A Vision of Murder (17 page)

It was a strange feeling.
Although she hadn’t realized it up until this point, she had been expecting
this for years. Now that it was here, she wasn’t sure how she could handle it.
Now that it was staring her in the face, she didn’t know if she
wanted
to.

Jackson stared down at the
ground, his gaze traveling back and forth over the pattern on the edge of the
carpet as he swallowed hard and tried to continue. Now that the moment had
come, he couldn’t find the words. One hand gripped the pie plate hard and the
silver fork threatened to teeter off the edge into space. He grabbed it quickly
and then gave up, resting the plate on the table and placed his hands on his
knees.

Mrs. Dodd waited patiently.
Finally, he looked up at her once and then, unable to hold her gaze, he shifted
it back to the pattern. He cleared his throat and began.

“I should have done
this years
ago,” he started. “That day….” Tears filled his
eyes and the sting of them brought a lump to his throat.

“It’s alright, Jackson,”
Mrs. Dodd said, “you don’t have to if you don’t want to.” She didn’t want to
know, she didn’t want to know!

The small living room was
dim, crowded with mementos and memories of years past. It was always slightly
shadowy, a perfect napping spot where a person could stop to rest and lose
track of time. The clock ticked idly in the corner and time seemed to freeze in
spite of the reassurance from the reliable timepiece that it was still moving
on.

“I’ve carried so much guilt.
That day….” He took a deep breath. “I was with Lorene. We were playing in the
woods.”

Mrs. Dodd could see them in
her mind’s eye. Lorene had been wearing her nice dress, still fresh from her
pictures. It was a light lavender color with a clean white shirt underneath.
Billowing sleeves and a high collar surrounded her mass of dark hair, pinned
back by a huge matching bow.

She had left in perfect
condition, as usual. Mrs. Dodd had almost gone after her to insist that she
change, but at the last moment, she had decided against it. Lorene never came
home dirty with ripped clothes like other girls. She thought she had nothing to
worry about.

“We were supposed to stay
close… and we did at first… and then….” He had to stop before he could
continue. “Lorene wanted to go through the woods. Mary was following us and
Lorene kept telling her to go home. She was only two years old….”

“Lorene finally brought her
back home and left her in the yard. You had told us to watch Mary, but we
didn’t want to. Lorene locked her in that old pen.”

The pen was a playpen of
sorts that they had built to contain the children while working in the garden.
“I remember… I was trying to get everything ready for the party that afternoon.
It was Lorene’s birthday….”

“We left her there and ran
as fast as we could out of sight.” His brow wrinkled. “We didn’t want her to
see us and start crying. It was hard for me to keep up. Lorene was older than
me and much faster….”

“We thought that Mary would
stay in the pen. We didn’t think she would be able to get out and follow us.
But she did…. We were playing on the old log that was across the creek.”

“The water was high that
day,” Mrs. Dodd broke in. She could almost see herself, as if watching a movie
on television, in her best dress, stepping carefully around the mud puddles
while she carried the food, and then the cake, out to the table. She had
covered it all with a soft white cloth to keep off the flies….

“We looked over and Mary…
she somehow had followed us through the woods…. She was standing on the log….
Her curly blonde baby hair looked like a cloud around her face and she was
grinning at us. She was wearing a little, white dress. Lorene stood and
screamed, and Mary, it startled her, and she just slipped and fell.”

Mrs. Dodd’s wrinkled old
hand traveled to her mouth. She had imagined this so many times, in so many
different ways. Each one had been like a horrible nightmare, threatening to
overtake her as she imagined her little girl dying without her.

“So that’s what happened,”
Mrs. Dodd whispered.

“That’s not all,” Jackson
continued. Mrs. Dodd looked up sharply.

“She slipped and fell,” he
continued, “and as she fell, she hit her head on the log. She had a little
trickle of blood on her face. We had both raced towards her as she had fallen
and Lorene grabbed her. She was barely holding onto her and she told me to run
for help. When I went to step over her, I tripped and I started to fall in. I
don’t know if she had time to decide or if it was reflex…. I just remember
staring at her with wide, scared eyes and screaming her name. And she let go
and grabbed me and pushed me back up, and when I looked back down, Mary was
gone. Lorene just lay on the log and cried, beating her little hands against
it. We looked and looked, but we couldn’t find her.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Mrs. Dodd whispered. “Why didn’t you come get me?”

“Lorene said that we
couldn’t. She made me promise. And I was scared.
So scared.
I thought you would hate me as much as I hated myself. It was my fault that
Mary died,” he sobbed as he finished. “I’ve carried that guilt for so many
years. As I got older, I knew I should tell you, but I… after we had told you
we didn’t know… I couldn’t come back and say that I did. All the while, when you
begged me and begged me, I lied to you. I didn’t want to admit it.”

“All you or Lorene would say
is that you brought her back to the house….”

“Lorene,” he said. “She
thought you would hate her if she told you what had really happened. She said
that you had always loved Mary best and that you would think that she did it on
purpose.”

“I can still see her, in
that little dress, with tears streaming down her face. She said, ‘Jackson, we
can’t tell mama. She’ll hate me. She’ll send me away. Please, please don’t tell
her. She’ll never love me again.” And I didn’t.’”

“I’ve always known that
there was something wrong that day. I’ve thought… terrible thoughts before. You
see….” An ironic, tear-filled smile appeared on the edge of Mrs. Dodd’s face. “Lorene
came back dirty that day. Her dress was dirty. I asked her why she was crying
and she said she fell and ruined her dress. And then I asked her where was
Mary? And she said I left her here. She never would answer my questions. We
searched all day. We never found her.”

“She was a child, Mrs.
Dodd,” Jackson said. “She didn’t mean to do it and it’s hard for me to condemn
the person that saved my life. If I could trade my life right now for Mary’s,
believe me, I would.”

“You weren’t supposed to be
playing there!” Mrs. Dodd’s voice broke as she protested the past. “I had told
her specifically, you and her both, not to go around that creek. Mary followed
you there to her death!”

Jackson sat still. “I know.”

“All these years, I’ve
wondered and questioned, did she go to that creek alone? How would she have
found it? I thought about her falling in and not being able to get back out and
being scared….”

“She wasn’t scared,” Jackson
replied.

“How would you know?” Mrs.
Dodd was surprised at how scathing and bitter her voice sounded as it emerged
from her own lips.

“Because
she wasn’t conscious.”
Jackson wrapped his arms around his stomach as if he were cold.
“When she hit her head, it knocked her out. That’s why Lorene couldn’t pull her
in. Lorene herself was slipping. I thought she was going to fall in, too. If I
had fallen in, and she had let me, it would only have been a matter of time
before she went in, too. I guess we all nearly died that day.”

The clock ticked on in the
silence that filled the little room. Neither Jackson nor Mrs. Dodd seemed to
notice.

“But
I cannot lay blame”

I couldn’t help but wonder
what was going on in the house next door. Dunn had been certain that it was Jackson
Reilly. I didn’t know the man, but I had seen him around town lately. I
wondered what had brought him to Temple and if he was a friend of Mrs. Dodd’s.

Dunn assured me that he was
not only a friend of Mrs. Dodd’s, but also a native of Temple, who had recently
lost his wife. Still, I found my gaze drifting in that direction as the
afternoon wore on, lingering on the small house.
What are they doing in
there?

I don’t know why, but I felt
a sudden fear of the stranger that had visited the old lady. In some way,
danger seemed to be following him.

Finally, he left. I watched
him standing on the porch, talking with Mrs. Dodd for some time before bidding
goodbye with a wave of his hand and walking to his car. I sensed his eyes on me
several times, but every time I looked up, he was deep in conversation with the
old lady. I convinced myself that the coming night of storms and destruction
was preying on my nerves and that I was imagining things.

He stopped to smile and wave
again at the old lady. I stood still in my yard with a forgotten watering can
tipping water gently over my legs. It splashed icily in the brisk wind to the
ground below. The foreboding feeling washed over me, filling my chest with
panic.

“Dear,” Mrs. Dodd called
from the porch. “It’s supposed to rain later, you really shouldn’t be watering
those flowers.”

“Is it?” I asked. My voice
sounded vague and disinterested to my own ears.

Mrs. Dodd’s eyes narrowed as
her forehead wrinkled in concern. Her small hands were clasped in front of her
innocently as she tottered across the porch. “Are you alright? You look pale.”

I raised my right hand to my
cheek without thinking,
then
swallowed hard. “Who was
that man?”

She paused and hesitated,
gazing after the place in the distance where the car had disappeared from view.
“A friend from long ago,” she said, but her voice sounded sad.

I forced myself to meet her
steady gaze. “Why can’t you just leave me alone?” I asked. My voice had changed
to a tiny, distant sound.

Her gaze never wavered,
never flickered. “Honey, what you don’t realize is that you need my help. Why
won’t you let me help you?”

I shook my head. Her words
were breaking through and a tiny flicker of anger began deep inside. I thought,
for an instant, that she was going to ruin everything. “You’re not helping me!”
I exclaimed. “Don’t you understand? That man… he’s dangerous! He… scares me.”

Mrs. Dodd gave me a
peculiar, long look before she surveyed the sky above.
“That
storms moving in now, I can feel it in my bones.
I suggest you hunker
down. This won’t be a night to be out investigating things in.”

“I’ll do what I have to if
it means this will finally be over,” I said to her, boldly. My shoulders
straightened as I placed the can on the ground next to my flower bed.

“Well, I’m going to bed,” Mrs.
Dodd said. She rubbed her fingers and sighed. “My arthritis acts up in this
weather. It will take a pain pill to get me through tonight.”

“Where’s Sissy?” I asked,
suddenly concerned. “Is she going to be with you tonight?”

“She said she’s coming over for
supper. I hope she stays over with me. I do hate to be alone in these to-dos.”

“I’ll be happy to check on
you later,” I said in what I thought was a sweet tone, but the old lady’s gaze
narrowed shrewdly and she shook her head decisively.

“Don’t bother,” she said.
“I’ve survived worse than this.”

I watched her creep along
the porch and the thought crossed my mind that all the times that I had been so
hard on her, believing that she was faking, she had possibly been suffering
from arthritis. That would explain her sudden dexterity at times. Before I
could say anything else, though, the screen door slammed conclusively behind
her.

A large, dark cloud hung
heavy in the distance, coming up over the hills like a giant over a town of
villagers, ready to crush all in its wake. Mrs. Dodd’s front window framed the
ominous scene like a picture.

Her hand slid back from the
curtain as she perused the neighborhood.

“Tonight’s the night,” she
told Pumpkin, who only licked his paw and brushed it over his whiskers in response.

“…
if
you live in those communities, take cover immediately! A possible tornado might
be on the ground and headed your way!” the weather girl continued to lecture,
stopping periodically in front of a map of Tennessee to point out specific
areas. Right now, the worst line of the storm was hovering just west of middle
Tennessee. Mrs. Dodd knew it would be nearing her town a couple of hours after
nightfall.

People in the South were
accustomed to severe weather and with that familiar feeling, they did not
always prepare as they should. This coming storm had already done so much
damage that now almost everyone in the neighborhood was busy with some task or
another.

The White’s down the street
were hurrying to and fro from their garage to their house. They had to
awkwardly loop around the house to the front door to carry items inside since
the garage door was blocked by boxes. The packed garage was already emptying
rapidly.

“
Hmmp
,”
Mrs. Dodd commented to Pumpkin, who was still enjoying his bath, “just like a
White. They’re spending all their time trying to get that decrepit old car in
the garage and I’d bet you ten dollars their basement is just as cluttered.
Where are
they
going to go if a tornado comes, I’d like to know?”

Mr. White hurried again
across his yard, arms wrapped around a large box. Mr. Nelson was watching him
from his own front yard with his hands on his hips.

“Mr. Nelson’s not doing a
thing, just standing there as usual, watching everybody else work. That’s
always been his worst trait,” Mrs. Dodd updated Pumpkin.

“I remember the time that he
was watching Carl and Bud, his sons-in-law, work on that car.” Mrs. Dodd
giggled with enjoyment. “They said they went in for a drink and when they came
back, the car was crashed right into Bernice’s rock wall across the street.
‘What happened?’ Carl asked.”

“‘That rock in front of the
wheel gave way and the car just rolled right down the drive, across the street,
and into the wall.’”

“And he just stood there and
watched it!” Mrs. Dodd said. “Can you believe that?” Pumpkin paused and stared
at her. “Carl said that he just stood and watched them struggle to push that
car right out of the wall and back up the drive. Didn’t even move a muscle when
Bud almost got run over trying to hold the car in place and push that stone
back under the wheel.” She shook her head in disgust.

Now Mr. Nelson stood,
solitary, in his yard. The neighborhood kids thundered by like wild horses.
They were riled up in anticipation, as if the storm itself flowed through their
veins. Mrs. Baxter, whose four sons were part of the group, chased them,
calling in vain for them to come back and help her clean up the toys before
they all blew away.

“Her yard’s always a mess,”
Mrs. Dodd muttered. Toys and half-made forts covered the lawn, which at times,
was quite busy with little hands digging holes and piling dirt.

“They’ll make wonderful
miners,” Mrs. Dodd said as she watched the boys. They seemed to make it a point
to dig at least one pointless hole a week and to leave the dirt in untidy
piles. The holes were scattered throughout the lawn and reminded Mrs. Dodd of
the war scenes she had seen in pictures, with trenches and obstacles scattered
at random.

She couldn’t complain too
much about the boys, though. They all seemed to have a lack of morals so she
was able to use them at times if she offered a high enough bribe. They kept her
supplied with contraband and were always willing to race off at a moment’s
notice for a large enough tip. She felt they were allies with her against a world
that didn’t have time for them, and, because of their respective ages, didn’t
quite think they were important enough.

A solid fence now ran down
the length of the divide between the Baxter’s and Mr. Nelson’s yard. He had
himself overseen the work after having several incidences of toys drifting
slowly into his yard followed closely by the holes.

He didn’t even seem to blink
as the children raced by in a mad dash. Mrs. Baxter stumbled and almost fell as
she stepped in a hole while chasing them.

Mrs. Dodd chuckled and
pumped one fist up in the air. “I always thought those holes were pointless,
but they worked this time.” Mrs. Baxter knelt on the lawn, rubbing her sore
ankle, while Mr. Nelson watched her critically.

He never made a move to help
and she finally staggered up into standing position and then across the
battlefield of her lawn to her front porch. Her shoulders sagged as she
disappeared inside.

“It’s too bad so many
high-spirited boys were born to a Baxter,” Mrs. Dodd said, with a momentary pang
of guilt for laughing at the harried woman. “They aren’t known for standing
their ground. I watched her father take his hat off his head and give it to
Wiley Parker just because he had admired it. I told him he’d soon be naked and
homeless if Old Wiley ever figured out he just had to say he liked it and it
would be his.”

Finally, her observation of
the neighborhood people, who she generally considered to be quite boring, paid
off. The psychic was crossing the street to Mr. Nelson’s yard, waving hello to
the rest of the neighbors who Mrs. Dodd’s critique had not yet covered. She
spoke with him for some time while he grinned and nodded in reply.

Mr. Nelson did not have a
lot of friends due to his tendency to stand and watch others misfortune without
offering to help. He eagerly greeted the girl, shaking her hand excitedly.

Mrs. Dodd watched the two of
them chat for several minutes. Both the psychic and Mr. Nelson were smiling
broadly.

“We ought to hire him to
stand in our garden next summer. He’d make a perfect scarecrow, though, I doubt
he’d move an inch if a whole flock of birds swung by our garden for lunch.
Probably just watch them eat and then bid them farewell.”

The wind picked up, blowing
loose papers out of a box in Mr. White’s hands and scattering them over the
neighborhood. Mr. Nelson watched them blow by him as if in a daze, but the
psychic snatched at them as they passed. Mrs. Baxter reappeared on her porch,
hands on her cheeks in dismay as they covered her yard.

Her whooping children
reappeared as if summoned to be present when anything troublesome was
occurring. They ran here and there, grabbing at the loose sheaves, as she
limped around them.

Mr. Nelson waved goodbye to
the psychic as she carried the items she had caught to Mr. White, helping him
to pack them back into the box.

Mrs. Dodd watched Mr. Nelson
with narrowed eyes. She had found that her dislike for him had grown
substantially ever since Lorene had compared her to him.

“I’m nothing like him!” Mrs.
Dodd had said contemptuously.

Her daughter had seemed
amused. “I only meant that you both seem to be the watchers of the
neighborhood.”

“Except…” Mrs. Dodd sniffed,
“I actually do things.
He only stands and watches.
He
doesn’t even think or he might have noticed before!”

“Noticed what?” Lorene had
asked.

But her mother had been
quite put out with her and refused to answer, saying only that “… she would
soon know.” 

The light outside was dim
and the world felt shadowy and vague. The phone rang shrilly, interrupting the
silence that had descended upon the house as the old woman thought.

“Hello?”

“Mother?”
Lorene’s voice sounded
slightly panicked on the other end of the line.

“Yes?”

“Mother, I want you to be
careful with these storms coming. I’ve already called Sissy and she’s going to
stay the night with you. I think that the two of you will be much safer at our
house since Sissy’s doesn’t have a basement.”

“I’m fine, Lorene.”

“I feel so badly, mother. I
feel as if I should be there with you.” The guilt was apparent in her voice.

“Now dear, if it gets bad,
I’ll just hop on down to the basement. You know I’m the first to run if I here
there’s a tornado coming.”

“I know but….”

“No buts! How is everything
with the wedding?” The two of them chatted for several minutes about Carole and
the wedding. Mrs. Dodd assured Lorene several times that the garden and she
were well, and, with only a few more admonishments to be careful of the
weather, she bid her daughter goodbye.

She had decided as soon as
Jackson left that she would ask Lorene about Mary when she was at home. It was
time for them to have a long talk and it was not a conversation fit for a
telephone call.