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'Put it down your front. Nobody'll see it!'

Ruby grinned, and laughed, and then took the amulet from her boyfriend.

Roosevelt stood, pleased that Ruby had taken the amulet. 'Now you come on in with me, 'cause you got to do Audrey's hair.'

Ruby remained seated. She shivered dramatically. 'You not gone leave me alone, are you? You know I can't stand them dead bodies, just can't stand the way they feel. Shampoo don't never take right on a corpse.. .'

T.A. - I

The news of poor Audrey Washington and her diminutive white victim spread all through the black section of Pine Cone that Thursday night. On those evenings when the lights of the back room of the Silver Pine Funerary Home were burning, the neighbours did not rest until they had discovered who was dead, and of what cause. Sometimes, when there was no other way to obtain the information, one of Washington Garver's domino cronies would knock softly on the front door and ask of the undertaker, or his son, who it was that they were working on in the back.

Audrey's body lay in its coffin in the front parlour of the Garver establishment, and three of her good friends from high school, and the black Bapti st preacher's wife for chaperone, sat up all night with the corpse. They ate popcorn to keep awake. At his own home, johnny Washington did not lack for company either. Many of his good friends came over and helped him to demolish that afternoon's paycheque in red wine and liquor. Johnny even bought Scotch whiskey, ' 'cause it's the best, and Audrey was the best too.' Women from all over that section of town came over, and in an effusion of sympathy, cooked enough ham to send hog futures soaring, and wept enough to raise the water table.

Not a word was mentioned to Johnny of Audrey's crime. The most charitable whispered among themselves that Audrey had, entirely by mistake, dropped the Taylor baby into the washing machine, and then killed herself in remorse. But they didn't really believe it. Others said that it was no wonder die did what she did, wha
^f
with all the white murders and suicides in town that week. She was just imitating them. The shame however was that she had chosen to murder one of the Taylors, seeing that Mr Taylor had kept Johnny Washington out of the pert for a murder he had unquestionably committed. It looked like ingratitude.

But most people could see no reason at all for Audrey's action. The girl had been a little stiff, sometimes, and sharp of tongue, but she was completely trustworthy - they had thought - and had been universally admired for the way that she kept Johnny Washington in check. Lord knew what would become of the man now that he didn't have Audrey, who told him when to stop drinking and when to start working; who bought his clothes and made sure he didn't get in trouble with the police and the welfare department. It was a terrible thing, and just real bad,
real bad
, in that it came so soon after all the trouble in Selma. Selma wasn't much more than eighty miles away, and there were some people - white » people - who hadn't known Audrey, who might say that she had killed the little Taylor baby just because it was white and she wasn't. This was such a terrible thought that the black people did not even dare speak it outside their own families.

Of course, there was great consternation in the white section of Pine Cone as well, especially among the families who had black maids and gardeners. Would they turn too? Nothing like this had ever happened before . It was the fi rst time anyone could remember that a black person had killed someone white; and it was the first time anyone could remember that a baby had been murdered. No one knew how to look at it. At first people were inclined to speak ill of Audrey, who was, they said, nursing a grudge against Mrs Taylor, or was trying to start a racial war, or something else equally improbable; but Mrs Taylor and her husband told anyone who asked their complete bewilderment over the murder of their year-old child. 'Audrey was a good girl. She was always here on time. She didn't mind working on Saturday. She'd do the floors. She was good to the two boys', said Mrs Taylor, and whimpered at the last.

'I don't know what possessed her to open the lid of that machine. I don't know why she would do such athing', said her husband, and at this point in their tale of woe Mrs Taylor always began to cry in earnest.

The whole thing was even more difficult to understand than why Morris Emmons had shot Jim Coltrane. This latter story had been brought back to Pine Cone that afternoon by Sheriff Garrett and Deputy Barnes, and had just begun to circulate through the town when it was overtaken and surpassed by the horror of Ralph Taylor sloshed to death in the washing machine. Emmons and Coltrane were grown men, after all, neither of them particularly likeable. And grown men were prone to fire guns at one another for insufficient reasons. The disturbing part of the Emmons thing was the cotton baler; even if he hadn't jumped into it, even if his death had been an accident, why was he chasing a dog through the peanuts? Why hadn't he just tried to get away after killing Coltrane? Why had he committed murder so casually, in front of witnesses?

'Both of 'em', the sheriff said, and shook his head, 'they committed murder, and there wasn't no way for 'em to get away with it. Emmons shot Coltrane right in front of Homans and ol' Miz Baines. If he was planning on doing it, he should have got the man alone, by himself. And Audrey Washington, and I'm
surprised
at what that girl did, if she wanted to kill that baby, she should have given it poison or something. She could have dropped it headfirst on the floor. She would have lost her job, letting the baby get killed, but wouldn't nobody know she did it on purpose. That's what don't make no sense - why witnesses? why the washing machine?'

'Well', said Deputy Barnes, 'they both got theirs back. We don't have to put 'em on trial. They didn't get the chance to get off. And they died painful. Cotton baler's worse than gunshot. I don't know which one would be worse though - 'lectro-cution or the washing machine. Not much choice there, so far as I'm concerned, though I 'spect that 'lectrocution's got more dignity.'

The sheriff and his deputy then noted the similarity between these four deaths, and the other four that had occurred the week before when Thelma Shirley and Dorothy Sims had murdered their husbands. Both had seemed not to care that they would be caught, and both then died themselves, apparently by accident.

'Yeah', said the sheriff, It's a pattern, and I don't 1 ike it a bit. I mean, it's probably just as well that the people who do the murdering die, but I just wish it'd stop altogether.'

Other people in town also drew the parallels, but no one could make anything of them. It was like a fever or the measles or something, only much worse, because people died from it. Eight people dead, and that wasn't even counting the other eight who had perished in Pine Cone in the last week as well, from accident: the seven Coppages and poor old Miz Weaver. People weren't even surprised on Friday morning to see a little article on the town in the
Montgomery Advertiser
which told about the four murders of particular violence and unknown motive, and the strange and providential deaths of these murderers immediately thereafter.

It was in Friday morning's paper that Sarah first learned of the four deaths in Pine Cone the previous day, four deaths that had occurred before nine o'clock, when Becca and Sarah had manipulated the Ouija board.

Becca handed the
Advertiser
to Sarah, when they met at the purple Pontiac. 'I just now saw it', gasped Becca. 'I'd have called you up, but I just this minute looked at it.'

Sarah read the article hurriedly, but by the time she had finished, she was sweating. 'That's four more. That makes sixteen. And the wee-gee board was right. All four of these took place before we started on the wee-gee board last night.' Sarah was grim, and she closed her eyes.

Becca backed the car out of the driveway. 'Sarah, we don't know for sure. We don't know anything for sure. I mean, it sort of makes sense that it was Morris Emmons, 'cause we saw Morris Emmons and he was hanging around the pigpen and maybe he did find it after all. But this little coloured girl, I mean how did she get it from Morris Emmons? That don't make sense. Morris Emmons was way out in the country, and this girl wasn't hardly old enough for a learner's permit. How'd the amulet get back in town? How'd it get from Morris Emmons to a little coloured girl who was taking care of Miz Taylor's kids? That's what don't make sense.'

Sarah shook her head. 'Why are you trying to argue with it, Becca? There was twelve people dead that we knew about. The wee-gee board said it was sixteen, and now we hear there's four more people dead in Pine Cone, and don't it make more sense to believe that them four all died because of the amulet too?'

Becca shook her head. 'Maybe the wee-gee board was lying. Maybe it was lying to us. You know, when we asked it about who was gone be next, and how many, and it just talked nonsense

Sarah moved uneasily in her seat. 'Maybe it just cain't tell the future. Maybe it can only talk about things that's already happened', she suggested faintly.

Becca shook her head, but would not continue the argument. 'I don't know what to think. What are you gone do now? What are we gone do now?'

Sarah didn't know. 'Let's you and me try to think this thing out. We couldn't do anything till dinnertime anyway, and probably we won't be able to do anything then. But let's ju^t think about it this morning.'

On their coffee break Becca and Sarah talked with other women on the line, and got what additional information they could about the four deaths in Pine Cone the day before. Much of the gossip was patently false, and made up to fit the strangeness of the events, but what was apparent in all the stories that Becca and Sarah heard, was that the crimes were essentially motiveless, that the deaths of the murderers were unintentional and terrible.

Sarah went out of her way to speak to one of the black women on the cleaning crew that morning, and from her Sarah learned a little about Audrey, and about Johnny Washington. She also learned that Audrey could be 'visited' at the Silver Pine Funerary Home over on Swiss Street. 'But, I tell you', the woman cautioned Sarah, 'not gone be many white folk over there, 'cause white folk been talking about how Audrey was thinking about voting rights and sitting at the back of the bus when she stuck that poor little baby in the washing machine.' Sarah protested that she didn't think anything of the sort, and that she was sure that Audrey had just gone crazy for a few minutes, and simply hadn't known what she was doing.

Sarah debated whether to go to the funeral home at noontime with Becca, but decided against this. She had never heard of any white person visiting the Silver Pine Funerary Home to view a corpse. They frequently attended funerals in the black churches, and would go by the houses, but following etiquette that was alike unknown in origin and unbroken, they avoided Mr Garver's establishment.

But Sarah did get Becca to drive her over to Johnny Washington's house. Sarah approached the place cautiously, and was stared at by eight or nine glum-faced men and women on the front porch. Sarah asked timidly if she could speak to Johnny Washington, but she was informed that the man was sleeping off a drunk, and couldn't be waked for no reason a-tall, unless she had come to offer him a job. Sarah shook her head, and apologised sincerely for intruding. She thanked the people and turned to go, but one old man, seeing that Sarah had meant no harm, called out, 'Hey, ma'am, you can talk to him tomorrow at the funeral. He'll be up by then. He loved Audrey. He wouldn't miss Audrey's funeral. She was all that he had.'

Sarah nodded and walked back to the car. Becca had heard the exchange, and she turned to Sarah, about to ask her again, 'What now?' when she saw that her friend had begun to weep.

Rather than provide consolation in that exposed place, Becca drove away immediately, and in another two minutes they were outside the town limits, on a dirt road that skirted Burnt Corn Creek. Becca pulled up into a little paved area with three rotting picnic tables in an artificial clearing at a picturesque bend in the stream. No one else was about.

'Let's go sit out there, just a few minutes', said Becca soothingly to Sarah, who still was crying. 'We got time - just a few minutes - and you'll feel a lot better.'

They got out of the car, and moved down to the table nearest the water. Here they sat next to one another on the weathered green bench. Sarah broke down entirely, sobbing and gasping, for perhaps a minute, while Becca grasped her round the shoulders tightly, and whispered incomprehensible consolations in her ear.

Sarah at last placed her hand over her mouth, until she had stopped crying. She rubbed the tears from her eyes, and said, 'What am I gone do, Becca?'

Becca shook her head.

Sarah continued, 'I cain't put up with this! People dying, and it's Jo Howell's fault. It's Dean's fault. It's my fault 'cause I cain't stop that thing. Today I should have gone up to that funeral home, and walked right in it, and tore that poor girl's dress off her corpse, just to see if she was wearing that thing. That's what I should have done, but I didn't. 'Cause I'm chicken. I was chicken to go up to Dorothy Sims, and now sixteen people are dead, and I'm still chicken.'

'No, you're not. You're doing everything that you can.*

Sarah shrugged. 'I don't know what to do. You think we're wrong? You think maybe we're wrong about all of this, that it's maybe just people killing people, and that's all there is to it? That makes more sense, don't it, than talking about this piece of jewellery?'