Fitzgerald’s smile was cynical. “Didn’t take you too long to get around to them boys, now, did it?”
“I know a little,” she said. “Tell me the rest.”
“The Businessmen’s Benevolent Association,” Fitzgerald said. “Yes, ma’am, they were a bunch of pistols, them boys. Liked to play God, they did. Liked to play God with young girls.”
“Were you one of them?”
“No,” she said flatly. “I wasn’t eligible for their little private parties.”
Kathryn raised an eyebrow. “Not eligible?” she said. “Why?”
“They went for the sweet young meat. Untouched. The girls that did what momma done told them and kept their legs crossed. I was used goods. Tainted. Not their style a-tall.”
“You mean they only wanted virgins?”
“Young,” Fitzgerald said. “Innocent, pretty, and pure as the driven snow. Wouldn’t want to take no chances that some colored boy’d been there first. Might get somethin’ dirty, don’t you know? They treated them girls some special, I tell you. Had a special initiation rite for a girl making her debut into their oh-so-polite society. First, they’d gag her so nobody’d hear her scream. Then whoever’d issued the formal invitation got to do the deflowerin’ while the rest of ‘em watched. And then they all got their turns, one after the other.”
Her stomach soured. “Those monsters,” she whispered.
“Of course, after the third or fourth man, the girl usually stopped fighting. And once the fun and games was over, she never dared to say a word to nobody. Those men ran the town, sister, and they was mean as rattlesnakes.”
“And what happened then? After the first time, I mean?”
“Oh, the men all had their favorites, their reg’lars. They’d keep a girl comin’ back with threats and promises. They’d threaten her family, her livelihood. Threaten to burn down her house if she didn’t cooperate. Sometimes, the old goats would get sweet on one o’ their girls. Buy her little trinkets, make empty promises ‘bout how they were gonna leave their sorry-ass rich white wives. As if any one of ‘em would’ve jeopardized their status in the community by giving up a white woman for a black whore. That’s what they turned them into. Whores.”
“I don’t understand,” she said, “how they got away with this.”
“Miz McAllister, you’re a Yankee, you gotta understand what the South was like then. This was only a few years after young black protestors was gettin’ arrested for sittin’ at a white lunch counter at Woolworth’s. They might’ve passed laws, but discrimination was still goin’ strong. Hell, public buildings still had three bathrooms when I was a girl. Men, women, and colored. The boys of the Benevolent Association weren’t doing anything new. That kind of thing’s been goin’ on since slave days. They just took an old sport and gave it a new twist. Sorta unionized it, that’s all.”
“And Ruby,” she said softly. “She was part of this?”
“Ruby was a good girl,” she said. “Got good grades in school, always did what Momma said. She wasn’t like me. Hell, I got myself into trouble when I was just fifteen. I got a daughter older’n you. But Ruby, she wasn’t havin’ none of that. She wasn’t gettin’ mixed up with no men. She was going on to college, soon as she could come up with the money. So she started workin’ at the Dixie Diner, and that’s where she met up with that no-good son of a bitch. He used to come in for coffee, flirt with her over his mornin’ paper. Up-and-coming young white man, handsome as sin, loaded with money, headed for a fine and glorious future. Silver-tongued devil, he was, evil incarnate. And he ruined my sister. She fell in love with him. Actually fell in love with the bastard, after all he did to her. After all these years, it still makes me mad enough to want to kill the son of a bitch.”
Kathryn wet her lips. “He,” she said, leaning forward. “Who was he?”
Fitzgerald gave her a long, level look. “I imagine you already know.”
Her hands began shaking. “Kevin McAllister,” she said.
“That’s right, honey. Your esteemed father-in-law. And there’s one other fact that nobody else knows except me. And maybe one other person. The one who knows what happened to my sister.”
“What?” she whispered.
“When Ruby disappeared, she was carrying Kevin McAllister’s child.”
Chapter Fourteen
He showed up at her house at five minutes to six, showered and shaved and nervous as a schoolboy. Janine sat silent in the passenger seat beside him, hands folded primly in her lap, as he pulled the Blazer to a stop in front of Kathryn’s house. He turned to his daughter. “You will be polite,” he said sternly. “You will not ask impertinent questions. You will act like a young lady, not a shrew. Is that understood?”
She eyed him at length. “Yes,” she said sullenly.
“Good. Now, like civilized people, we can get out of the car.”
Kathryn met them at the door, wearing the same flowered skirt she’d worn the day they met, topped by a short-sleeved fuschia-colored blouse with a scoop neck. Above it, dangling against that sweet flesh he couldn’t seem to get enough of, was a heart-shaped locket on a gold chain. Her eyes met his, warmed, and stayed there for a long moment before she looked down at his daughter and smiled. “Hello, Janine,” she said.
Janine said nothing, and he nudged her with his hand at the small of her back. “Hi,” she said.
He gave Kathryn an apologetic smile and they exchanged a look that clearly said,
So this is the way it’s going to be
. “Ready?” he said. “We wouldn’t want to miss our reservation.”
Once they were in the Blazer, nobody said anything. He stopped at the end of the street, where Wilson Harkness was watering his lawn. Nick waved a hand at the white-haired gentleman, turned left onto Myrtle Street, and cleared his throat. “House looks better,” he said.
“Thank you,” Kathryn said stiffly, “for sending Bucky over with that can of paint.”
“No problem. He felt it was his civic duty. You got the glass replaced?”
“Emmet Crosley,” she said. “He came over first thing this morning and took care of it.”
There was another long silence, broken only by the soft jazz that played on the radio. “Where are we going?” she said.
“You’ll see,” he said cryptically.
When he pulled into the parking lot of the First Baptist Church, past a white sign advertising CHURCH SUPPER TONIGHT, her head swiveled around and she regarded him with eyes that hadn’t made up their mind yet whether to be startled or amused. “You’re not serious,” she said.
He wheeled the Blazer into a parking spot next to Neely McAllister’s new Cadillac. “I thought we’d set a few asses on fire tonight. You game?”
“You’ve lost your mind, DiSalvo. They’ll eat us alive.”
“Oh,” he said, “I think we can hold our own. Janine’s a tough kid. These people don’t scare me a bit. And the only thing you’re afraid of is snakes.”
“I rest my case. They’re a pit of vipers. With fangs.”
“You’re the one who wanted to be seen together in public. It doesn’t get much more public than this.”
“Well,” she said dryly, “we certainly will make a splash, won’t we?”
“Look at it this way, McAllister. It’ll be the wildest coming-out party this town has ever seen.”
He patted her cheek and turned to Janine. “Welcome to Elba,” he said. “You’re about to get an education. Roll with it, and try to enjoy the show.” He squawked open his door. “Shall we, ladies?”
Kathryn alighted from the Blazer, then lingered to allow Janine time to get out of hearing range. “I need to talk to you,” she whispered to Nick. “In private.”
His face changed subtly. “Everything okay?” he said.
“I’m not sure. I uncovered something today that might be significant.”
Janine turned on the path ahead of them, rolled her eyes and put her hands on her hips. “Are you coming or not?” she said.
“The boss has spoken,” Kathryn said.
“We’ll talk later,” he said. “For now, let’s go set off some fireworks.”
Mildred Evans, dressed in a flowered muumuu, manned the front door. She gaped at him, at Kathryn, then back at him, and her mouth dropped open. “Why, Mr. DiSalvo,” she said, “I never expected to see you here.”
He gave her a twenty-dollar bill and a wolfish grin. “I told you I’d show up one of these days for a taste of your pecan pie. And I know the church will use my donation wisely.”
“Oh, my, yes,” she said, fumbling in her awkward rush to make change for him. “The money we’re raising goes to support our missionaries in Guatemala.”
“And a fine cause it is, Mrs. Evans. By the way—” He laid a hand on each of Janine’s shoulders. “This is my daughter, Janine.”
Mildred shoved her glasses up her nose and peered at Janine through bottle-thick lenses. “Why, hello, dear. So nice you could come here tonight.”
He dragged Kathryn forward. “And I believe you already know my date, Kathryn McAllister,” he said.
“Yes, of course,” she said, dropping her eyes to the cash box, obviously uncertain of how to proceed in this awkward social situation. “We’re acquainted.”
“It’s so nice to see you again, Mildred,” Kathryn said.
“Likewise,” she squeaked, before turning, red-faced, to her next customer.
The church basement, normally used for Sunday School classes, had been converted to a dining room for the occasion. Long trestle tables had been covered with paper tablecloths, and a few husbands who had been drafted into helping
—
among them Shep Henley and Kevin McAllister
—
were lining up wooden folding chairs at each table.
At the far end of the room, amid mouthwatering and heavenly smells, Neely McAllister reigned over the buffet table, queen of the casseroles, her silvery laughter cascading over the room like a celestial waterfall. At the next table, standing guard over a huge keg of lemonade, was Georgia Pepperell. Her eyes met his and a catlike smile curled her lips. He nodded in greeting, and propelled Kathryn forward.
As they worked their way deeper into the room, conversation came to an abrupt halt and mouths dropped. Ignoring the stares and the furtive whispers, he told Janine, “Tonight, you’re going to experience old-fashioned Southern cooking at its very best. Right, Kat?”
“Right,” she said dryly. “If they don’t draw and quarter us first.”
“They wouldn’t dare,” he said. “I’m the chief of police. If they make a scene, I’ll haul their pompous asses off to jail, and they know it.”
“Now there’s a picture,” she said.
They took their place in line, and he handed a plate to Janine, another to Kathryn. The feast was incredible. Fried chicken, baked beans, a dozen or more different casseroles. Macaroni and potato salad, home-baked yeast rolls, and of course Mildred’s pecan pie. Several pecan pies. The first face he saw was Rowena’s, her mouth pursed but her eyes bright with merriment. “Rowena, my sweet,” he said. “Did you make this wonderful meatloaf?”
“I most certainly did,” she said, serving him a huge helping. “Won first prize at the Rowley County Fair two years in a row. By the way, Chief, what is it they say about a thin line between a brave man and a fool? I do believe you may have crossed it tonight. And how are you this fine evening, Janine?”
“Hungry,” Janine said.
“Well, of course you are. A growin’ girl like you needs to eat.” She gave Janine an extra-large serving. “Keep an eye on your father,” she said. “I’m beginnin’ to think the man needs a keeper.”
She and Kathryn exchanged weighty glances. “Meatloaf?” she said.
“Thank you, I believe I will. It looks delicious.”
With a graciousness befitting a queen, Rowena served her a generous helping. “If you like it,” she said, “I’ll give you the recipe.” And then, seemingly horrified at what she’d said, she quickly turned to the next person in line.
“Mrs. Clark!” Nick greeted the next stunned chef. Lowering his voice, he said, “I hear you make the best fried chicken in Rowley County.”
“Why
—
why
—
thank you, Mr. DiSalvo,” the matronly woman stammered. She turned her attention to Janine, and beamed in a grandmotherly sort of way. “I understand this lovely young lady is your daughter.”
“This is Janine,” he said. “Can you believe this kid hopped a plane all by herself and flew down here from New York? Fearless, that’s what she is. Hey, Kat, make sure you get some of Mrs. Clark’s fried chicken. I hear it’s worth killing for.”
Standing behind him in line, Kathryn poked her thumb and forefinger into a fold in his shirt and pinched him soundly.
He ignored her. “And Mrs. Miner,” he said, “these must be the yams I’ve heard so much about. I can’t wait to try ‘em. How about you, Kathryn?”
“I hate yams,” she said.
His eyes reprimanded her. “You have a piece of lint on your blouse,” he said, and lowered his head toward hers as he pretended to pick it off. “Work with me,” he murmured near her ear. “There’s a method to my madness.”
“Daddy?” Janine said. “What’s this stuff?”
He turned around to see what she was talking about. It looked like a giant biscuit-covered chicken casserole. “I have to admit,” he said, “I’m not sure. Mrs. Pruett, what are these biscuit things?”
“You New Yorkers,” she said, shaking her head gleefully at his woeful ignorance. “They’re dumplings, Mr. DiSalvo. You should try one, they’re mighty fine.”
“Try one,” he instructed Kathryn. “Mrs. Pruett says they’re delicious.”
“There’s nothing wrong with my hearing,” she said.
“And Mrs. McAllister,” he said, moving ahead. “Did you make this elegant lemon meringue pie?”
Neely McAllister, as usual, was in silk and pearls. Pearls at her throat, pearls at her ears. If her expression had been any colder, his genitals would have withered and fallen off. “Mr. DiSalvo,” she said, “I’m not certain what you’re up to here, but you will not be playin’ me for a fool.”
“What I’m up to?” he said in blatant bewilderment. “What I’m up to is the same thing everybody else is. I’m eating supper with all you fine people.”
Those glacial blue eyes bored into him. “At whose invitation?”
“I believe yours, if I recall correctly. Just last month, you told me I really should stop by one of your church suppers and see what real Southern cooking was all about. And here I am. By the way, this is my daughter, Janine.” He rested a hand on Janine’s shoulder and squeezed. “Janine,” he said, “this is Mrs. McAllister. She baked the lemon meringue pie.”
“Hello,” Janine said. “I really love lemon meringue.”
“Well, then,” Neely said with reptilian warmth, “in that case, be sure you take two slices.”
“Thank you,” Janine said. “McAllister,” she added thoughtfully. “Are you any relation to Kathryn?”
“Neely is Kathryn’s mother-in-law,” Nick said heartily.
“
Former
mother-in-law,” Neely clarified, her voice dripping with venom. “Now I suggest you take your little circus sideshow somewhere else, Mr. DiSalvo.”
“
Chief
DiSalvo,” he said. “How many times do I have to remind you of that?”
The barb hit its mark. Her face turned a gratifying shade of red. “Listen, baby,” he told Janine, “there’s room at that table over there. Take my plate and head on over. I’ll get us something to drink.”
“Thanks for the pie, Mrs. McAllister,” his daughter said. “It was very nice meeting you.”
“I believe I’ll go with her,” Kathryn said. “Neely, you’re looking particularly lovely tonight. That shade of pink goes so well with your complexion.”
He stood there and watched them go, proud as hell of both of them, the one that was his by blood, and the one that was his by choice. “Damn,” he said. “They’re something, aren’t they?”
“Mr. DiSalvo? I’m afraid you’re not hearin’ me.”
“Oh, I hear you, Neely. I’m just not one of the people you can wrap around your little finger. I’ll decide for myself where I eat and with whom.”
“Perhaps,” she said in a voice whose silk didn’t quite hide its cruelty, “it’s time I did a little persuadin’ of the city fathers to reconsider your suitability for the position for which you were hired.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” he said casually, “until I solve this homicide case.”
“Dewey Webb killed Wanita Crumley, Mr. DiSalvo. You’ve solved the crime. Your job is done.”
“Maybe,” he said, “I wasn’t talking about Wanita Crumley. Have a nice evening, Mrs. McAllister.”
He ambled over to the lemonade keg and poured three glasses. Georgia Pepperell smiled wryly. “My, my, my, Chief DiSalvo, you are just full of surprises, aren’t you?”
“Aren’t I, though?”
“I applaud your audacity. I must admit I can’t recall the last time I saw Neely wearin’ that particular shade of red. Quite becomin’ on her, isn’t it?”
“Quite,” he said, and carried the glasses over to the table where Janine and Kathryn had seated themselves.
“What in hell do you think you’re doing?” Kathryn whispered when he sat down beside her.
“I thought I’d poke a stick at ‘em, stir ‘em up a bit. Worked pretty good, didn’t it? Just listen to that hissing and rattling. Especially your revered mother-in-law.”
“She’s a mean woman,” Janine said.
“The Lucretia Borgia of Elba, North Carolina,” Nick agreed. “I rattled her cage a bit. I can’t help it. She brings out the worst in me.”
“I think it’s universal,” Kathryn said.