Carnal Innocence (43 page)

Tucker stayed on the step below and took her hands. The dress had flirty laces at the bodice and a back cut to the waist. “You sure do look a picture.”

“I heard I was going on a picnic after the parade.”

“That’s a fact.” He kissed the palm of her hand, then held it against his cheek a moment. They said you didn’t know what you had until you’d lost it. Tucker thought he’d discovered something that was equally true. You didn’t know what had been missing from your life until you found it. “Caroline?”

She turned her hands to link her fingers with his. “What is it?”

“I’ve got a lot of things to say to you.” He moved up the steps until their mouths were level and the kiss could be sweet. “I sure as hell hope you’re ready to hear them when I do. Right now I’ve got some business to see to. You mind riding to the parade with Della? I’ll meet you there.”

“I could wait.”

He shook his head and kissed her again. “I’d rather you went on.”

“All right, then. I’ll pile in with Della and Cy and Cousin Lulu—who’s going to be the hit of the day. She’s wearing trousers with the Confederate flag on one leg and the American flag on the other. The flag of the Revolution, I should say.”

“You can always count on Cousin Lulu.”

“Tucker.” Caroline cupped his face in her hands. “If you have trouble, I wish you’d share it with me.”

“I will soon enough. You look just right here, Caroline. Standing on the porch with your blue dress, the door open behind you and bees buzzing in the flowers. You look just right.” He wrapped his arms around her, held her there a moment while he wished the world would stay like this, pretty and peaceful and as gracious as a lovely woman dressed in blue.

“You be ready for those fireworks tonight,” he told her. “And for what I want to say to you after.” His arms tightened. “Caroline, I want—”

“God sakes,” Lulu muttered from the doorway. “Tucker, are you going to stand around all day smooching with that Yankee? We got to get on or we won’t get a decent spot to watch the parade.”

“There’s time yet.” But Tucker released Caroline. “You keep an eye on this Yankee till I get there,” he began, then his face split with a grin. “I declare, Cousin Lulu, you look good enough to run up the flagpole. Where’d you get those pants?”

“Had ’em made special.” She spread her scrawny, flag-bedecked legs. “Got me a jacket to match, but it’s too cursed hot to wear it.” She stuck an eagle feather into her hair, where it drooped over one ear. “I’m ready to go.”

“Then you’d better get.” He gave Caroline a quick kiss before heading inside. “I’ll send the others out. Cousin Lulu, you make sure Caroline doesn’t go wandering off with some smooth talker.”

Lulu snorted. “She’s not about to go far.”

Caroline smiled. “No, I’m not.”

“J
ust how many of these lunatics you figure’ll drop from heat stroke before two o’clock?” Cousin Lulu posed the question from the comfort of her personalized director’s chair. A red, white, and blue umbrella was hooked to the back and tilted to a jaunty angle, while a thermos of mint juleps snuggled between her feet.

“We never have more than five or six faint on us,” Della said placidly from the web chair beside her. She didn’t think she could outdo Lulu’s pants, but she’d stuck a miniature American flag in her bushy hair in an attempt. “Most of them are young.”

As a marching band strutted by blaring Sousa, Lulu played along on a plastic zither. She enjoyed the wall of sound, the glint of brass in bright sun, but she couldn’t help but think that a couple of swooning piccolo players would add some zip.

“That tuba blower there, the husky one with the pimples? He looks a bit glassy-eyed to me. Ten bucks says he drops in the next block.”

Della’s natural competitive instinct had her studying the boy. He was sweating freely, and she imagined his natty uniform was going to smell like wet goat before
the day was up. But he looked hardy enough. “You’re on.”

“I dearly love a parade.” Lulu tucked her zither behind her ear like a pencil so she could pour another drink. “Next to weddings, funerals, and poker games, I can’t think of anything more entertaining.”

Della snorted and cooled her face with a palm-sized battery-operated fan. “You can have yourself a funeral tomorrow if you want. We’ve been having us a regular plague of funerals lately.” Sighing, Della helped herself to some of the contents of Lulu’s thermos. “I reckon this is the first time in fifteen years that Happy hasn’t marched on by with the Ladies Garden Club.”

“Why ain’t she marching?”

“Her daughter’s going in the ground tomorrow.”

Lulu watched the pom-pom division of Jefferson Davis High shake by to the tune of “It’s a Grand Old Flag.”

“A good, whopping funeral’ll set her to rights,” Lulu predicted. “What’re you making for after the burying?”

“My coconut ambrosia.” Della shaded her eyes and grinned. “Why, look there, Cousin Lulu. Look at Carl Johnson’s baby twirl that baton. She’s a regular whirling dervish.”

“She’s a pistol, all right.” Lulu enjoyed a cackle and another sip of julep. “You know, Della, life’s like one of them batons. You can spin it around your fingers if you’ve got the talent for it. You can toss it right up in the air and snatch it back if you’re quick. Or you can let it fly and conk somebody on the head.” She smiled and plucked the zither from behind her ear. “I do dearly love a parade.”

From behind Lulu, Caroline thought over the analogy and shook her head. It made a spooky kind of sense. She wasn’t sure if she’d ever conked anyone on the head with the baton of life, but she’d certainly dropped it a few times. Right now she was doing her best to make it spin.

“That there’s the Cotton Princess and her court,” Cy told Caroline. “The whole high school votes on her
every year. She was supposed to ride in back of Mr. Tucker’s car, but since it got banged up, they rented that convertible from Avis in Greenville.”

“She’s lovely.” Caroline smiled at the girl in her puffy-sleeved white dress and sweat-sheened face.

“She’s Kerry Sue Hardesty.” Watching her made Cy think of Kerry’s younger sister, LeeAnne. She of the soft, fascinating breasts. As the car cruised by, Cy scanned the crowd, hoping for a glimpse. He didn’t spot LeeAnne, but he did spot Jim, and waved desperately.

“Why don’t you go over and see your friend, Cy? You can meet us at the car when the parade’s finished.”

He yearned, but shook his head and stood firm. Mr. Tucker was counting on him to stay close to Miss Caroline. They’d had a real man-to-man talk about it. “No, ma’am. I’m fine right here. There’s Miss Josie and that FBI doctor. He’s got one of those lapel flowers that squirts water in your face. He sure is a caution.”

“He certainly is.” Caroline was scanning the crowd herself. “I wonder what’s keeping Tucker.”

“Nothing.” From behind, Tucker slipped his arms around her waist. “You didn’t think I’d miss watching a parade with a pretty woman, did you?”

Content, she leaned back against him. “No.”

“You want me to fetch you and Miss Caroline cold drinks, Mr. Tucker? I got pocket money.”

“That’s all right, Cy. I think Cousin Lulu’s got what the doctor ordered in that jug down there.”

Cy jumped forward to take the cup Lulu poured and pass it back. “That FBI man’s watching from in front of the sheriff’s office.”

“So I see.” Tucker sipped, savored, and handed the cup to Caroline.

Caroline took her first taste of mint julep and let it slide sweet down her throat. “He doesn’t look as though he thinks much of the parade.”

“Looks more like he smells dead skunk,” Cy commented.

“He just doesn’t understand.” Tucker kept one arm around Caroline’s waist, set his other hand on Cy’s shoulder. “Here comes Jed Larsson and his boys.”

When the fife and drum corps led by Larsson marched by playing “Dixie,” the crowd roared. Those seated rose to their feet and cheered.

Caroline smiled and laid her head on Tucker’s shoulder. She understood.

The Fourth of July meant fried chicken, potato salad, and smoking barbecues. It was a day for flag waving and pie eating and drinking cold beer in the shade. There were those gathered close in mourning, and the law continued its grinding quest, but on this bright summer day, Innocence tossed a cloak of red, white, and blue over murder and celebrated.

After the parade there were contests along Market Street and over in the town square. Pie eating, target shooting, foot racing, egg tossing, and—always a favorite—watermelon-seed spitting.

In silent amazement Caroline gawked at the junior division pie-eating contest, where seven- to fourteen-year-olds buried their faces in blueberry, slurping and swallowing to the cheers of the crowd. Pie after pie was consumed, and more glistening tins shoved under purple-stained faces. Encouragement and gastronomic advice were shouted out as one by one the young entrants fell by the wayside. Groaning.

“Look at Cy.” Caroline pressed a hand to her own stomach in sympathy. “He must have eaten a dozen by now.”

“Nine and a half,” Tucker corrected her. “But he’s leading. Come on, boy, don’t chew. Just let it slide on down.”

“I don’t see how he can breathe,” she murmured as Cy buried his face in number ten. “He’s going to be sick.”

“’Course he is. That’s the way, Cy! Don’t hold back now. He’s got himself a nice rhythm,” Tucker said to Caroline. “He doesn’t just smash his face into it and hope for the best, he works in a nice steady circle from the outside in.”

She didn’t know how Tucker could tell. All she saw
was a boy buried to the neck in blueberries while the crowd cheered and stomped. She told herself it was a silly game, messy and certainly undignified. But she was rocking back and forth from toes to heels, pulled in to the simple excitement.

“Come on, Cy! Swallow it whole. Leave them in the dust. Look! He’s going for twelve. Oh, Jesus, he’s got it sewed up now. Just—” She glanced up at Tucker and found him grinning at her. “What?”

“I’m crazy about you.” He kissed her hard and long as Cy, a little green beneath the purple splotches, was declared champion. “Plum crazy.”

“Good.” She brushed her fingers over his cheeks and into his hair. “That’s good. Now maybe I should help the winner scrub blueberry juice off his face.”

“Let him get his own girl,” Tucker decided, and pulled her along to the next event.

They’d cleared the parking lot of the Lutheran Church for the target shoot. McGreedy’s had supplied the beer bottles, and Hunters’ Friend the ammo. The elimination rounds went quickly with frustrated hopefuls unloading their weapons and taking a place on the sidelines.

Tucker was pleased to see Dwayne preparing for the second round. It had taken a lot of fast, hard talk to convince his brother to participate in the day’s events. He didn’t want any gossip until it was impossible to avoid it. And he wanted Dwayne to continue acting normally. In Tucker’s mind, normal equaled innocent.

“Both Dwayne and Josie are entered,” Caroline commented.

“We were all taught to shoot early. Old Beau insisted on it.”

“What about you? You’re not after the grand prize of a smoked ham and a blue ribbon?”

He shrugged. “I never cared much for guns. There goes Susie.” He waited until she’d blasted away three bottles with three shots. “Lordy, she’s a cool hand. Good thing she married a lawman. With that aim she could’ve taken up a life of crime.”

“Cousin Lulu.” Concerned, Caroline put a hand on
Tucker’s arm. Lulu swaggered up with a pair of Colts snug in a leather holster riding low on her bony hips. “Do you really think she should—” She broke off as the old lady drew and fired. The three bottles seemed to explode as one. “Oh, my.”

“She can handle anything from a .22 to an AK-47.” He watched, entertained, as Lulu twirled a Colt around her finger in three fast circles, then shot it back home. “But if she asks you to stand with an apple on your head, I’d decline. She’s not as young as she once was.”

It ended with Lulu edging out Susie and a very annoyed Will Shiver. The crowd began to gather back on the street for foot races.

“Sweetwater’s doing well for itself.” Caroline accepted the cold bottle of Coke Tucker passed her. “Aren’t you going to run?”

“Run?” Tucker lighted a cigarette and flipped away the match. “Darlin’, why would I want to get all tired and sweaty just to get from one point to another?”

“Of course.” She smiled to herself. “I don’t know what got into me.” Sighing, she settled back against his chest while the first runners took their marks. “So, you don’t enter any event?”

“Well now, there is one I usually go for.”

She turned her head to look back at him. “Which?”

“Wait and see.”

Greased pigs? Caroline had thought she’d gotten into the spirit of things, but when she stood behind the temporary paddock in the town square listening to the porcine squeals, she realized she hadn’t come close.

Tucker had bowed off from eating pies, he didn’t choose to shoot, and he yawned at the thought of racing. But he was standing in the paddock, stripped to the waist, waiting for the signal to go catch a lard-coated pig.

Baffled, Caroline rested an elbow on Cy’s shoulder. “How are you feeling?”

“Oh, just fine now,” he assured her. “I chucked most of it up, and the rest is settling all right.” He
fingered the blue ribbon pinned proudly to his T-shirt. “Mr. Tucker’s going to win.”

“Is that right?”

“Always does. He can move real quick when he’s a mind to.” He let out a whoop with the rest of the crowd. “Here they go!”

The shouts and laughter from the onlookers were as wild as the squeaks from the pigs and the curses from the men pursuing them. As an extra incentive, the ground had been watered and churned to mud. Men slipped and sloshed in it, belly-flopped and back-flipped. Pigs squirted out of questing hands.

“Oh, why don’t I have a camera?” Caroline let out a crow of laughter when Tucker skidded on his backside. He twisted when a pig raced across his knees, but came up empty.

“That FBI doctor’s good!” Cy shouted, cheering when Teddy tackled a pig and nearly held on. “Might’ve had it if Bobby Lee hadn’t tripped over him. Mr. Tucker’s going for the big one. Come on, Mr. Tucker! Haul ’em up!”

“An interesting contest,” Burns said as he stopped beside them. “I suppose dignity is sacrificed for the thrill of the hunt.”

Caroline nearly shot him an impatient look, but she didn’t want to miss anything. “You’re keeping your dignity, I see.”

“I’m afraid I don’t see the point in wallowing in mud and chasing pigs.”

“You wouldn’t. It’s called fun.”

“Oh, I agree. In fact, I’ve never been more entertained.” He smiled down at Tucker, who was currently sprawled facefirst in the dirt. “Longstreet looks quite natural, don’t you think?”

“I’ll tell you what I think,” she began, but Cy grabbed her arm.

“Look! He’s got him! He’s got him, Miss Caroline.”

And there was Tucker, slicked with mud and grease, holding a squirming pig over his head. When he grinned up at Caroline, she wished she’d had a dozen roses to throw.

No spangle-suited matador had ever looked more charming.

“‘To the victor go the spoils,’” Burns noted. “Tell me, does he get to keep the pig?”

Caroline tucked her tongue in her cheek. “Until the butchering and pot luck supper next winter. Excuse me. I want to go congratulate the winner.”

“One moment.” He blocked her way. “Are you still staying at Sweetwater?”

“For the time being.”

“You might want to reconsider. It isn’t wise sleeping under the same roof with a murderer.”

“What are you talking about?”

Burns glanced over to where Dwayne and Tucker were washing down mud with a beer. “Perhaps you should ask your host. I can tell you that I’ll be making an arrest tomorrow, and the Longstreets won’t have much to cheer about. Enjoy the rest of the festivities.”

Saying nothing, Caroline latched on to Cy and pushed by him.

“What did he mean, Miss Caroline?”

“I don’t know, but I’m going to find out.” By the time she’d worked her way through the crowd, Tucker was gone. “Where did he go?”

“He probably went down to McGreedy’s to hose off with the others. Most everybody’ll be packing up to go down to Sweetwater for picnics before the fireworks. They’ll be opening the carnival, too.”

Frustrated, Caroline stopped. She couldn’t talk to him surrounded by a bunch of wet, back-slapping men. She needed him alone. Rising on her toes, she scanned heads and faces. “There’s Della. Why don’t you catch up with her, ride back to Sweetwater? I’ll wait for Tucker.”

“No’m. Mr. Tucker said I was to stay with you when he wasn’t around.”

“That’s not necessary, Cy. I don’t …” A look at the boy’s set jaw and she swallowed a sigh. “All right, then. We’ll park ourselves somewhere and wait.”

Sitting on the stoop in front of Larsson’s, they watched the exodus from town.