Dirty South Drug Wars (41 page)

A key. I hold the key.

My grandmother’s words rang in my ears, although I still lacked the understanding of what they meant. Was she being literal, as Lucy was about the storm? It had never crossed my mind that “the storm” was to be taken in a literal sense. I often found myself believing the storm was a whirlwind of power, money, and boisterous Southern pride, the war my family would wage against Tanner’s. I was mistaken.

It was an actual storm.

I slipped the necklace around my neck and tucked it in my shirt with a resolute nod of my head that Tanner didn’t question. He simply moved from the doorway, watching as I passed by. I entered Christine’s bedroom without the hesitation I once held because I no longer beat myself up over her. I no longer mourned the loss of a relationship that never existed to begin with.

If it didn’t exist, what was there to lose?

No, it was my sister’s memory I was defending. It was her love that fueled the battle inside my heart.

As I entered the code on our father’s gun safe, I thought of her, of her little face and delicate features. I thought of how she knew the storm was approaching, yet, for whatever reason, never warned us what that foretold—her own death. It was something I may never know, how she could foretell the future and just throw it all away for nothing.

Maybe she wasn’t as good with her predictions as she thought. Wouldn’t she have saved herself? Selfishness was all Lucy knew. So why die? Why not save herself?

The gun safe cracked open, drawing me from my thoughts. I found the box containing my father’s gun case and pulled it from the shelf. Placing it on the bed, I popped the box open and removed the heavy object, running my fingers over the smooth metal. Tanner was rifling inside the safe, the sound of a box of bullets rattling in his hands, but I ignored it. I drowned it all out with one thought and one thought alone. I imagined the look on my uncle’s face when he drew his very last breath while on this earth.

Then I truly smiled.

The black Mustang flew down the narrow road, the headlights almost drowned out by the rain that tore from the heavens above.

“Can you do this?”

I nodded, turning my face and shooting Tanner a half-smile. He raised his eyebrows and his lips curled in surprised amusement. Shaking his head and pressing his foot harder against the gas, he ignored the skid of the tires against the slick surface of the wet road.

“Killing Amos means more secrets to hide.”

I shrugged, no longer concerned with secrets and lies. Amos’ death was a secret I would gladly keep for the rest of my life.

Tanner slowed down once we grew closer to Merle’s Lounge. The lights were out, as they were all over town, but apparently the drinkers were pretty important because just as we rolled past, the lights flickered and a man emerged from behind the old shack of a building.

“Generator.”

I nodded, searching through the dark windows of the car and the thick sheets of rainwater for any sign of the construction company truck Amos had been seen driving, but there was none. He wasn’t there.

“Do you think he’s gone home?” I asked, chewing on the edge of my bottom lip.

“I don’t know,” Tanner hedged just as the deep sound of the rise and fall of a siren filled the air.

“What’s that?”

The sound became familiar, but made no sense. It was October in Dixie Alley, in the heart of one of the deadliest places to live if you were wary of tornados.

“Is that the tornado siren?” I asked, already knowing the answer to my question. “It’s not tornado season.”

“The storm warnings must be getting worse,” Tanner guessed, fiddling with the radio and getting nothing but static. “The power’s out. None of the stations work. Maybe the town is using the tornado siren to warn everyone of just how bad this storm is getting.”

We rolled through downtown Mayhaw. American flags jutted from each of the brick buildings. They whipped in the cold wind, tangling themselves around their poles.

“This ‘not having a plan’ thing probably wasn’t our best idea.” I shook my head at my own stupidity.

Tanner grinned. “Don’t worry. I always take care of things, don’t I?”

I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. He jerked the steering wheel of the car, pulling into a dark alley where a very familiar van sat.

“Your grandmother’s van won’t look suspicious if it’s spotted near Amos’ house,” Tanner explained with a shrug, never cutting the engine. “You’ve got your keys on you?”

“Yeah.” I fingered the keys in my pocket.

“I need to ditch the ‘Stang. Meet me somewhere.”

“Where?”

“Anywhere.”

I thought about it a moment. “There’s an access road leading from the woods, along the banks of the river and under the bridge,” I said in a rushed whisper. “Meet me there.”

With a curt nod and a lingering kiss, I left him, darting from the car and into the rain, fumbling with my keys a bit before sinking the correct one in the lock. The old van fired up, the vehicle shaking and sputtering. Tanner’s headlights disappeared behind me. I waited an agonizing ten minutes before I pulled from the alley, following the path he had just taken.

He was just where I’d instructed, the dark muscle car hidden underneath the wide bridge next to the muddy waters. The waters were rising, causing me to chew on my lip as I thought of Tanner’s prized possession, but he shushed me, content it would never rise high enough to reach his car. I nodded, and he shook the water from his mussed hair, giving me the stomach-clenching grin that made me melt.

Tanner insisted on driving, and I let him, choosing instead to stare through the dark windows. We traveled through town. My body softly trembled with the inevitable drawing near.

“Baby, are you okay?”

“Cold,” I lied, giving a soft sigh as he turned on the heat.

Truth was I wasn’t cold at all. I was burning hot, the thought of murdering my kin quick on my mind. I could do it, there was no doubt, but still I was nervous to take a man’s life, to live with that knowledge forever.

The shaking diminished once Tanner’s warm hand found mine. His long fingers threaded through my shorter ones, giving me a reassuring squeeze. There was a lopsided, excited grin on his face that reminded me of a kid at Christmas, and I couldn’t help but shake my head and scowl at him, remembering Chance’s words from so long ago.

“He’s just looking for an excuse to kick someone’s ass over you.”

*

Amos lived at the end of an old dirt road on family property. The road wound through pasture after pasture, with dark woods bordering the rolling hills. Rusty, ancient barbed wire hung from wooden beams lining the road, jutting from the soggy earth. I stared through the windshield, my palms sweating, anxious of the impending danger we were about to put ourselves in. As we passed the old wooden barn with the brown rusted tin roof, I knew we were close to the house and there was no turning back.

The house loomed ahead. There were no vehicles in sight other than Amos’ old yellow Case tractor that, for some reason, wasn’t parked in the barn. The rocking chairs on the front porch pitched back and forth in the wind, as though invisible ghosts sat in them, watching as we crept up the drive.

“He’s not here,” I said, my voice edged with mutual relief and disappointment. “What now?”

“Now we go in.” Tanner shifted into park and cut the engine. “We go in and see if we can find anything that key will fit.”

“The key?”

“Yeah, the key you found in Lucy’s room. That key may fit something linking Amos and his brothers to our fathers’ deaths. With that evidence we can take the entire family down, along with anyone else involved.”

My hand found the chain hanging from my neck. Slipping one finger beneath the chain, I pulled it from where it rested, tucked safely under my shirt.

“Is that the same key that was in your grandmother’s safe?”

“Yeah,” I replied. “I never thought it was important. Lucy loves … loved this key. She wore it all the time. She was wearing it the last time I saw her.”

An unspoken question hung in the air between us: how Lucy’s necklace could be hanging from her vanity if she wore it the night of the overdose. The staff in the emergency room would have removed it before working on her. They would have returned it to her responsible party. Maybe Christine returned the necklace to Lucy’s room after her death.

Maybe.

Tanner and I exited the vehicle and crossed the soggy front yard. I climbed the steps with Tanner on my heels. My feet slipped against the slick, wet surface. My hair clung to my face in large, soaked clumps, which I shoved away.

Inside was eerily quiet aside from the occasional clap of thunder in the distance, the sound so harsh it shook the dusty old windows on the wooden clapboard house. A gust of wind billowed in behind us, rustling the checkered curtains on the windows. The sudden flutter of movement caused me to jump, sending my heart racing.

The house was clean but musty, smelling of death and despair, as though no one had lived and breathed the dry air inside for years. I wondered how often Amos stayed in the house, where he spent most of his time.

Water pooled on the blue-painted wooden floors as Tanner and I slipped from room to room, opening drawers, shuffling through cabinets and closets, searching for something the old brass key would fit into, but there was nothing. There was no safe, no trunk, nothing.

Tanner stood near a window and gazed outside for any sign of my uncle approaching. I sat perched on my knees, stooping on the floor in Amos’ bedroom, searching underneath his bed.

“Is there a cellar?” Tanner asked.

“No. The only person in my family with a cellar is Nana.”

“The key was your nana’s. Do you think whatever it belongs to is at her house?”

I shrugged. “There’s only one way to find out.”

*

The metal gate in front of her home was open, held back with a concrete block half-wedged into the earth. A shudder ran through me as I noticed a dead chicken snake hanging from the fence, belly up, its body whipping in the violent wind.

Nana’s house key was exactly where she always left it, hidden underneath the rug sitting in front of her front door. I held it up like a prize, flashing Tanner a grin.

“She must still be in Birmingham.” I shoved the key in the lock and entered the house.

“Your grandmother’s superstitious, huh?” Tanner asked, nodding above the doorways.

I shook my head in confusion, noticing the horseshoes for the first time. Above each doorway we passed or entered, a horseshoe hung overhead. I searched my mind for the meaning, the symbolism of the horseshoes.

“Brings good luck,” Tanner explained. “And the snake on the fence brings rain.”

I nodded in understanding, but honestly didn’t understand anything at all. My grandmother was no different than any old Southern woman. She held her beliefs, but I never thought her to be superstitious.

“This house is bigger than Amos’.” Tanner shook the rainwater from his hair, the droplets peppering my grandmother’s wooden floors. “It’ll take longer to look around, which gives us a greater chance of being caught. You know the house better than I do. How about I take watch from the den while you look around?”

I nodded in response, smiling as he left a lingering kiss on my lips and slipped into the adjoining room. He stood near the window, a streak of lightning illuminating his figure. One hand held the curtains slightly to the side.

It felt strange leaving him there. An uneasiness crept over me, but I shook it off, retreating upstairs to begin my search.

I started in my grandmother’s closet, rummaging around through the hope chests she kept there. One was engraved with my name and a separate chest had Lucy’s, which caused me to dry-swallow. Josie’s was also there, although the wood was marred with her Christian name, Josephina. Olivia’s chest was there as well, and unexpected tears welled in my eyes at the sight of it. I wiped them away with the back of my hand, trudging on.

My chest was filled with unexpected, breathtaking items. I recognized my grandmother’s wedding dress from the black and white photographs hanging in the den above the fireplace, although the photo didn’t do it justice. Instead of being white, it was a pale blue, edged in fragile lace, the material silky and the size much smaller than my robust grandmother.

Ignoring the flood of emotions, I continued to dig through the chest, through the silk flowers and brooches, chunky costume jewelry, monogrammed pillowcases faded from time.

I searched the closet for what seemed like hours, although it was probably just a matter of minutes. There was nothing in the closet that required a key.

“This is pointless,” I muttered.

A large clap of thunder shook the house. The sound of breaking glass caused me to shriek. Pressing my palm against my pulsating heart, I crawled out of the closet, flashlight in hand. The beam landed on something shiny, the reflection flashing back at me.

A portrait of my sister lay on the floor, the glass shattered from the force of its fall. I picked it up, shards falling from the frame.

“Are you trying to tell me something, Luce?” I asked aloud, half expecting her to appear.

But there was nothing. The house was eerily quiet—so quiet, in fact, I began to worry about Tanner.

I placed the picture back on the floor just as I found it, somewhat sorrowful to leave it there as though I were leaving my sister behind as well.

I returned downstairs, mindful to keep my flashlight beam trained on the ground to prevent anyone from seeing it outside the old house. The carpet running down the stairs was covered in red clay mud, my own footprints, and I cursed below my breath.

“Tanner?” My voice was a dead whisper inside the house, the word caught up in the howling wind outside and the shutters banging against the house.

There was no immediate answer. A thrill shot up my spine, the fine hairs standing on the back of my neck and goose pimples rising on my arms. I entered the den and trained my flashlight beam near the window, but Tanner was gone. Only a scurry of muddy footprints remained.

A loud banging sound caused me to jump, sending my heart into a frenzy. I crept into the foyer, finding the door wide open, the billowing wind flinging it against the wall. I grasped the door in my hand, stood in the doorway, and stared out into the darkness, squinting against the stinging rain blowing in on the porch.

“Looking for this?”

For a moment I thought the voice belonged to my father. The two men resembled one another in such a striking way. Turning in his direction, I blinked several times, focusing on the man through the darkness.

Amos stood in the foyer dressed in black. Water dripped from his clothes, puddling the dirty floor below him. He held Tanner’s arms behind him, pressing my boyfriend’s back against his chest. In his other hand was a gun. He pushed it against Tanner’s throat near his Adam’s apple. Tanner’s eyes were pleading, darting from me to the darkness behind me, as though he was directing me to go, to flee, to leave him behind with my psychotic uncle.