Unknown (26 page)

'Well, that means I got to get on the phone and see if I can find somebody who
will
take me out there.'

'Why you want to go?' Becca demanded.

Sarah replied slowly and quietly, 'Because when she died, that poor Weaver woman must have been wearing the amulet. Somehow she got hold of it from Dorothy Sims when they ran her down in the road. Now this poor woman's dead, and she died horrible, and I intend on getting the thing back. I intend on getting rid of it.'

Becca threw up her hands. 'You know I'm gone take you! You know I'm gone do it for you. And you know I think you're out of your mind! You decided to go out there, and nothing's gone stop you, and I'm not gone let anybody else find out how crazy you are. You think I'd want it all over Pine Cone that my best friend was ready to be carted off to Tuscaloosa?' Becca shook her head in despair; she had given in entirely.

Sarah took Becca's hand and squeezed it; Becca pulled sharply out of the parking lot. 'We going by the house first so you can tell Dean and his mama where we're going?'

Sarah shook her head. 'I don't want 'em to know. We'll be back 'fore long. I don't want 'em to know where we went. I'll tell 'em something later - I don't know what.'

Becca grinned, for she liked the idea of deceiving Josephine Howell. 'Well', she said, much more brightly, 'it's only 'cause theclover'sin bloom, and that it's the prettiest road in the world this time of year, that I'm 'llowing you to drag me out to look at the place where that poor woman got her throat tore out by the roots

But Sarah was very serious, and would not allow her friend to sidestep the issue. She turned in her seat, and placed her legs beneath her. Becca kept her eyes on the road, and listened without comment, and very sadly, to all that Sarah had to say.

'Now, you listen to me, Becca. You don't think 11 ike this, do you? You don't think I want to'go out there, and throw myself on poor Mr Weaver, who I don't know from Adam's first cousin, when his wife is dead just this morning. It's
intruding.
But honey, I thought about this all the afternoon long, all day since you told me what happened. That necklace just gets around, it gets around, and whoever gets hold of it dies. Ever'body in Pine Cone that got hold of that necklace this past week is dead. What if Mr Weaver has it? What if he's got hold of it? Is he gone run out and kill somebody? Is he gone get killed himself? And when he'sdead, who finds it, who picks it up? And they gonedietoo? I can't just sit back. It was Jo Howell that started all this. She won't stop it, and I'll just have to. It's not my fault, but I got to do what I can.'

'You really believe this, hon?' asked Becca desperately.

'No!' cried Sarah, to her friend's surprise. 'I
don't
believe it! You're the one who believes in all them things, not me. I don't believe in 'em. But I know what I know. I never saw that thing till Jo Howell gave it to Larry Coppage for no good reason in the world, and I know all them Coppages burned to their frying ashes not two hours later. Gussie told me that Thelma Shirley had it, and Thelma Shirley went and stuck a ice pick in her husband's ear. And Thelma herself is dead. I saw it on Dorothy Sims, and Dorothy Sims is dead. And so's her husband. Now we hear that the woman who run her down in the highway is dead too, and what else can I believe? I don't believe it's possible for apiece of jewellery to do that, 'cause how could it? But I tell you something, if I got hold of that thing, I wouldn't think twice about smashing it with a tyre iron. I wouldn't think twice. Don't you see, Becca? I don't believe it, but I just got to be sure! All I could think about today was that I was just chicken to call up Dorothy Sims after the funeral. Now she's dead, and her husband's dead, and this poor woman out in the middle of the country's got trampled to death by her own pigs!'

Sarah and Becca were silent for a few moments, while Sarah's laboured breath gradually subsided.

'Lots of people dead, Sarah', said Becca cautiously.

Sarah nodded grimly.

'And you think if they get hold of that necklace, then they die, whoever gets hold of it dies?' Becca demanded.

Sarah nodded again.

Becca silently pointed out the Weaver farm, coming up on the right. They turned down a side dirt road, and headed away from the farmhouse, to wards the barn. Becca pulled the car up next to a pickup truck parked in a space of packed red clay, and turned off the ignition. Then Becca placed her hand atop Sarah's on the seat, turned to her friend, and whispered husldly, 'What you think it's made out of?'

#

That afternoon, there was considerable activity in that comer of the barnyard where Merle Weaver had died so wretchedly the morning before. Morris Emmons' large yellow truck was backed up to the pigpen, and a ramp let down into the mire. Two teenaged boys, one lean and pimply, the other fat and redheaded, were nervously loading all the hogs up on to the truck. Normally, these two boys would have gone right down among the animals, pushed and urged and driven them up the ramp, but today they coaxed and prodded with long poles from the good side of the fence. They very much feared that one of the sows would go on the rampage, and neither of the boys wanted to end up like poor Miz Weaver. The piglets rushed up on to the truck after their mothers, but the two boys reached in, scooped them up with their hands, and tossed them squealing back into the mud.

Morris Emmons ran the country store on the road between the Weaver farm and Pine Cone, where the inventory was so varied it put the Sears catalogue to shame. A slaughterhouse was attached to the pla'ce in back and it was in his capacity as butcher that Morris Emmons had been called out to the Weaver farm. All these animals had been sold to him the afternoon before, and he had got them cheaply with the promise that he would slaughter them - every one, and as soon as possible. Emmons stood to one side, watching his two nephews at their work. Emmons was corpulent, red-faced, and had a belly that was large from biscuits and beer. He scratched his throat thoughtfully.

Two recalcitrant hogs were all that remained in the pen when Becca Blair and Sarah Howell pulled up into the packed red dirt area in front of the Weavers' barn. The two women got out and looked about them. Timorously they approached Morris Emmons. Both women at first mistook him for Jack Weaver, and they were hesitant to approach him in his grief. Sarah was doubly nervous, for she was not sure just what questions she ought to ask in regard to the circumstances of Mrs Weaver's death. She liked being out here even less than Becca did, but it was necessary that she find out about the amulet. It was a mercy, she considered, that Jack Weaver himself wasn't dead, and she hoped that he would be able to tell her if his wife had been wearing the necklace, or if she had not.

Becca and Sarah came close to the man, who leaned against the fence that bordered the pigpen. He regarded the two women with a cool, disfavouring eye.

'You're not Mr Weaver, are you?' asked Sarah. He had not at all appeared aman prostrate with grief over the death of his wife.

'You a friend of his?' said Emmons, paying no attention to the illogicality of the question: if Sarah were a friend of Weaver's, then she should certainly know what the man looked like.

'I used to know him when I was little', said Becca.

'You hear what happened?' said Morris.

The two women nodded.

'Come to pay your respects, or just curious?' he demanded.

'Both', said Sarah hesitantly.

'He's not in much mood for talking', said Emmons, 'and they's not much to see, either.'

Sarah didn't know what to do then. This man, whoever he was, wasn't being of any help at all. She wondered if she shouldn't go over to the house and try to talk to Mr Weaver. Perhaps she would even have to pretend that she had known his dead wife. But it was also possible that this man knew something that would be of use to her.

'These the animals?' Sarah asked.

Morris Emmons nodded, and broke a little grin. 'Them boys is scared', he said. He pointed to the teenagers, and laughed shortly. The two boys turned and stared at their uncle with no great goodwill. They were having difficulty in coaxing the last two pigs up on to the truck.

'Scaied that the pigs'll turn on 'em.'

'Pigs don't usually turn, do they?' said Becca.

'Well', drawled Morris Emmons, and leaned back against the fence, 'my granddaddy used to say he knew of five pigs what teamed up and used to kill Yankee salesmen and preachers when they come down the road on the way to Mobile. But other than that, I never heard of it. And truth to tell you, I don't rightly know as I would take much stock in my granadaddy. He was a liar, even after he started teaching a Sunday school class. Used to make up Bible stories hisself. So, to answer your question -no. I don't know of no other pigs what turned.'

After a pause, Becca asked, 'Mr Weaver all right? You know?'

'Well', said Morris, with an unpleasant laugh, 'how'd
you
feel?'

Becca's eyes widened, but she said nothing. She hoped, though, that this man wasn't any close friend of Mr Weaver's, for it would be a chilly brand of comfort that he would administer.

With as little emphasis as she could, Sarah said, after another little pause, 'D'you find anything here?'

Morris stared at Sarah incuriously. 'Like what?' he said.

'Anything', she said vaguely. 'Like a necklace. Miz Weaver was wearing a necklace when she was killed.'

Becca made a little nervous jump. Morris Emmons saw this but lazily chose not to interpret it.

'How'd you know that?' said Morris. 'You see the body?'

Sarah didn't answer.

'Come to think of it', said Emmons, 'she didn't have no throat to put a necklace on, when she was pulled out of here.' He waited for Sarah to explain herself. Becca stared at her friend.

'I just know that she had one on, that's all', said Sarah bravely, 'and I want to know what became of it.'

Emmons shrugged, accepting her flimsy explanation. 'Nothing here but mud-mud mixed with a little blood. Jack Weaver said he didn't never want to ever see these animals again. I'm taking 'em off his hands. They get slaughtered tonight. Jack wanted me to come take 'em away yesterday, but I had the boys working on the carburettor yesterday, and they didn't get it fixed till this afternoon.'

Sarah said to Emmons then, 'My name's Sarah Howell. Dean Howell's my husband.' There was no real reason for her to expect that this man had ever heard of her, or Dean.

'Heard 'bout the accident', Emmons said - for he had listened to the talk in the county. 'Real shame. And a Pine Cone rifle that done it, too, wasn't it?'

Sarah nodded briefly, and said, 'If you find anything you call me, you hear? I work at the plant.'

'Well', said Morris Emmons, 'if I find anything, Miz Howell, I reckon it'll belong to Jack Weaver, won't it?'

'No', she said, 'that necklace, what I'm looking for, belongs to Dean's mama. It's hers, and I just want to know if it gets found.'

It was a peculiar story, and one that didn't make a whole lot of sense to Morris Emmons. He looked the woman up and down, and still could not decide if she was telling the truth.

'Well, Miz Howell', he said at last, 'if I do find something - and there ain't nothing in that pen but mud ana blood - I '11 give you a call.'

'Thank you, Mr—'

'Emmons. Morris Emmons.'

'Mr Emmons', said Sarah, 'you be sure and call me.'

He nodded, and then Sarah said, 'Well I guess, Becca, you and I had best get on up to the house and talk to Mr Weaver a minute.'

'He's not there', said Emmons quickly. 'He's seeing about the funeral. He went into Pine Cone this morning, but they was a shortage on coffins, and he had to drive over to Brundidge to get one. Won't do that wood no good, getting bounced around in the back of a pickup truck. Nothing worse than a funeral where the coffin got all sorts of dents in it, like it's been used before—'

'Much obliged', said Becca, cutting the man short. She and Sarah hurried back to the car, and got in. Becca quickly turned the engine over, and drove swiftly away from the Weaver barnyard.

It had taken some time for Becca and Sarah to get out to the Weaver place, the conversation with Morris Emmons was halting and slow (it is impossible to rush certain country people, especially if they tend to distrust you), and the retum trip was made with the lowering sun shining bright gold and still hot against the side of Sarah's face.

'Well', said Becca, 'you satisfied? That man said that there wasn't no necklace round Miz Weaver's neck when they pulled her out of the pen

'He also said she didn't have no neck—'

'Oh!' cried Becca, 'when you gone give up?! It's not there, and she probably didn't neves
^-
even lay eyes on it. And if Dorothy Sims had it on her when she got run down, then it's probably gone be buried with her in the coffin. You don't need to think any more about it.'

'I bet it was out there in that mud, come off her neck when the pig attacked her, and fell in the mud .. .' Sarah said thoughtfully.

'So let it stay there! Not nobody is gone go out to Mr Weaver's place, and'go trampling around in the pigpen looking for a piece of jewellery they don't even know is there. It's just as safe in that pigpen as it would be in Dorothy Sims's coffin. So why don't you just let it alone, Sarah?'