Final Justice (28 page)

No longer would she have to listen to Hardy's taunts over how ugly she was and how appreciative she should be that he had spared her from being an old maid. Never again would he bully her into doing anything she didn't want to do. Hugging herself with delight, she turned and ran back up the stairs. Life, at last, was going to be very good, for her, anyway.

* * *

Luke cut the headlights as soon as he left the pavement. The nearest house, Leonard Letchworth's, was a half-mile away. It was nearly two o'clock, so everybody there would be asleep. He hadn't passed a car driving from town. One of the benefits of being sheriff was that if he were seen at an unusually late hour, folks thought he was still on duty.

The house was L-shaped, the bend at the back off the kitchen, where he could park his car so it wouldn't be seen should anybody happen to turn around in the drive.

Emma Jean had been sitting on the steps watching for him. As he started walking across the yard, she struck a match to light a candle she'd stuck in a Pepsi bottle on the porch railing.

He took the steps in one bound and wrapped an arm around her tiny waist. "Did you give up on me?" He brushed his lips against her forehead and felt her tremble at his touch.

"No. I didn't even doze off. I've been sitting right out here, wrapped in a blanket, because it's so cold, and..." She giggled nervously, "Listen to me. I'm supposed to play hard to get, and here I am letting you know right off the bat how eager I was to see you."

"That's fine, 'cause I've been counting hours and minutes, too."

She opened the screen door and beckoned him to follow. Her eyes were glowing in the candlelight, her long hair flowing down her back. She was wearing a short cotton dress that came just to her knees, and Luke thought she looked like a little doll baby.

"I've got a surprise." She set the bottle with the candle down on the kitchen table, then crossed to the kitchen sink. Opening the cabinet door beneath, she reached for the bottle of cooking sherry she had hidden. "I thought we could celebrate our first time. I managed to get this through the checkout at the supermarket without Nonnie Bynum saying anything, because it was a real busy day, and she was swishing stuff by like turkeys on parade, and..."

He took quick strides to sweep her into his arms and crush her against him. "That's nice, honey, but all we need is this..."

Chapter 16

Luke had stayed with Emma Jean till nearly dawn. He hadn't dared go home. Instead, he went straight to the office. Ned had been asleep in the magistrate's office, as usual, so Luke had curled up in his chair behind his desk to catch a few winks. Later he claimed he'd fallen asleep around midnight and didn't wake till morning.

It had been two weeks, and he couldn't stop thinking about her. He knew things shouldn't go any farther regardless of how he felt about her. She wasn't the type for an occasional tumble in bed, and he had enough problems just wanting to complete his vendetta and get on with his life. So as bad as he wanted to, he had not called her as he had promised he would and hadn't gone anywhere near the laundromat. She'd be hurt, even mad, but eventually she would get over it.

Now, however, it was New Year's eve, and there was no way he could avoid seeing her because he was responding to a fight at the Moose Lodge. There was a big dance there, and he had seen Rudy's truck parked outside when he had passed by earlier, which meant he and Emma Jean were there.

Luke pulled into the lot with blue light flashing and saw that Matt and Kirby had already arrived to break up the fisticuffs between Cliff Meyers and Jobie Bushnell. Tension was still thick as molasses as supporters of the two men shouted challenges back and forth, but things calmed down as soon as Luke appeared.

He instructed Matt and Kirby to lock up Cliff and Jobie for the night so they'd cool down. He was about to drive off when he saw Emma Jean. She was standing outside with some other folks and looking at him with those big eyes of hers like a puppy that had been kicked and didn't understand why.

Suddenly Ned came over the radio. "Base to twelve. Base to twelve. Come in, sheriff. It's a 10-43."

That meant a chase... but who was doing the chasing? He and his deputies were here.

He pressed the mike button. "Say again."

"Sheriff Mosby just radioed that he and two of his deputies are in pursuit of a car he believes is running 'shine and wants you to know they didn't stop at the county line. They're on the back road to Cheaha, and he needs assistance."

"He's got it." Luke hit the blue light again and spun gravel leaving the parking lot. As he did, he caught a glimpse of Emma Jean in the rear view mirror, staring after him with that same whipped-puppy look on her face. He was grateful for the chase, grateful to have something else to focus on. Hell, he wouldn't care if Buford County all of a sudden had a mass murderer to worry about. Anything to get his mind off Emma Jean. He also wished he could hurry up and figure out a way to nail Burch and Buddy so he could hit the road.

Just before he got to the spot where he had caught Junior meeting his bootlegger, Luke heard on the radio that the chase had ended. The runner had lost control of his car and smashed into a tree.

"He lost it going into the curve. He's dead," Sheriff Mosby told Luke when he arrived on the scene. "Sorry we had to cross into your bailiwick without letting you know we were coming, but there was no time, and I've been after this runner for months."

"It's okay." Luke walked over to the car. The driver was dead, all right. Probably killed on impact. He radioed Ned. "Call Hardy and tell him to bring the wagon." He lit a cigarette and leaned against his car to wait.

Ralph Mosby joined him. "I've been meaning to call you, Luke. I'm hearing reports the Klan is stirring around in my county."

"Are they causing any trouble?"

"Not yet. But you never know. They've got a place out in the boondocks where they rally ever so often. I try to keep an eye on 'em, and all they've done so far is shout about how the country is going to hell in a hand basket thanks to the negroes and the commies, and then they burn a cross and that's about it. But I don't like it, and I wish I could drive 'em out like you did."

"It was easy for me, Ralph. The man I beat for sheriff was a Klan member. When he went, so did their support." Luke had also knocked a few heads together, but that was beside the point.

"Yeah, I know, but I thought you'd be interested to know that we spotted a plate from your county at a rally last week. You might want to run a make on it." He took a slip of paper from his wallet and gave it to Luke.

Luke very definitely
did
want to run a make because, if someone from Buford County was going to a Klan rally in Coosa County, it probably meant that either the old bunch was going to start stirring again and wanted to brush up on what the Klan was into lately, or they needed help with a problem they couldn't handle due to the breakup of their own group.

He called the Highway Patrol headquarters in Montgomery as soon as he got back to the office. It wasn't long before he had the name the car was registered to—Cubby Riddle, a supervisor at the mill. It was also known he was Buddy Hampton's right hand man. The only reason he would've been at the rally was because Buddy sent him. And Luke intended to find out why.

* * *

"I saw how you was dancing with Frank. When are you gonna learn I don't put up with that shit? You might've screwed around before, but them days are over."

Emma Jean stood on the other side of the kitchen table, trying to keep distance between them.

"I asked you a question, woman."

Rudy took a step, and she backed away.

He had started railing at her in the car on the way home from the dance. She had kept quiet, hoping he would let up, but the minute they walked in the door, he started chasing her around the table.

"Rudy, you got no cause to be mad. I didn't do anything wrong."

"That's what you call rubbing yourself all over a man? Nothin'?"

His eyes were wild, and his mouth was twisted with rage, and she wondered how she could ever have been stupid enough to think he was cute and want to marry him. But she'd been so confused back then, and he was a totally different person now. He hardly ever bathed and had a sloppy beer gut that hung over his belt. He didn't brush his teeth either, and she had to fight to keep from gagging when he kissed her. He was crude, too, farting whenever he felt like it. Once he'd done it in bed, and she'd complained, so he had held her head under the sheet and made her smell it, laughing like it was the funniest thing ever.

"Answer me, bitch."

Terror began to snake up her spine. When he started calling her names it meant he was getting madder and not about to back off. She knew she had to try and pacify him quickly, or he was going to beat her. She didn't want that, didn't want to be laid up in bed two or three days unable to go to work for the bruises and welts. She had to go to the laundromat, had to be there in case Luke called. Only the good Lord knew how it was killing her that he didn't. She'd told herself maybe it hadn't meant anything to him, that he was exactly what Wanda Potts had said he was—a cockhound, and she was just another notch in his
thing.
Only he sure as hell hadn't made her feel that way that night, and the look in his eyes when she'd seen him earlier wasn't how a man looked at a woman that didn't mean jack shit to him. He cared. He cared, by God. Only he was scared, and she had to find a way to make him see he had no reason to be, that she wasn't asking a damn thing from him except to give her some pleasure once in a while, and she'd give the same to him, as good as she could. He'd enjoyed it. She knew he had. But now she had something more important to think about.

Sucking in a deep breath, she attempted reason. "Look, Rudy, you've got to believe me. I didn't do anything. It's Frank." She lowered her voice, embarrassed, "He's the one who pushes his
thing
at me. You need to fuss at him, not me."

"You think I didn't?" he yelled. "You think I didn't say something that other time, too? Yes, I did, by damn, and he swore up and down he'd never do nothing like that to another man's wife, especially mine, 'cause he knows I'd kill him or anybody else who tried to mess with you. He says it was you, that you probably had too much to drink. But I know different. I know it didn't have nothing to do with liquor. You were a whore when I met you, and if you get a chance, you'll be one again. It's how you are. It's how all women are if you don't watch 'em. Now you better come here 'cause you're really pissin' me off."

She saw how he was clenching and unclenching his fists at his sides. Fear was a hot lump in her throat, making it hard to plead around it. "Rudy, you've got to believe me. Frank is lying. And you
made
me dance with him, remember?"

She continued to retreat as he continued to advance. "He came to the table and asked me to dance, and I said no, and then you said I shouldn't be so unsociable and to get out there."

"So? That didn't give you permission to rub all over him."

"Rudy, I didn't."

"You callin' me a liar? I saw you with my own two eyes, Emma Jean. Now you stop runnin' from me."

He lunged, but she was quicker and pulled a chair out to block him. He stumbled and almost fell, hitting his toe, and yelled with the pain. "Now you done it, bitch. I'm gonna teach you who's boss around here."

He picked up the chair and threw it at her. She ducked and it hit the pie safe, shattering one of the glass doors.

"See what you made me do? My momma gave us that pie safe."

He lunged again, and this time Emma Jean was not fast enough. He caught her arm and twisted it painfully. She whimpered, "Rudy, don't hit me. I've gotta go to work, and if you bruise me up, I can't."

He let go of her arm and grabbed her face with his hands to squeeze in a viselike grip. Taunting that she looked like a fish with her mouth all puckered up, he kissed her, forcing his tongue so far and so deep in her mouth that she gagged when he let her go.

"Oh, I ain't gonna mess you up, sweetie pie. I want you to go to work. I want you to make that measly buck an hour my cheap-ass cousin pays you till summer gets here and you can start makin' real money pickin' tomatoes. So you ain't gotta worry about me leavin' no bruises as long as you do what I say, which is get your sorry ass in there on that bed right now."