Greg Iles - The Devils Punchbowl

The laughter I hear is mine. “You’re moving pretty fast, aren'’t you?”

“Have you ever known me to move any other way?”

“No.”

“Well, then,” she says, her face still severe. “You should probably kiss me now.”

Reaching out, I take her hand and pull her toward me. For the first time in a year and a half, this intimacy is not a dream or a memory, but real. She hesitates, then spreads her palm flat on my chest and smiles with such intensity that her eyes shine.

“I’'ve missed you,” she says. “I’'ve missed you so much.”

“Why didn't you let me know?”

“Because it was everything or nothing. It had to be.”

Before I can speak again, she leans forward and brushes her lips against mine. This close, her scent is overwhelming. Taking her in my arms, I kiss her as I longed to the first time we were ever alone, and she melts against me. When she finally pulls back, her cheeks are flushed, her eyes bright and wet.

“Do you remember our first time?” she asks.

“The party at that surgeon’s house. In the garden. Before the Del Payton case broke.”

“Does it feel the same to you?”

“Yes. No. As good as that was, this is better.”

She closes her eyes as though saying a silent prayer. “Was that your first kiss after your wife died?”

“Yes.”

“I’'ve always wondered that.”

“You must have known.”

She opens her eyes and touches my right cheek with her finger. “I thought it was. I wanted to think it. That'’s why I never asked.”

Over Caitlin’s shoulder, I see a long string of barges pushing around the north bend of the river. “When can we tell Annie?” I ask, moving behind the wheel and starting the engine.

“Today. It’s long overdue.”

“What about asking your father’s permission, all that?”

“We’re pretty old for that, aren'’t we? He’d love it, of course.”

“It’s the right thing. In this case, anyway.”

Spying the barges, Caitlin stows the empty urn, then sits in the passenger seat. “Do whatever you want about that. But I'm about to surprise you.”

“Oh, God. Are you pregnant? With a little filmmaker?”

She smacks me on the shoulder hard enough to bruise. “It’s about the wedding.”

“Let me guess. No fuss, no church, just a quick trip to Fiji or somewhere.”

“Boy, you

are

dumb. I want the church, the dress, engraved invitations, a string quartet, the whole thing. I know it’s all bullshit, but I want it anyway.”

“I literally can’t believe that.”

She smiles broadly, elated at having surprised me. “If I'm going to stay in Mississippi, I'm taking the good with the bad. Come on, let’s go before that barge runs us over.”

Putting the boat into gear, I push the throttle forward, make a wide turn, and head downstream.

“The day we get married,” she says above the roar of the wind, “I'm going to pour a glass of champagne into this river. Don’t let me forget.”

“I won'’t.”

“I mean it.” She takes my hand, then pulls out her ponytail holder and lets the wind fling her dark veil of hair behind her. “Do you know how lucky we are?”

“Yes.”

She intertwines her fingers in mine.

The ski boat skims the surface of the river, bouncing gently as we make for the distant landing at Silver Street. High above us, the city stretches along the rim of the bluff from the homes of Clifton Avenue to the gazebo where a kissing couple watched Tim die. Past the highway cut and the bridges stands the Ramada and the Briars, where Jefferson Davis was married, and then the land descends to the lumber mill and the sandbar near the old Triton Battery site, where Hans Necker will someday build his recycling plant.

We’re less than a mile from the landing when my cell phone vibrates in my pocket. Expecting Annie, I'm surprised to see my mother’s cell number on the LCD screen. She only uses the thing in emergencies, so my pulse quickens at the sight.

“Hello?”

“Penn, it’s Mom.”

The way she said my name reveals the stress she’s under. “What is it? What’s happened?”

“Are you driving?”

“Mom, what’s the matter?”

“Your father had a heart attack.”

I close my eyes, preparing for the worst. “Is he alive?”

Caitlin clenches my hand, and I tell her what’s happened.

“He’s at St. Catherine’s Hospital,” Mom goes on. “I'm on my way there now. Drew used the office defibrillator on him. Tom probably would have died without it.”

“Is he conscious?”

“Yes.”

“Is Annie still with the babysitter?”

“Yes. I didn't want to scare either one of them.”

“Caitlin and I are on the river, but we’ll pick up Annie and get to the hospital as fast as we can. Thirty minutes, max.”

“Hurry, Penn. I talked to him for a few seconds. Tom said he has something important to tell you. He was very emphatic.”

“What’s that about?”

“I have no idea. He wasn'’t completely coherent, but he sounded like he doesn’'t think he’s going to make it.”

My father always hides pain, and my mother doesn’'t exaggerate. This is not good news.

“Just hurry so he won'’t be anxious about whatever it is.”

“I'm on my way, Mom. You pay attention to the road. We’ll be there before you know it.”

“Be careful.” When she clicks off, I press END and shove the throttle to the wall. The Bayrider leaps forward, then planes out and

begins to bounce on the river, jumping and smacking down like some great porpoise. “Damn it!” I curse.

Caitlin points toward Natchez Under-the-Hill. “We’re almost there. We’ll just tie up and run straight for the car.”

I nod, but I’d already made that decision, though it means risk for Drew’s boat. There’s no real dock at Silver Street, only a steep ramp. I'’ll tie the thing to the Evangeline casino if I have to. Boiling with frustration, I slam my hand against the wheel. “It’s always something, you know?”

“What do you mean?” Caitlin asks.

“Whenever life gets too good, whenever fate hands you something wonderful, something else gets taken away.”

She squeezes my shoulder and shakes her head. “Stop thinking like that. For one thing, life hasn’'t been that great lately. And for another, your dad’s not going to die.”

It’s a nice sentiment, but she has no idea what shape my father is in right now. He could be dead already. “You don'’t think this could have something to do with what we just went through, do you? With Sands or Po?”

“No. Absolutely not. This is just life, okay? But it’s going to be all right this time. I know it, Penn. We’re together again, and Tom’s not going to die on us.”

“He seems to think he is. He told Mom that he has something important to tell me.”

Caitlin absorbs this in silence. “Well, we have something important to tell him too. We’ll tell him before we tell Annie. You know how that news will make him feel.”

“You’re right,” I admit, picturing the scene. My father wanted me to marry Caitlin a week after he met her. “He’ll be the happiest, apart from Annie.”

“He will. Now, keep thinking that.” Caitlin hugs me tightly from the side. “Okay?”

“Okay.” With shaking hands, I turn the wheel and point the boat toward the Silver Street landing.

Toward home.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

None of my novels could be written without the generous help of many friends and acquaintances. Mimi Miller of the Natchez Historic Foundation and Stanley Nelson of The Concordia Sentinel were especially helpful this time around. Stanley is a fine local historian, and some of his articles are available online. Natchezians are always happy to help with my research, even though the fictional city that sometimes results seems a less than desirable place to live. We who live here know the truth, and wouldn'’t live anywhere else. This time around, I want to thank: Judge George Ward; Sally Durkin; Mayor Jake Middleton; former mayor Tony Byrne; Chief Mike Mullins; Major Jody Waldrop; Keith Benoist; Kevin Colbert; Billy Ray Farmer; Jim Easterling; Don Estes; Mike Wheelis, M.D.; and helicopter pilot John Goodrich.