Southern Cross Page 3

“Relax,” he said. “I want you to meet this guy.” He pushed the door open without waiting for someone to answer. “George? You in here?”

  Somehow, I’d been expecting a withered old man with a ZZ Top beard and no teeth. Instead, a tall, very bald, very broad-shouldered man in his sixties with a cigar between his teeth emerged from a door in back. Think Mr. Clean meets Hannibal from the A-Team. He paused, taking us both in as we stepped into the cabin. I thought we were in for a good old fashioned southern lynching for a second there, but the hostility vanished once he realized who it was.

  “Daniel?” he asked.

  “In the flesh,” Diggs said.

  The man broke into a wide grin, though a vestige of sadness remained as he limped across the cabin and enveloped Diggs in a bear hug.

  “You cost me ten big ‘uns, boy,” he said, patting Diggs heartily on the back. “Mae said you’d be here. I told her between Ashley, Harvey Jennings, and Jesup Barnel, there wasn’t enough tail in Hef’s mansion to bring you back to this part of the world once you was out.”

  “If anyone could do it, it’d be Wyatt,” Diggs said quietly. “I’m sorry for your loss, George.”

  The man’s eyes misted over. He brushed at his tears roughly. “World’s a twisted place, son. Sometimes I don’t know which side’s up anymore, there’s so much wrong with it.”

  “Wyatt was one of the good ones, though,” Diggs said.

  George looked at him thoughtfully. “That he was,” he agreed. It looked like he meant to say more on the subject, but he turned his attention to me instead. “And who’s your pretty friend here?”

  “This is Erin Solomon,” Diggs said. “An old friend from Maine. Sol, this is George Durham. Wyatt’s old man.”

  George took a step closer, looking me up and down and up again. He had an undeniable magnetism about him, beyond the shining blue eyes and the square jaw—a man who had wielded a lot of power in his day, and still wore that power like a badge. He smiled.

  “So, you’re the reason Daniel here married my Ashley, huh? You been quite the mystery to me all these years.”

  “Excuse me?” I asked.

  Diggs glared at him. “Don’t listen to him,” he said to me. “He’s obviously gone senile since I saw him last.”

  “Senile my behind, boy,” George said. He returned his attention to me. “He come ‘round here back in… what, ’05? Nursing a broken heart—‘course being Diggs he wasn’t much for sharing ‘til you got a few sips in him. But as I recall, he did mention you that first night. Next thing I know, he’s up and asked Ashley to marry him. Lord only knows why she said yes—those two never could stand each other. I love my little girl, but she’s got about as much personality as an old toothpick. But here’s Diggs, sayin’ he’s ready to settle down. Be part of the family.”

  Diggs eyed me with just a hint of desperation. “Seriously—it was a long time ago. Memories get twisted with time. I don’t know what he’s talking about.”

  I couldn’t even imagine an appropriate response—particularly since I remembered 2005 pretty damned well, and none of what George said fit into those memories in any way, shape, or form. The old man finally took pity on both of us and recanted.

  “He’s right,” he said. “Don’t listen to me. It’s just the ramblings of an old man’s just lost his only son. Come on in here. Have a drink with me.”

  “We’ll visit awhile, but I’m gonna take a pass on the drink,” Diggs said. “I’m trying to keep my nose clean these days.”

  George actually pouted. “Well, that’s a damn shame. How ‘bout you, darlin’?” he asked me. “I got some rotgut back there with your name on it.”

  “That sounds great,” I said, “but—”

  “No buts!” He hot-footed it to the back of the cabin. I looked at Diggs. His cheeks were still burning.

  “Sorry about that. I don’t know what he’s talking about—I don’t even remember mentioning your name around him.”

  I nodded, still trying to figure out how to react. Thankfully, there was a knock on the front door before we had any more time to dwell on it, and Mae let herself in. A man I hadn’t seen at the house before followed her.

  “You find him all right?” Mae asked Diggs.

  “Yeah,” he said. “He’s getting the whiskey.”

  “Good,” she said. “God forgive me, but I could use a belt myself about now.”

  Einstein had been relegated to the front porch with the bunnies, but he let himself in with the others and settled at my feet. George came out, saw everyone, swore, and went back to haul out another jug. Introductions were made.

  “This is Deputy Holloway,” Mae told me of the man beside her. He was about Diggs’ age, smaller and leaner, with dark hair and the kind of wide, genuine smile that makes the bearer about three times more attractive than they might seem otherwise.

  “Everybody calls me Buddy, ma’am,” he said.

  We shook hands. George returned and set us up with glasses all around while Diggs grabbed a soda from the fridge.

  As soon as we were seated around the table in George’s kitchen, Mae slammed back a mug of what, as far as I could tell, was pure lighter fluid. She gasped, coughed, and then looked Diggs in the eye.

  “I need to ask a favor,” she said to him. I got the feeling she’d been waiting for this moment to present itself.

  “Mae,” he began.

  She held up her hand. “Don’t you ‘Mae’ me—you owe Wyatt this much, and you know it. I just want you to ask around—”

  “We’re working with KSP, Mae,” Buddy said.

  I looked at Diggs. “Kentucky State Police,” he whispered. I nodded.

  “None of them are gonna want some Yankee reporter poking around in this,” the deputy continued. “Never mind what Sheriff Jennings has to say about it once he knows Diggs is back in town.”

  “There’s no reason Harvey Jennings needs to know anything about this,” Mae said. “And no offense to you or him or the Kentucky Police, but I want somebody I trust askin’ questions. Somebody I know won’t stop ‘til he figures out the whole story.”

  George frowned. “She’s right, you know,” he said. “Nothin’ about this makes a lick of sense. And you know it.”

  “What the hell happened?” Diggs asked—the question I knew had been plaguing him since he first got the news.

  Buddy looked at Mae unhappily. “You shouldn’t be goin’ over this right now.”

  Mae shook her head with stark determination. “I’m all right, sugar. If I owe Wyatt anything, it’s at least this. I mean to find out who did this, and see that they answer for it.” She sat down, her eyes never leaving Diggs’. “That last night, Wyatt went out to Roger Burkett’s farm—Roger used to live ‘round here, but he packed up and left for San Francisco back about ten years ago.

  “Then he shows up a couple years back with some skinny city girl plucked right out of a fashion magazine. Roger took over the farm after his daddy passed. Bought a herd of Alpines—milking goats,” she explained to me. “Half Wyatt’s calls this past year’ve been over there, taking care of one damn fool problem after the other. Wy says all Jenny Burkett does is fuss over them goats and lounge around in her skivvies watching reality TV. She teaches a couple classes over to Smithfield—political science. Thinks she’s better than anybody here in Justice.”

  “You think they did this? The Burketts?” I asked, trying to get her back on track.

  “I don’t know. Roger’s nothin’ to write home about, I’ll tell you that much—a snake oil salesman’s got more scruples. And I never much cared for the way his wife looked at Wyatt. Wouldn’t surprise me if they had something to do with it.” She looked at Buddy. “You think maybe you can take Diggs through some of the pictures and some of your notes tomorrow, while the sheriff’s outta the office?”

  “If he catches me, it’s my job,” Buddy said. “And probably my hide to boot.”

  Mae didn’t say anything to that, her gaze fixed on her mug. “You know, I d
on’t remember a time I wasn’t in love with Wy,” she said quietly. She brushed tears away delicately. “I remember the first day I set eyes on him; I remember our first kiss, our first… everything. All the space before that, though, just seems like one long, colorless blur.”

  Diggs draped his arm over her shoulders and kissed her temple gently. She closed her eyes, but she held it together. “I’ll stop by the office tomorrow morning,” he said, directing the statement at Buddy. “I’ve got plenty of experience dodging Sheriff Jennings. No reason I can’t do it one more time.”

  Mae took a deep, steadying breath, and stood with a shaky smile. “Thank you. That’s all I’m askin’. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m gonna round up the kids and head to bed myself.” She looked at me. “I made up the guest room for you and that pup of yours, Erin. Diggs, you mind bunking with the boys? Wyatt never did like folks sharing a room without a ring—you understand. I hope that’ll be all right.”

  We both nodded quickly. “That’ll be fine,” Diggs said.

  “Rick snores,” Mae continued. “And Danny—well, I don’t think that boy goes to bed before three most nights, and we’re lucky if we can haul him up by noon.”

  “Takes after his uncle,” George said, eyeing Diggs. “Wouldn’t know he had any Durham blood in him at all.”

  Mae laughed. “He’s right. Rick’s already got everything figured out—he did a project last year over to Smithfield, ended up gettin’ in early. He starts this summer. And he did a project over to city hall for their plannin’ office, mapping out the Underground Railroad here in Kentucky. Folks said he found stuff under Justice that nobody even knew was there.

  “But Danny,” she continued. “Wy says it all the time: ‘If I didn’t know any better, Maisie, I’d think Diggs slipped it to you one day while I was out of town.’ ” She stopped. Realization dawned in that cruel, cutting way it does in the days after you lose someone. “He said, I mean,” she finished. “Wyatt said it all the time.”

  “I know what you meant,” Diggs said. He kissed her forehead. “Go get some sleep. And let Uncle Diggs here take care of Danny for you—I’ll get him straightened out in no time.”

  She looked doubtful, but she didn’t argue.

  After she left, George poured drinks all around and raised a toast to Wyatt.

  The night’s kind of a blur after that.

  Chapter Four

  DIGGS

  “So, next thing I hear on the police scanner,” George said, in fine form between half a jug of his best moonshine and the captive audience of me, Buddy Holloway, and especially Solomon, “Sheriff Jennings has Diggs’ motel room surrounded, and the police are ordering him out of there with his hands up…”

  “Which he does.” Buddy picked up the story while Solomon followed along, rapt. I grimaced, knowing all too well what came next. “But when he comes out, it’s without so much as a stitch on—naked as the day he come into this world. And of course we all know the sheriff’s wife’s in there, too, but there ain’t no way old Harvey Jennings is gonna be humiliated by risking Mrs. Jennings comin’ out in her altogethers, too.”

  We’d been through a few of these stories by now. Bringing Solomon along for this trip down amnesia alley didn’t seem nearly as good an idea as it had when it first occurred to me.

  She shook her head at me. “I can’t believe you slept with the sheriff’s wife. You’re such a tool.”

  “In my defense,” I said, “my marriage had just broken up, I’d finished off two pints of Jameson’s on my own that morning, and—while I don’t have a clear picture of exactly what happened in that motel room—I’m pretty sure it didn’t involve much sleeping.”

  “Besides that,” George interrupted, “if anybody deserved it, it was the sheriff. Harvey Jennings is a bully, and an ass to boot.”

  Buddy nodded. “You got a point there. If I remember right, Sarah Jennings paid through the nose for that night.”

  “The sheriff went after her?” Solomon asked, no longer so amused.

  “’Bout near killed her,” George said. I remained quiet, my gaze on the floor, thinking back to days I’d been trying to put behind me for awhile now.

  “’Course, that meant Diggs here went after Harvey the next day,” George continued. “Put him in the hospital for a good spell. Likely would’a killed him, if Wyatt hadn’t gotten there.”

  “He deserved it,” I said numbly. “Sarah was a good woman. He treated her like shit.”

  “Was?” Solomon asked. “What happened to her?”

  “She left town after that,” Buddy said. “Not more’n a week after Diggs, if I recall correctly. Took her little girl, and nobody never heard from either of ‘em again. ‘Course, you walk out on a man like Harvey Jennings, you don’t exactly leave a forwarding address.” He looked at me. “I’d bet tomorrow’s lunch ol’ Diggs knows where she is, though.”

  Solomon took another slug of whiskey and set it down, eyes on me. “I wouldn’t take that bet,” she said.

  Our gazes locked. Her eyes had the kind of feverish intensity Solomon only gets when she’s drinking—which is rare. The air between us caught fire. She cleared her throat.

  “Well, I hope you at least showed her a good time,” she said to me.

  I held her eye. “I’ve never gotten any complaints, darlin’.”

  I never tire of making Solomon blush. She looked away first, cheeks burning, and rolled her eyes. She was notably lacking a comeback.

  Another few seconds of charged silence ensued before Buddy spoke up. “Well, believe it or not, the sheriff’s a changed man these days. He just might surprise you, if you two do cross paths.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “I’ll believe that when I see it. Nothing short of a lobotomy changes a man like Harvey Jennings.”

  “Buddy’s right,” George said, though his tone belied his skepticism. “He’s gotten pretty deep into the word, goin’ on about a year now. Follows Jesup Barnel’s church.”

  “There’s a terrifying combination if I ever heard one,” I said.

  “Nothing worse I can think of,” George agreed.

  “Okay, that’s the third time that name’s come up today,” Solomon interrupted. “This is the preacher with the big billboard in town, right? What’s his story?”

  “Diggs and Wyatt never would’ve met if it weren’t for Reverend Barnel,” George said before I could field the question myself. Or deflect it. “You was, what…? Twelve years old at the time?” he asked me.

  “Yeah,” I agreed.

  “Here we go—this is the story you and Wyatt would never tell me,” Solomon said. “Let’s hear it.”

  “Diggs and Wyatt met at Jesup Barnel’s church camp,” George began. He’d never been a fan of Barnel’s. It was clear from his tone that that hadn’t changed in my absence. “ ’Course, Wyatt never would’a been there in the first place, but Retta—my late wife—took it into her head that the boy needed straightenin’ out. The reverend runs this camp for boys havin’ more than your usual problems in the world—you know what I mean?”

  “I think I get the idea,” she said.

  “Reverend Barnel has some… odd ideas about the ways of the Lord,” Buddy said. “He does a big ol’ ceremony, legendary ‘round these parts, to cast out demons makin’ youngsters act out.”

  “And that’s how you and Wyatt met?” Solomon asked me.

  I nodded.

  “After that, they was thick as thieves,” George said. “Diggs would come for summers, vacations—anytime he could convince his daddy to send him down, this is where he’d be. I got pictures of the two of them out here on the farm, back when Diggs had his hair like that fella—” He looked at me. “Who was it, now?”

  There was no way this could end well. “Yeah… Sorry, I don’t remember,” I said.

  “Vanilla Ice,” Buddy said, nodding. “Thought he was God’s gift, this one.”

  “Listen, we really should be going,” I said to Solomon. “It’s been a long day.”

&nb
sp; “Are you nuts?” she asked. “I’ve never seen a single picture of you besides class photos at Littlehope Middle School. If there are candids of you as the Ice Man, you can bet your sweet ass I’m gonna see them.”

  “They’re in the shed out back,” George said. “Hang on, let me get ‘em.” He started to haul himself out of his chair, but I shook my head.

  “Stay where you are, George. I’ll get them. Just tell me where.”

  Two minutes later, I was outside in the fresh air again, grateful for the reprieve. It was almost midnight, the woods an eerie cobalt blue under a clouded sky. When I was with Ashley, I used to sit on the front porch out here with George, drinking until we were blurry with the booze, talking life, philosophy, music, women… Anything I could come up with to avoid going home. Whatever George might have to say about his daughter, she sure as hell had deserved better than I’d ever given her.

  I hoped she had that now.

  I could hear them laughing inside the cabin. Solomon wasn’t much of a drinker usually, and George’s homemade whiskey wasn’t the best time to make an exception to that rule. She’d stood by and watched me get blackout drunk enough times that I wasn’t about to tell her when to quit, though. She—

  I stopped, caught by a sound I couldn’t identify behind me. The ground was too soft for footsteps, but there was… something. Movement. Or I thought there was. I flashed back to the summer before with Solomon and fought the urge to run back inside. There were a whole host of night creatures that could be moving out here about now. I wasn’t being hunted anymore.

  Probably.

  George’s shed was behind the cabin, sheltered by a grove of trees and all but invisible to the outside world. I slipped the latch and opened the door, shining a flashlight George had given me. The shed was maybe 12x18, barely big enough to walk around in, with tools hung neatly on pegboard on one wall and shelving built along the others. A single, rectangular window was positioned on the opposite wall, about six feet up—too high to see anything, but adequate if you needed a little light. When there was light to be had, of course.