Уинстон Грум - Alabama Noir

“You shouldn’t have made that picture of my daughter’s grave.” His eyes were flat but alert.

“I get an assignment from my boss and I do what I’m told to do.”

“Somehow I don’t believe that, Jackie. I know you.”

She’d recovered her balance. “And I know you. Why do you think I’d do something like that?”

“That’s what I’ve come to ask. Why? And to tell you I want my daughter’s body back. I want her back in the ground and left alone. Now, you’ve got till midnight tomorrow to put her right back in that coffin. You call me when it’s done and I’ll send some boys around to fill in the dirt.”

“You’re making a lot of assumptions.”

“Folks said you’re smarter than your daddy. Prove it. This is your get-out-of-jail-free card, Jackie. Put her back. That’ll be the end of it.”

“And if I don’t — assuming I have a dead body hidden somewhere?”

“I can put you in that coffin and cover you up. One way or the other, I’m telling my wife that a dead girl is in the cemetery. You get me?”

“Why would I take your girl like that? What have you done that makes you think I’d even attempt it?”

“You’re smart, but you aren’t right, Jackie. Obsessed with vengeance. That’s the word. It’s no secret you think I killed your daddy.”

“I do. Are you denying it?” Her body was trembling.

“You’re not such a fool that you think I’d admit it even if I had done it.” He leaned in and tucked a stray curl behind her ear. “Midnight tomorrow. I’ll be waiting at the cemetery.”

He brushed past her and walked away, disappearing down the gray street in the pale light of dawn, leaving her to face a long day of questions and anxiety.

Jackie woke from a troubled sleep to the sound of gunshots. Just as she sat up in bed, the window of her room shattered. Glass blew in toward her, and she ducked and rolled. Two bullets smacked into the bedroom wall.

When her breathing finally settled back to normal, she crawled up and got a rifle from her father’s closet. She went to the back door and slipped into the night. She couldn’t see, but neither could they.

A milky film of fog covered the stars and moon, dripping steadily from the trees onto the dying leaves. She knew the woods and moved through the trees without hesitation, making her way to the narrow road. When she saw the sandy lane, she found a place tucked near a fallen scrub oak and set up the rifle, braced on the tree. A hoot owl cried into the night, and she was glad for the company. Whoever had taken a shot at her house was gone. The wild creatures told her that much.

She went back to her house and examined the damage. It was more warning than threat. Not worth involving the law, who’d been eager for an invite onto her property since Jackson had died. She’d handle this herself.

Her phone rang, startling her to the point that she almost dropped the rifle. She put it away, convinced the danger had passed. For the moment. She answered the phone, expecting to hear Jet Swanson’s voice. Instead, there was only the sound of breathing, and in the background, a sweet chorus of young women singing “Softly and Tenderly.” She realized it was a recording. A train whistle shrilled in the distance, but she couldn’t tell if it was on the recording or from the location of the caller.

“Who is this?” She waited. “Who is this?” She was hanging up when she heard what she thought was a sob. The line went dead.

Jackie held the phone for a long moment before she put it back in the cradle. She pulled on her clothes, grabbed the rifle, and headed to the still. Long before she got there, she saw the fire. Someone had torched her still. The blaze danced above the treetops. An explosion that literally rocked the car told her there was nothing to salvage.

She swung the car so the headlights illuminated the path through the woods and stopped. A white dress had been draped over a set of shrubs. The Empire waist and longer skirt told her exactly what kind of dress it was. She slammed on the brakes and froze. “Angels in White.” She whispered the words aloud before she leaped out of the car and snatched the white dress. She completed her U-turn and headed away from the still, going as fast as she dared.

There was nothing she could do to save the operation. Someone had put her out of business. Destroyed the thing her father took pride in. And left her a message. Angels in White.

Her certainty that Jet Swanson was the man responsible for her father’s death was shaken. Jet would kill a man, no doubt about it. He would kill a woman. But he would not dig up his daughter or use her church clothes to make a threat. Fire trucks passed on the main road. She gave the police another fifteen minutes to get to the scene, then grabbed her camera and drove to the still. Taking photos for the newspaper gave her a reason to be at the scene. An empty gas can had been left fifty feet back from the still. Hardly necessary with that much alcohol right at hand.

To her surprise, Deputy Stewart was the man in charge. “Any clues as to what happened?” she asked.

He scoffed. “I thought you might be able to tell me .”

“I was home, asleep. Heard the sirens.” The flames had died down considerably, and the volunteer firemen were spraying the surrounding trees to prevent sparks from jumping.

“Who would want to put you out of business, Jackie?” The deputy gently grasped her shoulder when she started to turn away. “You’ve been poking into someone’s business. This is a message. If you don’t heed it, they’re going to seriously hurt you. Just like they did Jackson.”

“Who killed my daddy?” She kept her tone flat.

“Knowing won’t bring Jackson back and it could get you killed.”

She thought about showing Sandy the dress. It was the best evidence and she’d plucked it from the scene. Angels in White. Dead Cornelia Swanson. An empty grave.

She drove straight to the newspaper and turned in her film of the fire. She wrote her story and left it on Clint’s desk.

She made her last delivery at the Forest Grill, a bar on old Highway 45. Freddie McGee was a favorite customer. He was older with bad knees so she unloaded the moonshine. She put the jugs behind the counter. The building was half general store and half bar, with a short-order cook to boot. Dolly Mason could whip up a grilled cheese in under three minutes. Jackie didn’t even have to order. Dolly put the sandwich and a cup of coffee in front of her at the bar.

“I heard about the fire.”

Jackie felt the pressure of emotion yet again. She blinked back her tears. “I’m done, Dolly. I’m thinking about moving into town. Maybe buy one of those little cottages on Mohawk or Japonica. Not too close in.” She was surprised at how much she revealed and how these thoughts had come, unbidden, to her mind.

“You don’t need to be out in those woods alone. Moving into town is a good idea, hon. Maybe find you someone to date.” Dolly picked up a strand of Jackie’s hair. “You could be pretty if you let yourself. Eat your sandwich.”

Jackie sipped her coffee. She had to get back to the newspaper. Clint would be looking for her. She took a big bite of the sandwich and peered at the wall behind the bar. The place was old and not all that clean. Her eye caught a photo of three very young men at the pool table, holding sticks and grinning at the camera. Two small girls sat on the edge of the table. One had white-blond hair.

Dolly followed her gaze. “That’s your daddy.” She took the picture down and gave it to Jackie. “He was a handsome man. When he was young, all the women had a crush on him. He was also a bootlegger, which made him dangerous. Like a pirate.” She laughed. “When he married your mama, we were all heartbroken. I don’t think he ever looked at another woman after he said his vows. The same can’t be said for the other two. They were tomcats in heat.”