Diana Anderson - Entering Southern Country 01 - Famous in a Small Town (7 page)

High school? I was in college. Raven was in high school.

Cal slid into the driver’s seat of his squad car. He started the engine, drove down the driveway, and headed on down the road. He tried to get his mind off of Agnes and back on the Neals’ case where it should be. Seeing her again was a shot in the heart but obvious to him that she didn’t feel the same way. He’d read contempt in her face and disgust in her voice. He’d hoped she hadn’t read him, because when he saw her again, those old feelings he’d had for her rushed back just like the first time he’d kissed her.

She’d seemed angry. She had stood in the Wallaces’ den with her hands at her sides clenched into fists. Her blue eyes had darkened and her jaw muscles worked. He’d never seen her angry before, but he’d seen her hurt, and it had been a pain that he couldn’t take away. When she’d left town, nobody knew where she’d gone. Her mother had said she’d left with some guy she’d met at the diner. Cal never believed it though. That was the summer after she’d graduated high school. A few months later, rumor had it that she lived in Oxford and went to college there.

When he saw her at the Wallaces’, he noticed that she wasn’t the young teenage girl who he’d fallen in love with years ago. Of course, he knew that she wouldn’t be, but he’d been surprised to see the changes that had occurred over time. She was no longer thin, but had matured in all the right places. Her bright blue eyes were no longer hidden behind a pair of cheap glasses. He had been taken aback by her long hair. She had always worn it cropped short back then. But the most important thing that he had noticed—she didn’t have a ring on her left hand.

A smile crossed his face as he remembered the first time he’d taken an interest in her. He had been a sophomore in college at Mississippi State in Starkville, and she was a senior at Cypress high school. She and her friend worked at Janie’s Diner and waited tables after school and on weekends. Agnes didn’t have a car, so her friend picked her up and brought her to work with her. It was a weekend, and he had been home from college. He and a few of his friends had met at the diner. She had waited on his table. He playfully teased her, and it appeared that was something she wasn’t used to, but he also noticed she seemed to enjoy it. She had blushed and smiled. He had told her a lame joke, and she had been polite enough to laugh at it. There had been many things on their first encounter that had infatuated him, but what had captured him the most was her bashfulness, her beautiful smile, and her blue eyes. Inside of her was a heart of an angel.

He’d dated other women over the years but had never experienced those feelings again. He’d even come close to marriage once but had broken it off before the arrangements had been made. It’d always come back to Agnes. Her sweet smile, those blue eyes, and the way she’d blushed the first time he’d kissed her. The look on her face when he’d told her that he was in love with her—like she’d never heard those words before.

How could anyone not love her?
Then thought after thought crossed his mind.
Maybe someone does. Maybe she’s spoken for. Maybe she loves someone, and they’re waiting for her to come back. Not everyone wears a ring on their left hand.

He shook his thoughts away. “Stay focused, Cal. Virgil and Wanda. Virgil and Wanda.”

17

Raven had left a few minutes after Cal did and drove to Virgil’s house. He had lived off of a dirt road five miles off of the main highway. Callie had purchased fifty acres right before Raven was born. Where she’d gotten the money was anybody’s guess. Callie had said she had inherited the money from an uncle who’d passed away. Virgil had cleared off two of those acres for the trailer house, a few out buildings, and a garden plot neither one of them had ever tended. The rest of the property was wooded and a place where Virgil had hunted and fished most of his time—what time he wasn’t out drunk with his buddies.

She drove the car into the driveway, put the gearshift into Park, and turned off the ignition. She sat motionless as she looked at the trailer. It had been bought brand new right after the purchase of the property and had replaced a rundown shack that had been bulldozed. Far from brand new now, the metal siding was separated in several seams along the front. The underpinning was warped and rusted. The wooden front porch looked on the verge of collapse. A broom and a mop were propped up against the porch rail. With the spring storms that blew through the area and the condition of the trailer, that it still stood was nothing short of a miracle.

She opened the car door and stepped out. Other than the Cicadas that sang from up high in the trees and a warm breeze that rustled the leaves, the place was quiet. She scanned the area and took note of the changes. There weren’t any. Virgil had never owned a lawn mower. He had his neighbor, Carl Gentry, bush-hog it twice a year. Patches of grass and weeds had grown high in the rich soil that surrounded the trailer. The well-house beside the trailer was not quite visible through the tall weeds. The dirt driveway had several ruts left by vehicles when it had rained. A few hickory and sweetgum trees shaded the house. Rusty and brown patches of sap from the sweetgum tree were on Virgil’s beat-up white truck and Wanda’s light blue compact car. At least Raven assumed it was Wanda’s.

Yellow crime scene tape had been placed in an X across the front door. Should she go inside? She walked to the porch steps and then stood in front of them. She shook her head and told herself, “No.” The dog, that’s why she was there. The other would have to wait. She wasn’t ready to face her demons yet, if ever. No, she wouldn’t. They could bulldoze the place down for all she cared.

She walked on and headed around the trailer toward the front end and stopped. Something had burned half the field and a few trees where the garden plot used to be. She glanced around and her eyes landed on the front end of the trailer. Cardboard covered the window and the sides looked charred. She looked back at the garden plot and saw debris scattered. She walked across the weedy yard and stopped a short distance from the ravaged area. Plumbing pipes stuck out of the ground like a house had been there and had burnt to the ground. She walked a short distance further to investigate. A dog woofed and then whimpered. She glanced toward the back of the house and saw a big brown head peek around the air conditioner unit.

She made her way over and stood a safe distance from the animal. He stood to greet her, wagged his short stub of a tail, and when she didn’t respond quick enough to suit him, his ears drooped, he lay back down, and rested his big head on his front paws.

“Oh, no! You’re a pit bull.” She loved animals but had never been around pit bulls. However, she’d heard plenty of horror stories about them.

He whimpered. Not that she considered herself an expert, but she knew that sound was not typical of a vicious dog.

With slow movements, she made the distance between her and the animal but stopped a few feet away. He was chained, but she couldn’t tell how long the chain might be. If he lunged at her, she was good as supper to him.

His big blue eyes looked up at her. He looked unhappy, and she could imagine how much. He didn’t look like he’d missed a meal and that could only be attributed to Wanda. She didn’t remember a Wanda from her past, but it sure wasn’t Virgil who had fed him.

She tried not to make direct eye contact with him as she knelt down and eased her hand out for him to smell. She was ready to pull it back and hoped she didn’t yank back a stub. He sniffed her hand and then gave her a couple of quick licks. She put her hand to the top of his head and petted him. His stubby tail wiggled in appreciation.

“You look like you could use a friend and a bath.” She eyed the heavy chain hooked to his collar and then lifted it. She followed the length of it until she came to a gap in the underpinning of the trailer. She got on her hands and knees and peered underneath.

“What the heck!”

Virgil had secured the end of the chain to one of the plumbing pipes. She would need the chain until she could get the dog a leash.

She got down on her stomach and crawled toward the pipe. She inched her way and used her elbows. There was no doubt in her mind that she had just ruined her white blouse and perhaps her lace bra as well. Her jeans might survive. She saw movement and looked over. The dog was hunkered down, crawling alongside of her. She reached for the end of the chain wrapped around the pipe to unfasten it. Dirt flew into her face. She spit and sputtered and covered her eyes with her hand. She peered through her fingers. The dog’s front feet moved fast as he dug and slung dirt and pieces of paper.

“Stop it!”

The dog stopped and turned his head toward her. She shook her head and dirt flew from her hair. She wiped the dirt off of her face with her hand. The dog sat low on his haunches and looked pitiful. She sighed when she realized she’d yelled at him. Like the poor thing hadn’t been yelled at enough in his lifetime.

“I’m sorry. Let me get this undone, and I promise you a much better home soon.”

He tilted his head and eyed her.

She wondered what his name might be.
Knowing Virgil, probably something stupid.

Every dog they’d ever had, he had named it. Shithead, Dammit, and Numbnuts were some that came to mind. After he had tired of the animal, it disappeared and was never seen again. She hadn’t known what had happened to them, and she didn’t want to know.

She turned back to the chain and glanced down at a piece of paper on the ground. She focused her eyes and then blinked several times. She picked it up.

“Oh mercy!” She lowered the hundred dollar bill and looked around her on the ground. There were more scattered near the hole. She elbowed her way over and pushed away loosened soil and uncovered the top of what looked to be a duffle bag. It had a tear in the side where it looked like the dog had chewed a hole in it. She located the handles and tugged it loose from the soil. With her finger, she pulled open the hole, peered inside, and saw more bills. She looked around, grabbed handfuls of bills that were scattered about, and stuffed them inside the hole. She scooted backwards, dragging the bag with her until she came to the chain. She unhooked it and backtracked out from under the trailer. The dog followed.

She brushed dirt off of her pants and shirt, hoisted the bag over her shoulder, and walked the dog around the house to her car. She popped the trunk, dropped the duffle bag inside, and closed it. The dog stayed on her heels and watched her every move. She opened the passenger door for the dog, reached into the back seat, and got a small throw. She spread it across the passenger seat and motioned for him to get inside. He hesitated at first and then hopped up on the seat. She went around and got into the driver’s seat.

“Dang!” she muttered. “I’ve got to get this to the sheriff. No, I don’t want to do this.” She thought a moment and then said, “Maybe I should just put it back and pretend I don’t know anything about it.” She looked at the dog. He sat straight in the passenger seat as if in expectation of the trip he was about to take.

“What do you think?”

He turned his head and looked at her. His tongue slid out the side of his mouth as he panted.

“I know, I promised you a bath and a new home, and you’re excited. I know how you feel. The day I left this place for good, I was happy too.”
Well, sort of.
“Should I put the money back?”

He looked out the windshield, swallowed, and then whimpered.

“Okay, should I take it to the sheriff?”

He sighed. She couldn’t believe she had asked a dog for his opinion.

“If I take it to the sheriff, I’d have to see him again, and I’d rather not. But what if it’s part of the murder investigation?” Then another thought managed to catapult to the front. “Where did all of this money come from? Is it even real?” She sat there ten minutes until she’d made up her mind. She’d donate the money to charity and be done with it.
Whatever mess Virgil had gotten himself into had been dealt with. He was in hell. Where else could he possibly go?

She started the car and dropped the gear shift into Reverse. She looked over at the dog and asked, “You ready to leave this God forsaken place?”

He barked.

18

As of the 2010 U.S. Census, the Cypress, Mississippi’s population was 12,066. Main Street ran east to west through town. On the west end was a neighborhood Walmart. Interstate Fifty-five ran north and south on the east side of town. Forty-five minutes north was Memphis. Near the interstate were two motels. The Cypress Inn was the preferred place for travelers to sleep, and then there was—the Deluxe Inn. They sat across Main Street from each other. East of the interstate was Junior’s Beer, Bait, and Tackle, a small mom and pop grocery story, where folks who were headed to the lake stopped for—beer, bait, and tackle, and a can of Vienna sausages or a hoop cheese and rag bologna sandwich. On most days at Junior’s, a good game of checkers went on over morning coffee, gossip, and a lot of shootin’ the bull.

Wallace Street had been named after the town’s founder, William J. Wallace, a cotton plantation owner and the great-great grandfather of Dr. Theodore Wallace. It ran north and south alongside the railroad tracks through the middle of town. On that street was a one screen movie theater that sat next to the railroad tracks. Each movie was shown for a full month. Out of consideration to the few who patronized the theater, the movie was paused when a train passed through town.

Next to the theater, used to be a roller-skating rink, but now housed one of the town’s three used car lots.

The hospital was located on the north side of town on Wallace Street. Cypress General housed sixty-five beds. The locals have said,
“If you’re suicidal, just be admitted to Cypress General and they’ll take care of it for you.”

On the south end of Wallace Street was the local newspaper office, the Laurel County Press, and across from there was Greenwood Lawns, the cemetery.