BETA HARCHER’S HOUSE STOOD DARK AND foreboding in the faint moonlight. I tried not to think of it as the scene of bitter blackmail, attempted murder, or even as the lair of the woman who should have been voted Most Likely to Cause Suffering. I just tried to think of it as a house I needed to break into.
I’d thought that if Junebug had indeed descended on Matt Blalock’s farm (and not to do so immediately wouldn’t be politically advantageous—most citizenry didn’t view drug crimes favorably), he’d gone in with force. Quite possibly there was no longer a guard at Beta’s home. There wasn’t.
I parked several houses down and checked the flash-light Candace had left in my car. I tried to walk nonchalantly down the street at this late hour, but no one really ambles in Mirabeau past eleven at night if they’re not staggering home drunk. I gave it up and jogged over to the back of Beta’s house. Like I said before, most yards in town don’t have fences, and Beta’s backyard tumbled down to the shores of the Colorado. I snuck around to the back, keeping an eye on the neighboring homes. They stayed dark in slumber.
The back door was still locked, and so were all the windows I tried. The window that Shannon’s attacker broke in through was efficiently boarded shut. I weighed the choices in my mind. I needed those letters Mama had written Bob Don. After an evening of having a near stranger claim paternity of me, getting shot at, and being offered gainful employment by our local drug czarina, a little breaking and entering seemed mild. If I got in trouble, I got in trouble, and I’d explain it to Junebug later.
I wrapped my dark windbreaker around my hand. Popping out a pane of glass in Beta’s back door sounded deafening, but there was no neighborhood call to arms. Maybe the constant murmur of the river inured the folks to sound. I slipped inside.
I kept the flashlight off and eased to the front windows. The drapes had been closed. Good. I didn’t want anyone to see my light. I made a quick pass upstairs, just in case there was a room labeled HERE’S WHAT YOU’RE LOOKING FOR. No such luck. There was a small bedroom, a dusty guest bedroom that smelled stalely of disuse, and another smaller bedroom with Shannon’s luggage still sitting in it. The poor girl hadn’t even had a chance to unpack.
I went back downstairs to the den. The police hadn’t tidied up after Shannon’s attacker. Books and broken bric-a-brac covered the floor. My light played along the carpet and found a stain of gore. Shannon’s blood. I reminded myself I was dealing with someone who had few compunctions about killing.
I played the light along the room and it caught the Bible that Junebug had pulled Patty Quiff’s yellowing letter from. I remembered he’d opened the Bible to the letter, then set the Good Book on the side table. I examined the Bible; it was open at the Book of Job, who could have only suffered more if he’d lived in Mirabeau and gotten on Beta’s bad side. Eula Mae’s quote, about your enemy writing a book, came from Job. I straightened up and cast the beam across the other shelves and the floor. Lots and lots of Bibles, some still on the uppermost shelf.
I dragged a chair over to the big built-in bookshelf and climbed on it. I opened one, and let the pages flip past my thumb until I got to a piece of paper that wasn’t covered with holy scripture. The book of Isaiah, where my quote had come from. I turned the light on the page.
A picture of me stared back at me. It was a photo that’d been on the front page of the local newspaper, The Mirabeau Mirror, when I’d gotten the librarian job. That’d been the biggest civic news in town that week. In the picture I looked a little startled, as though getting the library job was an honor I hadn’t expected. Across the picture of my face, written in heavy red ink, were the words: FIRE PURIFIES. My throat felt thick and I swallowed. I wondered for one moment if the library had been her only intended target for arson; maybe she’d have burned my house down, with me and my family inside, and hummed a little hymn for our sinning souls. I dropped the Bible and the newspaper clipping on the floor.
The next two Bibles apparently weren’t being used in Beta’s odd filing system. The third one I checked fell open at the beginning, in the book of Genesis. Mama’s quote about bearing children in sorrow came from there. I let the Bible fall noisily to the floor and pulled three letters, yellowed and crackling with age, out of a small manila envelope.
Mama had loved the man she wrote them to, and she’d written them to Bob Don Goertz. I tried to remember to breathe as I read through them. Mama had always been sentimental to a point, but I’d never heard her speak to Daddy with such tender emotion. For her privacy I won’t record them here. But the last one was the hardest to read, because she asked Bob Don to stay out of her life and her unborn baby’s. She begged him, if she loved her and their child, to follow her wishes. She could not hurt Lloyd—she loved him, too—and there was little Arlene to consider. I read the last one through three times.
I switched off the flashlight and leaned against the dusty bookshelf. “Oh, Mama,” I finally said. “Why didn’t you ever tell me? I should have heard this from you.” I put the letters in my jacket pocket, feeling cold anger that Beta Harcher had touched them, read them, kept them here to hurt me and my mother. I tried to think about Bob Don but he just appeared in my mind as sort of a shapeless blob that I couldn’t picture as my father.
I was putting back the Bible that contained Mama’s letters when some paper slipped out the back. A photo, and another letter. I stared at that photo a long while, feeling cold in my veins. A much younger Uncle Bid and Beta Harcher smiled at me from the picture, looking merry under a Ferris wheel. The letter was to Beta from a woman whose name I didn’t recognize and mentioned Uncle Bid’s name. The postmark was from Norway. I put the letter and the photo with Mama’s letters.
Some Bibles remained and I flipped through the rest of them. They were empty except for one notable exception. I guess Beta felt she had holy words to spare, because she’d scooped out most of them from this particular volume. The pages had been cut away, so you could hide something in the closed Bible. The something there was a videotape. According to Gaston, Hally Schneider had a camcorder stolen on a trip Beta chaperoned. She’d checked out a book on how to operate a camcorder. If my guess was right, the proof Beta had gotten on Matt and Ruth’s drug operation was on this tape. I tapped the tape against my forehead, thinking, and let the scarred Bible tumble to the floor. I tucked the cassette into my jacket, deciding I needed to get to the nearest VCR possible and see this tape.
I snuck back out of the house into the cool spring night. Clouds hid the stars now and the breeze was brisk, strong with the woody scent of river. I eased around the corner of Beta’s house, glad that the moonlight seemed to be gone. I was about halfway across her yard when a twig snapped and I froze. I glanced around, didn’t see anything, didn’t hear anything. Probably a raccoon, I told myself. I ran on to the car and headed home.
The den lights blazed when I opened the front door, even though it was near midnight. Mark and Mama sat watching a talk show. I found it real hard to look at Mama, but I made myself. She stared at the TV screen, not laughing at the jokes. Somewhere in that muddled mass of neurons that was her brain, there were memories of Bob Don and the truth she’d never bothered to tell me. I felt incredibly angry with her, but I knew chewing her out would do only me good. Not the time or the place. I swallowed the fury I felt and let it start to burn an ulcer in my gut.
Mark bolted up from the couch. Now he didn’t look like a wisecracking thirteen-year-old, but more like a worried little boy. “Have you heard anything about Shannon?”
My news on her was hours old. I hoped it was still current. I told him what Ruth had told me when I’d seen her at the hospital. His face pinched with concern.
“Mark, why isn’t Mama in bed?” I asked, pulling the videotape out of my jacket. Alzheimer’s patients can be notoriously active at night, much to the annoyance of caregivers. We’d tried to control Mama’s nocturnal activities as much as possible, but Mark was a lax Mamasitter.
“She wanted to watch TV.” Mark shrugged.
“I’ll bet.” I looked at the television. The VCR had taken flight. “Where the hell is the VCR?”
“Oh, it’s hooked up in your room. Sorry, I forgot. I’ll go get it—”
“Never mind. You and Mama watch TV down here.” I ran up the stairs.
“Junebug called, he wants you to call him as soon as you get home,” Mark yelled after me. I made a noise of acknowledgment, shut my door, and slid the tape into the VCR.
I’d half expected the tape to show an unsteady walk through the Blalock property, like a press escort of a drug raid with narration: “And here we have some actual cannabis, grown by the alleged perpetrators….” This wasn’t it. The scene that unfolded was a nature hike of sorts, but more along the paths of biology than botany.
It started slow, an empty bedroom, spartan and unadorned, like you might find in a cabin. I pressed the fast forward button, with great haste Tamma Hufnagel and Hally Schneider walked into view. It looked like the camcorder was somewhere above them, possibly on a tall bureau or bookshelf. I let go of the fast-forward. Tamma and Hally hugged, kissed, and disrobed with still a fair amount of speed, even without help from the VCR.
“Oh, shit!” I said, half laughing with shock. They were not much into foreplay; it wasn’t long before they were sweatily making love. It appeared that they were not strangers; they handled each other with graceful familiarity. Tamma cooed his name a lot; Hally didn’t say much. Her mousiness had faded; she barked out sexual orders to him with the ease of command.
I heard the doorbell ring and thought: Junebug is going to find this fascinating. I pushed the fast-forward button, to see if there was anything else on the tape. I hadn’t gotten too much further when there was a crash and a scream from downstairs.
I flung the door open and ran down the stairs, nearly tumbling down them in my haste. My eyes took the scene in one glance: Mark lying on the floor, not moving, with blood welling from the side of his head; Mama cowering on the couch, crying; and Tamma Hufnagel, standing in the middle of the room, steadily holding a gun aimed at my mother. That gun swung around and the black eye of its barrel stared into my face.
“Hands on your head, Jordy,” Tamma said with that same wavery voice of innocence she’d used with me when I talked to her at the church announcement board. I obeyed.
“What’s this all about, Tamma?” I said. I was halfway down the stairs, and wondered if she wanted me to come the rest of the way down. I decided to wait for an invitation. I kept looking at Mark and his bloodied head. I saw his back heave the shallow motion of breath. Thank God.
“You have something I want, Jordy,” Tamma insisted. Mousy brown eyes glared into mine. She didn’t exactly look a threatening figure in a dark sweatshirt with painted bluebonnets on it, jeans, sneakers, and a long denim jacket.
“I don’t know what you mean,” I answered. “But that gun isn’t going to solve any problems. Put it down and let’s talk.”
“No, thank you. Just give me the videotape that you took from Beta’s house.”
“I told you I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Look, you don’t have a lot of time for this,” she said, which I thought didn’t bode well for me. “You beat me into Beta’s house tonight. I peeked in the windows and saw you searching. After you left, I went into her house and found that carved-up Bible. It’s not hard to figure out what she hid there. I’d like it, please.” I opened my mouth and she saw the protest coming.
“Don’t make me shoot your mother in front of you, Jordy.” The gun stayed on me, but Tamma’s eyes flicked to Mama. I didn’t see much Christian mercy in them.
“Okay, okay,” I yelled. “I’ll give you the tape. It’s upstairs. I’ll get it.” I turned and took one step up before she shouted at me.
“No! You do what I say. You step on a crack, Jordy, and I’ll break your mother’s back. That’s how this works. You understand me?”
“Yes.”
She went over and pulled Mama to her feet. Mama went unprotestingly. Tamma took Mama’s arm and pressed the gun to Mama’s head. The barrel made a neat circle in her temple.
“You see where this is, Jordy?” Tamma demanded. “We understand each other?”
“We understand each other perfectly,” I answered calmly, and I thought: But just wait till I get that gun away from you, you bitch.
I stayed put, and she and Mama came up the stairs behind me, the gun still pressed into Mama’s head.
“Okay, Jordy. March. You don’t turn a corner till I say so. You make any sudden moves and she’s dead.”
“Yes, I understand. Can I start up the stairs now?”
“Yes.” It was like a game of Simon Says, I thought.
“Talk, Jordy. What do you know?” Tamma demanded.
“I don’t know anything,” I answered, starting to walk slowly up the stairs. I could hear Mama whimpering a little bit as Tamma hauled her up after me. “I’m going to guess that Adam wasn’t at home the night Beta died. Maybe he was over at his buddy Matt’s, toking up some gange. I’m sure the ladies’ church auxiliary just wouldn’t understand that. You were with Beta. You went with her to the library; she never had to steal a key. You were there because she was blackmailing you. Now since you don’t have much money, I’m going to guess that you were going to help her to burn down the library as your payment. She’d made a tape of you and Hally making love on that youth-group trip. She’d taken Hally’s camcorder and caught y’all red-handed.”
“Not quite it, Jordy. Hally made the tape for fun. Beta found the tape during the trip, so she stole it and the camcorder.”
I’d reached the top of the stairs and didn’t move till they were on the second floor with me. I walked slowly down the hall toward my room, with a killer and my mother in tow.
“Look, Tamma,” I said, “this just isn’t necessary. If she was blackmailing you, maybe you could get off with a lesser charge—”
She didn’t appreciate negotiation. Mama squealed and I guess Tamma jabbed her hard with the gun. I shut my mouth. We were at my room. Tamma and Mama stopped in the doorway. The tape was still playing on the VCR; Hally was lying back on the bed and Tamma lay between his legs. Tamma saw the screen and her face turned a sullen, angry red. Her eyes smouldered, looking at mine.
“You son of a bitch. You watched it.” Her voice was killing cold.
“I thought it was … of someone else. I thought Beta had taped—”
“Never mind!” she screamed. “Turn the TV off and give me that tape!” I obeyed, sliding the tape out of the machine and gingerly handing it to her. She’d gotten upset and she’d taken the gun away from Mama’s head. I tensed.
She took the tape and stepped back. Watching her, I said, “Well, Beta’s quotes about y’all were right. She said Hally and other fools ‘make a mock of sin’ and she said ‘your sin will find you out.’ Ol’ Beta was pretty perceptive.”
“Shut up. Infatuated boys do incredibly stupid things.” She’d had to let go of Mama’s arm to take the tape. Tamma stuck the tape in a jacket pocket. The gun swung back to Mama’s temple.
“I see you’ve involved my cousin in all kinds of depravity,” I murmured, watching the gun at Mama’s head. Mama’s eyes watered in her confusion and a big tear ran down her cheek.
“Hally had nothing to do with all this.”
“Really? Then why’d he go through with a last-minute convenience date with Chelsea Hart? So he could have an alibi, that’s why. Did he hold Beta while you hit her with the bat?”
Tamma snarled at me. “Forget about baiting me, you moron. He didn’t have anything to do with Beta’s murder. I just told him he couldn’t be with me and to be sure he was with someone that night. He didn’t know what I was planning.”
“But he could guess,” I said quietly. “That’s why he’s so nervous, why he tried to put blame on Eula Mae. He knows you did it.” I jerked my head at the silent TV. “You think he’s still going to be infatuated with you, knowing that you’re a killer?”
“He doesn’t know that,” she responded, then screamed, “Stay still!” at Mama, who had dared to move slightly. Mama closed her eyes. My hands curled into fists.
“Don’t even think of trying something, Jordy,” Tamma snapped. “Get downstairs. Now!” She jerked the gun away from Mama and pointed it at my heart.
“Are you going to kill us all, Tamma?” I asked quietly. “That’s three more deaths on your conscience. Then what? Kill Shannon so she doesn’t wake up someday and identify you? Is that tape worth five lives?”
“That tape was worth one life. Beta’s. Avoiding prison for her murder is worth as many lives as I decide. Downstairs.” Her calm was eerie. She put the gun back on Mama’s head and stepped away from the door. “Just like before, Jordy. You go down the stairs first, and your mother and I follow.”
We walked slowly down the stairs, and I started counting the number of steps I had left in my life. There seemed to be one for each heartbeat.
“I’m sorry, Mama,” I managed to croak out. Mama didn’t answer me. I’d reached the living room. Mark stirred, very slowly.
“Look.” I turned to Tamma as she pushed Mama toward me. Catching Mama, I set her on the couch. “Let them go. Mama can’t possibly testify against you or identify you. She just isn’t aware of what’s going on. And Mark, he’s just a little boy. I can’t believe you want to kill a little boy.”
Her eyes said, no, she didn’t want to kill a little boy but what she wanted wasn’t relevant. “I’m really sorry, Jordy, but this is all your fault. If you hadn’t interfered, if you’d left things alone, Mark and your mama wouldn’t be in this mess. I’m sorry, but—”
She didn’t get a chance to finish, either her sentence or us. A pounding swelled on the front door, accompanied by a nonstop ringing doorbell.
“Jordy! Anne!” Bob Don’s voice bellowed. “Goddamn it, open up!”
Tamma’s head jerked toward the door. Bob Don sounded like a one-man SWAT team.
“They know you’re here, Tamma,” I said, trying to sound mild. “You better surrender.” I bit my lip.
“Jordy! Jordy! Goddamn it! Open up!” Bob Don bellowed. The door vibrated in its frame.
“He’s not going to go away, trust me,” I said. “Give it up, Tamma.”
She licked her lips, tongue darting like a rattler. “On the floor, both of you.” She pushed Mama down from the couch. “You too, Jordy. Or I shoot her.”
“Jordy! Jordy! Anne, darlin’!” Bob Don’s words slurred together.
I watched the gun pointed down at my mother’s head. I got on the floor, pressing my palms to the carpet. Mama took that moment to let everyone know she was damned tired of having a gun pointed at her, rude visitors, pounding on her door, and lying on the floor. She screamed, and she screamed loud.
Tamma shrieked, “Shut up!” and I jumped on top of Mama, pressing my body over hers. I was sure Tamma would shoot her.
The scream pierced my ears for about three seconds when the front door caved in. Bob Don swayed in the doorway and staggered in, taking in the scene.
“Goddamn!” he exclaimed. “What the hell—”
“Get back, Bob Don,” Tamma demanded.
From my position on the floor, with Mama still yelling underneath me, I couldn’t see Bob Don’s face. I looked up and saw Tamma still had the gun leveled at us.
“What the hell you doin’, little girl? Give me that,” I heard Bob Don roar and Tamma whirled the gun up, in the direction of his voice, and she fired. Bob Don cried out and I heard a heavy fall.
I kicked out Tamma’s legs, and she hollered and fell on her back, near my feet. The gun was still in her hand and she struggled to get it pointed in my direction. Her chest was the closest part of her to my feet and I kicked out hard, catching her in the right breast and the arm. She screamed and let go of the gun. It landed a few feet away.
I scrambled across the floor for it and she did too. I nearly closed my fingers around it, but she fell on me, biting and kicking. I squirmed and booted the gun out of her reach as we fought. It slid across the room and under Mama’s easy chair.
I tried to get a grip on her shoulders, but as I did she kneed me in the groin. Yelping, I let go. She broke free from me and scrabbled like a crab toward the chair, panting. I chased her, stumbling to my feet in pain, trying to run without using my molten legs. Seeing me coming after her, she grabbed one of Mama’s heavy antique candlesticks and swung it at my head. I was a harder target than Beta Harcher. I ducked but felt the whoosh of air as the heavy brass passed near my hair. The second swing around, I grabbed the candlestick and wrestled it out of her hands, tossing it aside. I completely forgot all the gentlemanly manners that Mama and Daddy ever taught me, and I punched Tamma Hufnagel in the jaw. Hard. I got a grip on her shoulder and she was still conscious, adrenaline fueling her, spitting at me. I belted her again and her eyes rolled white. I let go of her and she crumpled to the floor.
I staggered around for a second, breathing, glad to be alive.
“Jordy!” It was Junebug and another officer, coming in with service revolvers drawn.
“She did it. She killed Beta. She tried to kill us,” I managed to gasp, standing over Tamma and pointing at her. “Would you please arrest her?”
Junebug rushed over to Tamma, keeping the gun aimed at her, pulling out handcuffs. Mama lay sobbing on the floor, while Mark murmured in a broken voice for his mother. I stood. Oh, God, oh my God!
I stumbled past the couch and the coffee table, toward the busted door. Bob Don lay behind the couch, still, a red stain spreading across his shirt.
“Oh, God!” I screamed, kneeling beside him. “Somebody call an ambulance!”