at the Pot Shot sign, then through the narrow lane, past the shrubbery, and into the farmyard. Lily met us at the gate, barking loud enough to wake the dead.

Well, no, actually, it wasn’t quite that loud.

“Stop!” Dwight yelled, but I was already stomping on the brakes.

De

This time, the killer had aimed the shotgun at De

Baby Bird got hauled out of bed after all.

So did Terry Wilson.

I didn’t get to go home till almost four.

27 i could be persuaded

Michael Vickery’s funeral was one of the largest ever held out at Sweetwater Missionary Baptist Church. They opened up the Sunday school classrooms on either side of the main auditorium and brought in extra chairs and still the church was too full to hold all who wanted to attend.

Those who couldn’t get in took up positions outside around the open grave, and Duck Aldcroft and his two sons had their hands full trying to keep reporters and television cameramen out of the way of the pallbearers. I later heard that he’d actually raised his voice at one point, but I put that down to sensationalism.

I didn’t go.

I didn’t go to De

After only an hour’s sleep, I got up again Wednesday morning, showered, and drove back to Cotton Grove. Jed had just put on a pot of coffee when I knocked on the kitchen door.

“Deborah?” Except for his jacket and tie, he was already dressed for work and he smelled of fresh aftershave. It was still Old Spice, after all these years. He looked rested and untroubled.

“Can I come in, Jed? I need to see you and Gayle.”

“Sure. What’s wrong?”

Gayle came down the hallway, sleepy eyed and still in her nightgown. “Hey, Deborah. What’s up?”

“I wanted to tell you about De

“What about him?” asked Jed as Gayle smothered a yawn with the back of her hand. Her brown hair was rumpled and her soft cheek still held the impression of her pillow.

“He was killed last night,” I said. “Shot. Just like Michael Vickery.”

Gayle’s brown eyes widened and she sat down on a stool at the breakfast counter. “Murdered?” Her small toes curled around the stool rungs.

“Who did it?” asked Jed.

“They don’t know yet. It only happened around midnight.” I glanced at the blue wall clock over the sink. “Six hours ago.”

“Sit down,” said Jed, pulling a chair out at the breakfast table. He poured me a cup of coffee and he remembered that I liked it black.

“You look like you had a rough night,” he said gently. “Were you there?”

“Not when it happened. A few minutes later.” The coffee was too hot to drink but I drank it anyhow. “There’s no easy way to say this, Jed.”

I turned to Gayle. “You wanted to know what happened to your mother, honey? Apparently Michael Vickery killed her. I don’t think he meant to or wanted to, but all the same, he did.”

“Michael?”

First they were incredulous and then they peppered me with questions. In the early morning hours while technicians measured and charted, photographed and videotaped, I’d thought about what I was going to say.

At one point, I’d asked Dwight, “Do you have to speculate about who those two Cotton Grove lesbians in De

He acted embarrassed and wouldn’t meet my eyes. “Terry Wilson has to get a true copy of the tape. And if it ever comes to trial-” He shrugged. “We don’t tell the media every little thing we know.”

I knew then it’d be safe to slide past the reason Janie reacted so violently when she found out Michael was gay.

For Gayle, hearing that her mother had tried to seduce Michael Vickery seemed to confirm something that she’d already half-assumed.

For Jed, it was a sudden unexpected betrayal from the grave, and I found myself trying to shore up his feelings. “It was nothing to do with you, Jed. She knew you loved her, but lots of new mothers-especially when they’ve always been as pretty as Janie… I mean, she probably just wanted to see if she was still attractive. I’m sure she didn’t mean to endanger your marriage.”

I had a feeling I wasn’t getting anywhere. The stricken look on his handsome face was turning to-

“Oh Christ!” groaned the pragmatist. “After all these years, don’t tell me he’s going to be humiliated because he wasn’t sexy enough to satisfy his pretty little wife?”

“You always forgot to remember where the male ego’s centered,” scolded the preacher.

When I finally left, Gayle followed me out to the kitchen patio, still barefooted. “Thanks, Deborah,” she said and gave me a warm hug. “Dad’ll be glad to finally know, too, once his feelings quit being hurt.” She hesitated. “You won’t ever tell him, will you?”

“Tell him what, honey?”

“About-you know. About me thinking maybe he hired somebody to-”

I put my finger on her lips. “You never said a word,” I promised.

Dwight later told me that his interview with the Vickerys was one of the worst experiences of his entire life.