Lee Martin - Late One Night

Shooter squeezed Captain’s jaw, and Captain said, “I went to Della’s to check on the goats.”

“And that’s when you saw Ronnie.”

Captain nodded. “He was behind the trailer.”

“That’s right.” Shooter let go of Captain’s jaw. “He was behind the trailer, and what was he doing?”

“He was — I think—” Captain stumbled along. “He was behind the trailer, and—”

“What did he have with him?” Captain squinted as if maybe that would help him see the answer. He chewed on his lip. “A can of gas,” Shooter finally said.

Captain’s face relaxed. His eyes opened wide. “He had a can of gas.”

“Yes.”

“Behind the trailer.”

“Good.”

“He had a can of gas behind the trailer.”

“And did he see you?”

“No, he didn’t see me.”

“Right as rain.” Shooter ran his hand through Captain’s bangs. He petted his head. This boy. His boy. “You tell the sheriff that.”

The news about Brandi turning Ronnie out of her house broke when Anna Spillman admitted that he’d spent the night with her. “It wasn’t like what you might think,” she said. “He just showed up, said Brandi locked the door on him, and he needed a place to sleep. Didn’t say anything more than that, and I never in the world would have thought — well, I mean, I just wouldn’t have thought it of him, would you?”

By this time, late afternoon the next day, the word was out. Missy Wade had called Sheriff Biggs that morning, who in turn had called Laverne Ott at Children and Family Services to express concern for the safety of Ronnie Black’s daughters, and Laverne, when she heard the story that Missy had told Biggs, knew she’d have to look into the matter.

It was just before noon when Laverne walked into the Wabash Savings and Loan and said to Brandi, who was about to take her lunch break, “There’s something we need to discuss.”

Brandi was putting on her coat. “I’ve got an hour for lunch.”

“Why don’t we just get that lunch together?” She handed Brandi a business card with her cell phone number on it. “So you can get in touch with me whenever you need to,” she said.

It was the waitress at the Mi Casita, Maxine New, who let it slip that Brandi and Laverne Ott had been talking in hushed tones and that Brandi seemed upset. Meanwhile, in Goldengate, Willie Wheeler was at the Real McCoy Café telling Pastor Quick that there seemed like there’d been trouble at Brandi’s last night. He’d heard Ronnie pounding on the front door and begging to be let in. Bit by bit, the word made its way around Phillipsport and Goldengate: something was out of kilter with Ronnie and Brandi, and now Laverne Ott from Children and Family Services was involved. It wasn’t long after the noon hour when Pastor Quick, who was pumping gas at Casey’s convenience store, looked across the pump and saw Missy Wade on the other side, filling up her van.

“Missy,” he said. “I’m worried about what’s going on with Brandi Tate and Ronnie Black. Seems she threw him out last night. What’s that mean for his girls?”

“So she threw him out.” Missy took the nozzle out of her tank and returned it to the pump. “Good.”

“They say Laverne Ott is involved. Do you know anything about it?”

“I called the sheriff.” Missy screwed her gas cap back in place. She opened the door of her van and got in. Before she closed the door, she said, “I had to. I’ve got to take care of those girls.”

All of this was happening while Brandi and Laverne talked at a back table in Mi Casita.

“We really ought to be talking about this in my office,” Laverne said. “Or at your home. Somewhere more private.”

“I don’t mind.” Brandi stirred a little sugar into her tea. They were in the corner along the back wall where the restrooms were, and no one else was sitting at the tables around them. “It’s not an easy thing to talk about no matter where we are.”

Laverne knew that was true. She’d seen it time and time again: a woman coming to her, ashamed, afraid to say what she suspected might be the ugly truth about a husband or a boyfriend — something not on the up and up, but the woman not wanting to believe it.

As soon as that woman said what she feared — said it to Miss Ott — she knew it became something to be investigated; she knew her life was about to change. For that reason alone it took more than one woman a while to work up the nerve. She had too much to lose — the man himself, maybe, and the way she’d always thought of him. The money from his paycheck, sometimes even the house where they’d all lived. Some women tried to talk themselves out of it, tried to convince themselves that the facts didn’t add up and the allegations were just that: talk.

Laverne had to coax the story out of so many of the women, but that wasn’t the case with Brandi. She looked Laverne straight in the eye. She said, “What Missy told you is true. I was just waiting for my lunch break to tell you myself. I’m starting to believe that Ronnie burned up that trailer. I confronted him last night, and he didn’t deny it.”

“He said he did it?”

Brandi swirled her straw around in her tea. “He was out there that night. Shooter Rowe saw him, and Angel found Ronnie’s knife behind the trailer. At first, I didn’t want to believe it, but now I know too much. He was there and he was behind the trailer and then it burned.”

“You heard the fire marshal has said it was arson?” Laverne could tell how hard this was for Brandi. “You know there’s been talk about Ronnie?”

“He pulled a knife on me. The knife Angel found and then gave back to him.” It was at this point that Brandi got shy. She bowed her head and moved her silverware about, lining up the knife and fork just so. She put her hand on her stomach. “I’m having Ronnie’s baby. I’ve been taking care of his girls. I thought I had everything right where I wanted it.”

Maxine New arrived with their lunches. She set the steaming plates on the table.

Brandi was dabbing at her eyes with her napkin. “I swear,” she said. “I thought we were going to have a wonderful life.”

Now Laverne had questions of her own. Chief among them: where was Ronnie?

Brandi didn’t know. She’d locked him out of the house the night before and hadn’t heard from him since.

At that exact moment he was pounding on Missy’s door. She looked out the window and saw the Firebird. She took a deep breath and thought about just standing there and doing nothing. Maybe he’d get tired of pounding and head on back up the blacktop.

“Missy,” he said. “I know you’re in there.”

He’d awakened at Anna Spillman’s house, and she’d told him he could stay there as long as he wanted. Then she’d gone off to work. Late in the morning, it came to him that if he were headed toward trouble — and the question Brandi had asked him about whether he set the trailer on fire, on top of the suspicion that Biggs held, indicated that he might very well be doing just that — he’d need a lawyer, and to hire one would take money.

Missy pulled the door back a crack so she could see Ronnie, but she wouldn’t open the storm door.

“You told me you wouldn’t let my girls go without.” He tried the storm door, but it was locked. “You said any time they needed something, just to ask. I want a thousand dollars.”

“Better get out of here, Ronnie. I’ve already talked to the sheriff.”

“Damn it. I need that money. I know you’ve got it in the account, and I want it so I can do right by my girls.”

That was too much for her, his claim that he was looking after the girls. “So you can make a run for it?” she said. “I don’t think so. I know that Angel found your knife behind the trailer. I know what you did, and all I can say is God save you, Ronnie. God take mercy on your soul.”