State Fair (34 page)

She put her arm around Jazz’s shoulders. “You’re a lucky girl to have had your beautiful mother and your handsome father, who both love you so much, who made you the lovely girl you are today. And you’re lucky to have known your friend, Cal, who was obviously a good boy . . . man . . . who was trying to change his life. No one’s perfect; no one knows all the answers. But it’s people like you who have a foot in each world—you’re the ones who will change things. It is getting better, I promise. I’m just sorry your young man might have been killed because things haven’t changed fast enough.”

Jazz wiped a hand across her now wet cheek. “Sometimes I don’t feel like I fit anywhere.”

“I’m sorry,” Flory said, stroking her hair. “It’s hard being first, but somebody’s got to do it. You have to be strong.” She kissed Jazz’s temple. “You are our future, baby.”

Flory’s optimism was heartening, but I couldn’t help thinking about the angry young man with the Nazi tattoos who confronted me at the car lot today. He was around the same age as Jazz. The hatred was still out there.

We worked for another two hours, but the conversation stayed neutral with the usual chitchat about local politics, what movies people were seeing and who might run for mayor next year. It was almost 10 p.m. when we agreed to call it a night. We did manage to completely finish twenty-eight dolls.

“I don’t care if I ever see another one of these dolls again in my lifetime,” Katsy grumbled, packing away her sewing machine.

On the ride back to the ranch, Aunt Garnet was quiet. I wondered what she thought of tonight and the direction the dialogue took. When we turned down the long driveway to the ranch, she finally spoke. “That was . . . enlightening.”

“Yes, it was.”

“I hope Jazz will be all right.”

“I think she will be. It’s not easy being biracial, but she has lots of people supporting her.” I pulled up in front of the ranch house. The porch light was on and Dove was sitting on the front porch swing.

Aunt Garnet’s face was shadowed in the truck’s cab. “You know, we never did get the churches merged in Sugartree.”

I nodded, remembering how hard some of the people in Sugartree had tried to combine a local black Baptist church with the all-white Sugartree First Baptist that Aunt Garnet had attended almost her entire life.

“We couldn’t figure out a way to make everyone happy in how they worship the Lord.” Her voice sounded sad. “But there are some of us who started a Bible study—five black women and five white women. We’re still meeting every other Wednesday night. It’s a start.”

I leaned over and hugged her, wondering if my gramma knew how her sister was changing. “It sure is, Aunt Garnet. It sure is.”

I
T TOOK ME TWENTY MINUTES TO CONVINCE DOVE AND DADDY that it was safe for me to drive alone back to town.

“I have my cell phone,” I said. “And nothing’s happened yet, so I think this guy was just talking through his hat. I’ll be safe with Emory and Elvia.” Finally I convinced them. Just to make her happy, I called Dove once I stepped over the threshold of Emory and Elvia’s house.

“Safe and sound,” I told my gramma.

“I could just wring Garnet’s neck for getting you in such a bind.”

“Cut her some slack, Gramma,” I said, thinking those were words I never thought I’d ever say in my life regarding Aunt Garnet. “I think she was just trying to forget her problems for a while. You know, this thing between you two has gotten way out of hand. If she’s willing to get involved in something dangerous to avoid talking to you, then—”

“Stop right there, little missy,” Dove said. “My sister and I have been dealing with each other twice as long as you’ve been alive. We’ll do this in our own time.”

“Honeycutt time,” I mumbled, repeating what Uncle WW always called it when the sisters took their own slow-as-cold-molasses time.

“What was that?” Dove’s voice held the same warning it did to when I would smart off as a kid.

“I said
Honeycutt time.
You two always do things whenever you feel like it despite the fact that it affects other people. I’m tired of it. I’m tired of being in the middle. I’m . . .” Before I could prevent it, a sob tumbled from my lips.

“Honeybun,” Dove said, her voice became gentle. “Are you sure you’re going to be okay? Have you called Gabe about this?”

“I will as soon as I get off the phone with you. I’m sorry. I’m just scared for you all. I’m so afraid you or Daddy or Aunt Garnet will get hurt or killed because of something I . . .”

“Pshaw. The only person who’s going to have the privilege of killing my sister is me. I’m not about to let someone take that pleasure from me. I’ve been waiting too long.”

I couldn’t help laughing. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Trust in our Lord. He’s got the whole world in his hands.”

“Love you, Dove.”

“Right back at you.”

My next phone call was much harder. I decided to go upstairs to the guest room. This would take a little more privacy. After a bit of hemming and hawing, I told Gabe everything.

“I’m coming home right now.”

“That’s ridiculous,” I replied, rubbing my bare foot across Scout’s silky rib cage. He was lying on his side, peacefully asleep. “There’s no plane to San Celina this time of night.”

“I’ll rent a car. I can make it in three hours.”

“That is at least a four-and-a-half-hour drive! And I’ll feel guilty for the rest of my life if you kill yourself coming back here to save me from nothing.”

“It’s not nothing.”

Downstairs I could hear Emory and Elvia’s voices. It was past 11 p.m., but Sophie Lou had been feverish and cranky. No doubt it would be a long night for everyone.

“I know it’s not, Friday, but there’s really nothing you can do. I’m safe. Aunt Garnet’s safe. Scout is safe. The house is alarmed and you can have a patrol car check it every hour. There’s not much more you could do even if you were here.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“I just meant that you’d have to sleep too. Really, Gabe, I think this guy was just mouthing off.”

“Have you called Detective Hudson?”

“Actually, it didn’t even occur to me.” That had to make him a little happy.

I could hear his breathing over the phone line. It reminded me of when we first started dating and we’d spent hours on the phone, neither of us wanting to hang up.

“Call him. It’s his case.”

“I will. Seriously, the only thing that will likely disturb our sleep will be Sophie Lou. She’s a little colicky tonight.”

Hud picked up on the first ring.

“You really shouldn’t give into peer pressure so easily,” he said, after hearing my story. “If your aunt jumped off a cliff—”

“My great-aunt is not a peer. And I’ve been taught to mind my elders.”

“Nevertheless—”

“Stop. I’ve been lectured enough tonight.”

“Then step back.” There was no humor in his voice. “There’s more to this than you know. I need you to step back from it before someone gets hurt.”

“What do you mean there’s more to this than I know?”

“Just do what I ask, okay? You’re my best friend in the world. I don’t want to lose you.”

I was surprised silent. I was his best friend in the world?

“Okay, I will.” Then I couldn’t help giving a small laugh.

“My favorite sound. Stay safe, ranch girl.”

“Likewise, Clouseau.”

The next morning at seven thirty I was sitting with Elvia and Sophie at the kitchen table drinking my first cup of coffee when Emory burst into the room.

“Benni, you have to come see this!”

His unshaved morning face was frantic. He was dressed in wrinkled khakis and a sweatshirt, clothes he’d thrown on to step outside and pick up the newspaper. We’d noticed he’d been gone a little too long but assumed some talkative neighbor had accosted him.

I jumped up, jiggling the table. Hot coffee sloshed into my cup’s thick white saucer. “What is it?”

“Your house.” He gestured at me to follow him. I started after him, wearing a pair of Elvia’s shorts and an Arkansas Razorback T-shirt I’d borrowed from Emory. I didn’t even bother with shoes.

“Darlin’, you and Sophie stay on the porch,” he told Elvia who’d grabbed the baby from her carrier.

“Is it dangerous?” she asked.

He hesitated. “No, but . . . I’d feel better if you stayed here.”

I ran my hand over Sophie’s downy hair. “You can see us from the porch.”

Scout followed me, but I told him to stay with Elvia while I followed my cousin down the street. A small crowd had gathered in front of my and Gabe’s California bungalow. I was relieved to see it was still there. From the horrified look on Emory’s face when he burst into the kitchen, I was afraid that someone had burned our house to the ground.

A few seconds later we were standing in front of my yard, gawking at the lawn. Swastikas and obscene words had been spray-painted on our grass, our mailbox, our paneled garage, and our front door. Acid burned the back of my throat. I gulped back the bitter-sweet taste, willing myself to not be sick. I felt my cousin’s hand rubbing comforting circles on my back.

“It’s gonna be okay,” he murmured. “It’s gonna be okay.”

A black-and-white patrol car pulled up, dispersing the rubberneckers on the street. They moved back to the sidewalk. Our neighbors, Beebs and Millee, pushed through and came over to me, pulling me into magnolia-scented hugs.

“Oh, sweetie pie,” Beebs said. “It’s terrible, terrible. We didn’t hear a thing. We must have slept right through it.”

“Those pinheads,” Millee said. “Good thing for them we did. I’d’ve knocked their blocks off.” She stepped back, poised her hands in karate chops.

“Thanks,” I said. “But I’m glad you didn’t hear them. I would have hated it if either of you had been hurt.”

“What happened?” Beebs asked. “Why did they do this to you? Where’s Gabe?”

Before I could answer her questions, one of the officers walked over, slipping his nightstick into his belt loop. He must have been new because I didn’t recognize him. A tall young woman with curly chestnut hair pulled back in a tight, low ponytail followed him. I remembered her. Last year at the annual San Celina Police and Fire Charity Basketball tournament she’d scored more points than any of the men, a feat gleefully reported on the front page of the
Tribune.

“Are you all right, Mrs. Ortiz?” the young woman said. Her badge said T. Caldwell. Tina. That was her name. The guys called her Tee.

“I’m fine. I wasn’t even here. I spent the night at my cousin’s house down the street. But I think I know who might have done this.”

She nodded, communicating something to the other officer who had black hair and a square, handsome face. He was shorter than her by a good three inches but outweighed her by thirty muscled pounds.

“Everyone stay back, please,” the male officer said.

The crowd, even larger now since our neighborhood had many older folks who rose early and took walks, obeyed the officer and inched back a few steps. Officer Tee took me aside and asked me to explain who I thought might have done this. While we talked, police started cordoning off a large swath of sidewalk in front of our house and Jim Cleary arrived.

“Benni, are you okay?” Jim asked.

“Yes, but Gabe . . .”

“I called him, but he must be in the air because his phone went directly to voice mail. He apparently caught an early flight. There’s a message for him to call me as soon as he turns his phone back on. Let me catch up on what’s going on.” He went over to Officer Tee and started talking to her.

Minutes later photographers and reporters from the local media arrived. Hud arrived right behind the KSCC news truck, his scruffy face telling me that he’d just rolled out of bed. He brushed past the perky blonde newscaster.

“Are you all right?” he asked me.

“Yes, you realize it’s probably that guy I told you about. Or his friends.” A thought suddenly occurred to me. “Flory! You need to send someone to Flory Jackson’s house on Mill Street. We were there last night. They might have followed us! And our ranch . . . what if Dove and Daddy . . . What about Maggie and Katsy?” Panic overcame me and I felt my knees buckle slightly. Hud reached over to grab me, but Emory was quicker. His arm tightened around my shoulders.

“Everyone at the ranch is fine,” Emory said. “I called Dove. This Ms. Jackson. What’s her number? And your friends Maggie and . . .”

“Katsy,” I said, shaking my head. “I don’t know their numbers by heart, but they’re in my purse at . . .”

Hud waved his hand—no matter.

Before he could call, Jim came over. “What’s wrong?”

I grabbed his arm. “Jim! Flory Jackson . . . we were at her house last night with the Ebony Sisters and the people who did this . . . Maggie and Katsy . . .”

He patted my hand. “I know Flory and I have Maggie’s number on my phone. I’ll give them a call.” He pulled a cell phone from his pocket and walked a small distance away. A few minutes later he returned. “Everyone’s fine. No sign of any vandalism. I’m afraid it’s just your and Gabe’s house.” He frowned. “So far. Do you have your house keys? The bomb dog has arrived.”