Final Justice (5 page)

Matt was still asleep, but she told Ruthie, his wife, that it was an emergency, and he finally came on the line. He listened, then said, "I can't say anything over the phone, Aunt Wilma, but you know what I'm thinking."

She knew all right. He was agreeing with her that Luke was going to be in big trouble if he was snoozing in Rudy Veazey's bed. "Well, what do you think we should do?"

"I'd better drive out there and look around."

She felt relief, but not much and urged, "You'd better hurry, because I think that's where Alma is headed, and from the way she sounded on the phone, Lord help them both if she gets there first."

Chapter 3

Cleve Hampton, III, or "Buddy," as he was known to intimates, fought the impulse to send the golf putter crashing against the wall.

Murline Pruitt watched nervously. She well knew his temper and dreaded how he'd react to hearing Alma Ballard had called in saying she'd be late.

He set the putter aside. "Did she say
how
late?"

"No, just that there was some kind of family emergency."

"Damn it. First Rudy Veazey leaves sick and now this. How the hell am I supposed to keep that section of the plant running overtime when both the foreman and floor supervisor are out? Nobody likes working Saturdays, but that's too bad. What's wrong with Veazey, anyway?"

"I was told when he clocked out around four he claimed he had a stomachache."

"Call his house. Tell him about Alma not showing up, and if he wants to keep his job to get his butt back down here."

"I tried, but I kept getting a busy signal, so I called the operator, and she checked and said the phone was off the hook."

She jumped as Buddy kicked the side of his desk. "Then he's fired. Check the personnel files for who's next in seniority and promote them to his job."

After Murline rushed from the room, Buddy opened the bottom drawer of his desk and took out the flask of vodka he kept there for the times when life seemed unbearable. Thanks to Luke Ballard, it was almost empty.

Buddy had a ten o'clock tee-off at the country club but couldn't leave till a replacement was found for Rudy. He just wished he could fire Alma, too, but didn't dare. Not now. Hell, he wished he had never promoted her in the first place, but she was a good worker, and he'd felt sorry for her raising her kid alone. Like everyone else, he never thought Luke would come back to Hampton to stay, only he'd been wrong. Now here he was, the richest man in Buford County, having his strings pulled by a redneck sheriff and the only way he would ever have any peace was for the son of a bitch to die.

His private line rang, and he answered, cringing to hear Burch Cleghorn's voice.

"Hey, it's me. Listen, I called your house, but the maid said you were at the office. Since it's such a nice day I figured you'd be heading to the golf course later, and I want to invite myself along if it's okay."

Buddy gritted his teeth. "I'm playing with Thad Greer."

A few seconds of silence was followed by Burch whining, "But he wouldn't care if I came along if you said it was okay."

"He might feel uncomfortable."

"That's ridiculous. I mean, it's time people start forgetting."

Buddy snickered. "You're a fool to think they ever will."

Burch's voice cracked. "Yeah, Luke made sure of that, didn't he? He fixed me, all right. But I'm not the only one. I still think he had something to do with Hardy's deeding the funeral home back over to Lucy and letting her boss him around ever since. He'll get to you, too, if he can."

Buddy was silent for a moment, not trusting himself to speak, lest he reveal his own fury. The truth was, Luke
had
gotten to him. The one mercy was that no one else knew—not yet, anyway. Finally, he said, "I'm not as stupid as you are, Burch."

"Okay. Okay. But it's not fair. Sara Daughtry is nothing but a slut, and she came out smelling like a rose, while I..."

"Nobody knows it was her you were with, and Luke threatened to kill you and make it look like an accident if you said she was, didn't he?"

"Yeah, and I could kill both of 'em with my bare hands."

Buddy shook his head in disgust. Burch was getting on his nerves. "Look, I know you're going through a rough time, but I've got problems of my own here."

Burch welcomed someone else's troubles to get his mind off his own. "What's going on?"

"We're running overtime. Alma Ballard is the supervisor, but there's a family emergency, and she's going to be late if she shows at all. Rudy Veazey is the foreman on that side, and he went home sick."

Burch gave a nasty chuckle. "Maybe Alma's emergency is that Luke wants to pork her for a change, instead of Rudy's old lady. Maybe she wants to get it while she can."

Buddy matched his coarse humor. "And maybe Rudy stayed out for the same reason—to pork
his
old lady while Luke isn't around."

"I doubt Rudy knows Luke is screwing her. If he did, he'd kill both of them."

"Then maybe we should see to it he finds out," Buddy laughed. "That would make a few folks happy, wouldn't it?"

Burch seized on Buddy's sudden switch to a good mood. "Sure would, old chum, but how about the golf game? I'll come on over to your office and..."

"Another time. I've got to go." Buddy hung up and thought maybe he shouldn't have been so brusque, but the fact was, if not for him and Hardy Moon, Burch wouldn't have any social life at all. Buddy knew Burch's marriage was wrecked, but his wife had stuck by him because she couldn't afford to leave. After all, how could she support herself at her age when the only thing she had ever done in life was play bridge and have three kids? And Burch couldn't afford to keep her up separately. His practice had gone to hell after the scandal, and while he still had a few out-of-town clients, his days of high living were over. Burch's life had been ruined forevermore, and if Luke had his way he'd do the same damn thing to Buddy's.

* * *

Burch was still in bed and thought maybe he would just stay there all day. He had no reason to get up. Nobody wanted anything to do with him, which was why he hated weekends. Monday through Friday he had his work, such as it was, plus he didn't have to be around Irene, who let him know every chance she got that she hated his guts.

Luke Ballard.
The name boiled like bile in his gut. God, he wished him dead.

"Burch?" Irene appeared in the doorway. It was not yet eight o'clock but she was dressed in a blue polished cotton dress, her hair still perfectly coiffed from the beauty parlor the day before. She wore stockings, medium high heels, a touch of rouge and lipstick. Every day for the twenty-four years they had been married she got up early to make herself as attractive as possible. Only now she did so out of habit, not to please him.

Burch did not respond, pretending to be asleep, hoping she would go away. She yanked the covers off his head. "I don't want you hanging around the house today."

He rolled over to meet her contemptuous glare. "Why not? I happen to live here, you know."

"Much to my sorrow and humiliation," she fired back. "Now my church circle is meeting here this morning to make plans for the Christmas bazaar, and I don't want them to see you because it will remind them of what you did."

He snorted. "As if out-of-sight, out-of-mind means anything to those old biddies. They'll still gossip."

"Shame on you. They're fine Christian women. If they weren't, they wouldn't have anything to do with me. God knows, everybody wonders why I stay with you, anyway."

"Well,
we
know, don't we, dear? Because you can't do anything except play bridge and pour tea, and, therefore, cannot support yourself."

Her eyes narrowed. "I want you out of here."

"I'll stay in my room and won't come out." They slept separately in opposite ends of the large house.

"I'm giving you one hour, Burch."

"I'm not going anywhere, and you and your pious friends can go to hell."

"How dare you talk to me that way? I've been a good wife and raised three fine children. And look how you've treated me. Look what you did to me, to our marriage, and..."

He leaped out of bed, ran into the bathroom, and slammed and locked the door after him. He'd heard it all before and was sick of it. Turning on the shower full force to drown out her screaming, he let the water run while he opened the medicine chest and took out the bottle of aspirin. He gulped down several to try and stave off the headache that was sure to come. By the time he was dressed, she had given up and left.

He snatched up the phone and dialed the funeral home. Hardy answered, and Burch said, desperately, "Let's go play golf or do something. I've got to get out of here. Irene is in one of her moods..."

"No can do. I've got the Petrie funeral at eleven this morning."

"What about after?"

"I have a body to prepare." Hardy never said embalm. He had been taught in mortuary school that the word bothered some people.

Burch bantered, "Is it Luke Ballard, by any chance?"

Hardy chuckled. "Don't we all wish? Maybe one of these days. But at least I've got another creep to put away that I can't stand—Jubal Cochran. His next-door neighbor found him on the bathroom floor when she checked to see why he didn't answer the phone or come to the door."

"What happened?"

"I'm putting heart attack on the coroner's report."

Jubal had owned the hardware store. Burch had known Jubal all his life but felt no remorse over his death. Jubal was one of the holier-than-thous who had wanted to crucify him after Luke and Sara set him up. Jubal had also told all over town that there was hanky-panky going on at the funeral home, but when Burch reminded Hardy of that, Hardy cut him off.

"I don't care anymore, and I've got to get busy. Call Buddy and see if he'll play with you." Sometimes Hardy felt sorry for Burch because he and Buddy were the only men in town who would have anything to do with him. This was not, however, one of those times. He had too much to do. He was also anxious to get started on Jubal because he enjoyed embalming people he didn't like.

Burch said, "I did, but he's got a mess on his hands." He recounted the situation at the mill.

Hardy snickered. "Well, that's real interesting, seeing how the rumor is that Luke is screwing Rudy's old lady."

"Yeah, me and Buddy were talking about that. Maybe they all got together for a foursome of a different kind—Luke, Alma, Rudy, and Emma Jean."

They laughed together, but Burch, reluctant to end the moment of camaraderie, was too loud and exaggerated and Hardy finally interrupted. "Call me later, and maybe you can come by for a beer."

"How about if I come over now? Maybe I can help with something."

Hardy knew all Burch would do was sit in his private office and sip whiskey from the pint he carried in his pocket. "No, thanks. Besides, Buddy might call you once he gets things under control at the mill."

Burch sighed. "You know something? I've got a feeling Luke is responsible somehow. Damn him, Hardy, he just louses up everybody's life, doesn't he?"

"That he does," Hardy said quietly, soberly. "That he does."

He hung up the phone and walked to the embalming table.

Jubal's eyes stared blankly as Hardy smiled down at him. Gleefully, he whispered, "You didn't know when you went to bed last night you'd be here with me this morning, did you, you son of a bitch?"

And, with a fiendish laugh, he slapped Jubal's cold, unyielding face.

* * *

For long moments, Burch sat staring at the phone.

Jubal had started a lot of speculation about wrongdoings at the funeral home, but no one was sure exactly what they were because no charges were ever filed. Hardy refused to talk about it, and all of a sudden, Jubal shut up about it.

Still, at the mention of Luke's name, Hardy got a look on his face that was downright scary. Burch shuddered to think how much Hardy would probably enjoy it if he ever got Luke on that embalming table.

* * *

Ozzie Poole parked his rusty old pickup next to the supply shed, got out, and stretched lazily in the crisp autumn air. He was wearing his good overalls, clean and pressed, something he always did when there was a burying. He tried to look nice in case the family came back before the grave was filled in. Mr. Moon tried to get them to stay away till everything was covered and the flowers laid on top, but sometimes they hung around, and Ozzie didn't want folks to think he had no respect for the dead.