Carnal Innocence (44 page)

“You shouldn’t let that FBI man worry you, Miss Caroline.”

“He doesn’t. I’m just concerned.”

Cy tugged his ribbon around so he could read it again. “He’s like Vernon.”

Surprised, Caroline turned to study Cy. “Agent Burns is like your brother?”

“I don’t mean he goes around starting fights or hitting women. But he thinks he’s smarter and better than everyone else. Figures his way’s the only way. And he likes having his foot on your throat.”

Caroline rested her chin on her hand and considered. Burns would detest the comparison, but it was eerily apt. With Vernon it was Scripture—his interpretation. With Burns it was the law—his interpretation. In either case it was the using of something right and just for personal power.

“They’re the ones who lose in the end.” She thought of her mother as well, a great wielder of power, a master of carving out her own will. “Because no one who doesn’t have to stays with them. That’s sad. It’s better if people care about you even if you aren’t always smarter, even if you aren’t always sure you’re right.” She stood. Tucker was strolling down the street, his shirt flung over his shoulder, his hair dripping, his jeans soaking wet. “Looks like we’re going home.”

She crossed the street to slip her arms around him. Laughing, he tried to nudge her back. “Honey, I’m not as clean as I might be.”

“Doesn’t matter.” She turned her head to murmur in his ear. “I need to talk to you. Alone.”

He would have liked to have interpreted the demand as romantic, but he heard the tension, felt the nerves in the line of her body.

“All right. Soon as we can.” He kept one arm around her as they began to walk. “Let’s get a move on, Cy. I heard Della’s cooked up a regular feast. Probably baked a few pies, too.”

Cy grinned good-naturedly. “I ain’t looking at another pie till next Fourth of July.”

“Got to keep in practice, boy.” Tucker flipped a
finger down the boy’s blue ribbon. “You know why I’m so good at latching on to those slippery critters?” He swung Caroline off her feet. “’Cause I’m always grabbing some wriggly female.”

Caroline relaxed enough to smile. “Are you comparing me with a sow?”

“Why, no, indeed, darlin’. I’m just saying if a man puts his mind to it, he can keep what he wants from slipping out of his hold.”

Back at Sweetwater, there were blankets spread on the grass, and the calliope was piping its siren song from over in Eustis Field. Near the pond where death had so recently floated, music twanged out from a fiddle, a banjo, and a guitar.

Here and there exhausted children napped, many of them sprawled where they’d dropped. An impromptu softball game was under way, and now and then the crack of the bat set up a cheer. Old men sat in folding chairs to root and gossip and wish for strong, young legs that could pump toward home. Young people drifted toward the carnival, where the rides were half price until six.

“Is it like this every year?” Caroline asked. She was close enough to the music to appreciate, far enough from the carnival not to dwell on how tawdry it looked in the daylight.

“Just about.” Tucker lay on his back, debating if he had room for one more drumstick. “What do you usually do on the Fourth?”

“It depends. If I’m out of the country, the day goes by like any other. When I’m in the States, we usually tie the concert to a fireworks display.” The fiddler took up “Little Brown Jug,” and Caroline began playing it in her head. “Tucker, I have to ask you about something Matthew said to me earlier.”

The agent’s name had Tucker deciding against another drumstick. “I should have figured he’d find a way to ruin things.”

“He said he was going to make an arrest tomorrow.”
She closed her hand over his. “Tucker, are you in trouble?”

He shut his eyes briefly, then rolled, folding his legs under him to sit. “It’s Dwayne, Caro.”

“Dwayne?” Stunned, she shook her head. “He’s going to arrest Dwayne?”

“I don’t know that he can,” Tucker said slowly. “The lawyer thinks Burns is blustering, that maybe he was trying to get Dwayne to say something he shouldn’t. All he’s got is speculation. No physical evidence.”

“What kind of speculation?”

“He can put Dwayne in the same area as the killings, without any alibis so far. And he’s using Dwayne’s trouble with Sissy as a kind of motive.”

“Divorce as a motive for killing other women?” Caroline arched her brows. “That gives about half the adult male population of the country a motive.”

“Seems pretty thin, doesn’t it?”

“Then why do you look so worried?”

“Because Burns may be a first-class asshole, but he’s not stupid. He knows Dwayne drinks, he knows how he was embarrassed by Sissy. And he knows Dwayne had an acquaintance with the victims. The one up in Nashville’s the kicker.”

“Nashville?” Letting out a long breath, she nodded. “Tell me.”

He’d hoped to keep it all from her for at least one day. But once he began, the words streamed out. Under them, she could sense the anger and a very real fear.

“What did your lawyer advise?”

“That we just go on as usual. Wait and see. Of course, if Dwayne could come up with an alibi for one of the nights, that would cool things off.” He popped open a beer, frowned into it. “I got a call in to the governor. He’s a little hard to reach today, but I expect he’ll call me back tomorrow.”

She tried a smile, hoping to coax one from Tucker. “He’s a cousin, I suppose?”

“The governor?” He did smile, fleetingly. “No. But his wife is. Odds are Burns is going to need a lot more to put the cuffs on Dwayne.”

“I can talk to my father if you like. He’s corporate, but he knows some excellent criminal attorneys.”

Tucker tilted back the beer. “Let’s hope I don’t have to take you up on it. The worst of it is, Caro, Dwayne’s so scared he’s doubting himself.”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s worried that maybe when he was drunk, when he wasn’t thinking straight, he might have—”

Her heartbeat skipped. “My God, Tucker, you don’t think—”

“No, I don’t,” he said with a barely restrained fury. “Jesus, Caroline, Dwayne’s harmless as a puppy. He may flap around and scuffle when he’s drunk, but he hurts only himself. And think,” he added, because he had been, and he’d been thinking hard. “The way those women were killed. It was vicious, yeah. And sort of primal and wild, but it was also planned. Thought out clean and clever. A man’s not clever with a head full of whiskey. He gets sloppy and stupid.”

“You don’t have to convince me, Tucker,” she said quietly. But she wondered if he was trying to convince himself.

“He’s my brother.” For Tucker, that said it all. He could see Dwayne now, sitting with old Mr. O’Hara. Tucker figured the jug they were passing was of O’Hara’s own brew. And it wasn’t lemonade. “He’ll be drunk as a skunk before nightfall. I haven’t got the heart to cut him off.”

“Sooner or later you’ll have to, won’t you?” She put a hand on his cheek. “Otherwise, you’ll just be cutting him out. I’ve been thinking about what you said about families. Not just about taking a stand, but about making things right. I’m going to call my mother.”

“I guess what you’re telling me is, if my advice is good enough for you, it ought to be good enough for me.”

She smiled. “Something like that.”

With a nod, he looked back toward Dwayne. “There’s a place up in Memphis. It has a good reputation for helping people shake themselves loose of the bottle.
I think if I work it right, I could talk him into giving it a try.”

“Darling,” she said, easing into a delta drawl, “with your talent you could talk a starving man out of his last crust of bread.”

“That so?”

“That’s so.”

He leaned over to touch his lips to hers. “That being the case, maybe I could talk you into doing something for me. Something I’ve had a hankering for.”

Caroline thought of the cool, empty house behind them, of the big canopied bed. “I imagine you could persuade me.” More than willing, she melted into the kiss. “What did you have in mind?”

“Well, you see, I’ve had this craving.” He turned his head to nip at her ear.

“I’m delighted to hear it.”

“I don’t want to offend you.”

She chuckled against his throat. “Please do.”

“I thought you might be a little shy, doing it out here in front of all these people.”

“I can—what?” With a half laugh, she pulled away. “Do what in front of all these people?”

“Why, play a few tunes, darlin’.” His lips curved. “What did you think I was talking about?” As his smile spread wickedly, he lifted a brow. “Why, Caroline, I’m going to start thinking you have a one-track mind.”

“Yours certainly takes some interesting curves.” Blowing out a breath, she combed fingers through her hair. “You want me to play?”

“Probably nearly as much as you’d like to be playing.”

She started to speak, then stopped and shook her head. “You’re right. I would like to.”

Tucker gave her a quick kiss. “I’ll go fetch your fiddle.”

S
he was welcomed into the little band, but dubiously. People settled back politely, very much, Caroline thought, as a class might when they were about to listen to a boring but respected lecturer.

It occurred to her that she’d grown accustomed to ovations when she took the stage. Obviously too accustomed, she thought now as her nerves began to jump. This little patch of grass beside Sweetwater Pond wasn’t Carnegie Hall, but it was a stage of sorts. And her current audience was reserving judgment.

She felt ridiculous, absurdly out of place with her gleaming Stradivarius and Juilliard training. She was ready to babble an excuse and crawl away when she saw young Jim grinning at her.

“Well now, little lady.” Old Mr. Koons ran his fingers down his banjo strings and made them twang. He couldn’t see more than three feet in front of himself, but he could still pick with the best of them. “What’s your pleasure?”

“How about ‘Whiskey for Breakfast’?”

“That’ll do her.” He tapped his foot for time. “We’ll
get her going, missy, and you just come on in when you’ve a mind to.”

Caroline let the first few bars roll by. It was a good sound, full and cluttered. When the rhythm had caught, she tucked the violin on her shoulder, sucked in a deep breath, and cut loose.

And the feeling was good—full and cluttered. As fun was supposed to be. The hand clapping from the audience kept time sharply. There was plenty of hooting, and when someone picked up the lyrics, they were given a shout of approval.

“I do believe that fiddle of yours is smoking,” Koons told her, then took a moment to spit out a chaw. “Let’s keep her going.”

“I know only a few,” Caroline began, but Koons waved her protest aside.

“You’ll pick her up. Let’s try ‘Rolling in My Sweet Baby’s Arms.’”

She did pick it up. Her ear and instinct were keen enough. When the trio segued into the blues, then bounced back with a raucous rendition of “The Orange Blossom Special,” she was right there with them.

She lost herself in the pleasure of it. Even so, she noted Burns watching her—and watching Dwayne. She saw Bobby Lee cuddle Marvella into a dance when they slowed things down with “The Tennessee Waltz.” The music poured through her, but she noted that Tucker had his head together with Burke in what looked like a private and very serious discussion. And she saw Dwayne, sitting gloomily, a bottle at his feet and his eyes on the ground.

Things were happening, Caroline mused. Even as the sun was lowering, the carnival rides whirling, the shadows lengthening, things were happening. Beneath the whistles and the laughter, nerves were jangling as fast as Koons’s banjo strings.

And she was just another player, after all. Just one more player in the odd, uneasy game. Fate had dropped her down into this messy stew of heat and murder and madness. She was surviving. More, she was doing. The
summer was half over and she was whole. She was even beginning to believe she was healed.

If she left Innocence with only that, it would be enough. Her gaze shifted back to Tucker. It would be enough, she thought again with a slow smile. But it didn’t hurt to hope for more.

“Well, kick me in the head and call me addled.” With a wheezy laugh, Koons laid his banjo over his lap. “You sure can make that fiddle dance, little girl. You ain’t no la-di-da neither.”

“Why, thank you, Mr. Koons.”

“It’s time we went and had ourselves a beer.” He got creakily to his feet. “You sure you’re a Yankee?”

She smiled, taking it for the compliment it was meant as. “No, sir, I’m not. I’m not sure at all.”

He slapped his knee at that, then hobbled off, shouting for his daughter to get him a beer.

“That sure was some pretty playing, Miss Caroline.” Jim hurried over to get a peek at the violin before she closed it in the case.

“Then I’ll have to thank my teacher.”

He stared, then dropped his gaze to the ground. But even with his head down, Caroline could see his grin spread from ear to ear. “Shoot, I didn’t do nothing.”

“It’s us want to thank you,” Toby said, cupping an arm around his wife’s shoulders. He held himself stiffly, favoring his bandaged side. “You stood up for us the other night. I know you were a comfort to Winnie.”

“I’m ashamed I haven’t thanked you properly, Caroline,” Winnie added. “I might’ve gone crazy if I hadn’t known you and Miss Della were looking after my kids while Toby was being patched up at the hospital. I’m obliged to you.”

“Don’t be. I’m told that’s what neighbors are for.”

“Miss Caroline.” Lucy tugged on Caroline’s skirt. “My daddy’s going to sing the National Anthem before the fireworks. Mr. Tucker asked him special.”

“That’s wonderful. I’ll look forward to it.”

“Come on now.” Toby hitched his daughter onto
his hip. “If I know Tuck, he’s going to be looking for this lady here, and we’d better get ourselves situated for those fireworks. It’s getting on toward dark.”

“How much longer?” Lucy wanted to know.

“Oh, no more’n a half hour.”

“But I’ve waited all day …”

Caroline chuckled over the universal complaint as Toby and Winnie toted Lucy away.

“She’s such a baby,” Jim said with a superior smirk.

Caroline sighed at the derision in his voice. She knew he’d defended his sister at the risk of his own life, but that was forgotten now. “You know what occurs to me, Jim?”

“No, ma’am.”

“That I’m an only child.” She laughed at his puzzled look, then picked up her case. “Go along with your family. If you see Tucker, tell him I’ll be right back.”

“I might could take that inside for you, Miss Caroline. It wouldn’t be no trouble.”

“That’s all right. I have to make a quick phone call before it gets dark.”

And wouldn’t her mother be surprised? Caroline thought as she started across the green lawn, through the green shadows toward the white columns of the house. She would wish her mother a happy Independence Day. For both of them.

I’m free of you, Mother, and you can be free of me. Maybe, maybe if we face each other without all those thin, taut strings between us, we can find something.

Caroline turned around to take a last sweep of the fields of Sweetwater. Though it was barely dusk, the lights on the midway and on the rides were winking in the distance. They didn’t look tawdry now, but hopeful. If she listened carefully, she could just hear the piping music and laughter as the Crack the Whip whirled its latest passengers.

Before long, night would fall, then the sky would explode with light, and the air would shake from the cracking booms. Turning back to Sweetwater, she
quickened her pace. She didn’t want to miss a moment of it.

Her mind was so full of what was to come, she paid little attention to the voices. It wasn’t until she heard the fury in them that she stopped, wondering how she could avoid walking in on an argument.

When she saw Josie and Dwayne standing in the front drive beside Josie’s car, Caroline automatically stepped back, thinking she could hurry around the side terrace. She hesitated just long enough to see the knife Dwayne held.

She froze where she was, beside the end column on the graceful front porch, watching, stunned, as brother and sister faced each other over the blade. Across the lawn, beyond the cotton field, revelers waited impatiently for full dark and celebration. Here, where the crickets were just beginning their chorus in the grass and a whippoorwill perched in a magnolia and called for a mate, the two were unaware of being observed.

“You just can’t do it. You just can’t,” Josie said furiously. “You have to see that, Dwayne.”

“I see the knife. Jesus, Josie.” He turned it in his hand, staring at the dull glint as if hypnotized.

“Give it to me.” She struggled to keep her voice calm and even. “Just give it to me, and I’ll take care of everything.”

“I can’t. Name of God, Josie, you have to see that I can’t. It’s gone too far now. Sweet Jesus, Arnette … Francie. I can see them. I can see them, Josie. It’s like some sort of awful dream. But it isn’t a dream.”

“Stop it.” Leaning her face close to his, she closed her fingers around the wrist of his knife hand. “You stop it right now. What you’re talking about doing is crazy, just crazy. I’m not going to allow it.”

“I have to—”

“You have to listen to me. And that’s goddamn all you have to do. Look at me, Dwayne. I want you to look at me.” When his gaze locked on hers, she spoke quietly again. “We’re family, Dwayne. That means we stick together.”

His sweaty fingers loosened on the hasp of the knife. “I’d do anything for you, Josie. You know that. But this is—”

“That’s good.” Smiling a little, she eased the knife away. From her stance by the column, Caroline nearly groaned with relief. “Here’s what you’re going to do for me now. You’re going to trust me to take care of things.”

Shaking his head, Dwayne covered his face. “How can you?”

“Just leave it to me. You trust Josie, Dwayne. You go on back down to the field and watch those fireworks. Put this all right out of your mind. That’s important. You just put it aside, and I’ll take care of the knife.”

He let his hands drop. Uncovered, his face was gray and stricken. “I’d never hurt you, Josie. You know I wouldn’t. But I’m scared. If it happens again—”

“It won’t.” After dropping the knife into her voluminous purse she looked back at him. “It’s not going to happen again.” Gently, she laid her hands on his shoulders. “We’re going to put it all behind us.”

“I want to believe that. Maybe we should tell Tucker, and he—”

“No.” Impatient, Josie gave him a quick shake. “I don’t want him to know, and telling him isn’t going to clean your conscience, Dwayne, so leave it be. Just leave it be,” she repeated. “Go on back down, and I’ll do what needs to be done.”

He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes, as if trying to block out the horror. “I can’t think. I just can’t think straight.”

“Then don’t think. Just do what I say. Go on. I’ll be along soon as I can.”

He took two steps away before turning, then stopped, his head down, his shoulders bowed. “Josie, why did it happen?”

She reached out, but her fingers stopped short of touching him. “We’ll talk about it, Dwayne. Don’t worry anymore.”

He didn’t see Caroline as he walked away, but she
could see the devastation and torment on his face. The shadows swallowed him.

For another moment she stood still as a statue, her heart throbbing hard and slow in her throat, the scent of roses and fear swimming in her head.

Dwayne was responsible for the brutal deaths of five women. The brother of the man she loved was a murderer. A brother, Caroline knew, whom Tucker was deeply devoted to.

And she ached for them, ached for them all. For the pain that was already felt, and the pain yet to come. With all of her heart she wished she could turn and walk away, pretend she had never heard, never seen. Never knew.

But Josie was wrong. Tucker had to be told. No matter how deep and strong the family ties, this was not something to be handled by a loving sister. Tucker had to be told, and prepared for what must happen next. Josie needed to be there. They would all need to be there.

Quietly, Caroline moved to the porch and up, through the door and into the house. The silence was already oppressive as she climbed the stairs to the second floor. No matter how she tried, she couldn’t find the right words. She stopped at Josie’s doorway and looked in.

The chaos of the room was in marked opposition to the stillness of the woman who stood at the open french doors. The cheerful clash of scents and mixed colors was overpowered by the encroaching dark and the sense of gloom.

“Josie.” Though Caroline spoke softly, she saw Josie stiffen before she turned. In the shadows, her face was pale as a ghost’s.

“They’ll be shooting off those fireworks in a minute, Caroline. You don’t want to miss them.”

“I’m sorry.” When she realized she was still carrying her violin case, she set it aside and gestured helplessly with her hands. “Josie, I’m so sorry. I don’t know if I can help, but I’ll do what I can.”

“What are you sorry about, Caroline?”

“I heard. You and Dwayne.” After one shuddering breath, she stepped into the room. “I heard you. I saw him with the knife, Josie.”

“Oh, God.” On a moan of despair, Josie sunk into a chair to cover her face with her hands. “Oh, God, why?”

“I’m sorry.” Caroline crossed the room to crouch at Josie’s feet. “I can’t even imagine how you must be feeling, but I do want to help.”

“Just stay out of it.” Voice edgy, Josie dropped her hands to her lap. Though her eyes were wet, the heat behind them would dry tears quickly. “If you want to help, stay out of it.”

“You know I can’t. Not just because of Tucker and the way I feel about him.”

“That’s just why you should stay out of it.” Josie grabbed her hands, the slim, tense fingers wrapping like wires around Caroline’s. “I know you care about him, you don’t want him hurt. You’ve got to leave this to me.”

“If I did, what then?”

“Then it’ll be done with. It’ll be forgotten.”

“Josie, those women are dead. No matter how ill Dwayne is, that can’t be ignored. It can’t be forgotten.”

“Bringing it all out, tearing the family apart, isn’t going to make them any less dead.”

“It’s a matter of right, Josie. And of helping Dwayne.”

“Help?” Her voice rose as she pushed herself out of the chair. “Going to prison won’t help.”

“His mind isn’t right.” Wearily, Caroline rose. It was growing too dark to see. She turned on Josie’s bedside lamp and chased away some of the shadows with a rosy glow. “Loving him’s a start, but he’s going to need professional help. Not only to find out why, but to prevent him from doing it again.”

“Maybe they deserved to die.” As she paced, Josie rubbed hard at her pounding temples. “People do, and it isn’t cold to say so. You didn’t know any of them the way I did, so who are you to judge?”

“I’m not judging, but I don’t think you believe anyone deserved to die that way. If something isn’t
done, someone else might die. You can’t stop it, Josie.”