Between the Lies Page 6

  Hick set his cup down. “Brewster, I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. I don’t know any lawyers, and when I spoke with Enos Burton this morning, he insisted his boy was pleading guilty come Wednesday.”

  It was clear Brewster didn’t believe him. He bent close enough that Hick could smell the tobacco and black coffee on his breath. “Listen, Blackburn, and listen close. I don’t want to hear about you coming over to Broken Creek again. I got ways of dealing with cops who don’t know how the game is played, and you’ve been asking for a lesson for a long time. I’ll be glad to show you how things are done in Broken Creek next time you come to town.”

  Hick held Brewster’s eyes. “Sheriff, Broken Creek’s not your kingdom, and I will come and go as I please. I ain’t interfering in any ‘investigation’ you might be conducting, and I’ll be damned if I let you tell me what I can and cannot do. If everything is as neat and tidy as you say it is, then go on home and stop worrying. If you got something to hide, then it’s the lawyer you’d best worry about, not me.”

  Brewster bent over and reached toward Hick, menace written on his heavy, reddened features. Hick forced himself not to flinch, but before he realized what was happening, Adam was on his feet with a fistful of collar in his grip. He pulled Brewster toward him and growled in the man’s ear. “You’re gonna need a lawyer of your own if you lay a finger on Sheriff Blackburn.”

  Brewster pushed Adam aside, stepped back, straightened his hat, and pointed at Hick. “Consider this a professional courtesy call. Stay out of Broken Creek. I wouldn’t want your health to suffer.”

  As Brewster stomped toward the diner door, Adam slid back into the booth and dug into his breakfast with a vengeance. Before Hick could so much as utter thank you, Wayne Murphy loomed over the table.

  “Want to tell me what that was all about?”

  “Just a professional disagreement,” Hick said, waving the question away with his coffee cup. The last thing he or Adam wanted was Wayne Murphy hounding them for a sensational headline.

  “Disagreement?” Murphy cast a skeptical eye at Adam. “Pretty heated one, if you ask me.”

  “Well nobody asked you,” Adam said, shoveling a fork full of eggs into his mouth.

  Wayne Murphy’s eyes gleamed like a kid with a secret. “Yeah, ol’ Brewster’s got trouble in Broken Creek, and there ain’t nobody denying it.”

  “What do you mean?” Hick asked.

  “Oh, nothing,” Wayne smiled. “Nothing more than a professional disagreement, I figure.”

  Hick glanced at Adam across the table. Adam rolled his eyes and turned back to Wayne. “Out with it, Murphy.”

  Unable to contain himself, Murphy sat down and Hick reluctantly scooted over to make room for him. “Word is that kid Brewster locked up got a lawyer to come advise him. And not just any lawyer. One from some fancy firm in New York.”

  Adam put his fork down. “New York? How’d he manage that?”

  “It’s a mystery. Nobody knows where she came from or how she found out about the case.”

  “How do you know all this?” Hick asked.

  Murphy puffed up. “I’ve got sources. Don’t forget, the newspaper in Broken Creek is right across the street from the police station. Just like here.”

  “What else did you hear?” Adam asked.

  Murphy clearly relished the idea that he had information Hick and Adam wanted. It was also clear, he was unable to keep it to himself. “Word is a hired car pulled up in front of the station. An attractive, young woman in a suit exited the car, entered the station, and left a little later with Thad Burton in tow. Brewster was out the door minutes later and, judging by the time all this happened, apparently came straight to Cherokee Crossing to pay you a visit.”

  “How do you know the woman was a lawyer?” Adam asked.

  “’Cause Royal Adkins told Butch Simmons, the reporter in Broken Creek, and he called me lickety split. Royal says this woman barged in the station and cowed ol’ Brewster. Last thing on earth Brewster expected was a big city lawyer showing up at his door first thing Sunday morning. She told him she didn’t think his probable cause for bringing in Thad was worth a hill of beans and that if he didn’t release him to her she’d get a friend to go over to Randolph County and get a writ of habeas corpus. Said it was unacceptable to leave a minor behind bars because the judge was too damn lazy to shorten his vacation. Said Broken Creek was violating Thad’s constitutional rights, and after an hour or so of that, Brewster was glad to turn the kid over to her. He told her to take the brat and go … only to be sure Thad stayed with his father and it was on the lawyer to see to it he was at the courthouse first thing Wednesday morning for his hearing.” Wayne made a great show of looking at his watch. “And as soon as she left, he got in his car and then he showed up here, like clockwork. I think he’s made up his mind that you were the one who called her.”

  “Where are the lawyer and Thad Burton now?” Hick was already itching to go see what the hell was going on.

  Murphy shrugged. “Don’t know that. I assume she took him home to his daddy.”

  A phone rang in the back of the diner and Bud called out, “Sheriff, operator says you got a call.”

  Since the retirement of Deputy Wash Metcalfe, the operator had learned to track Hick and Adam, everywhere from the diner to the doctor’s office.

  “Who is it?” Hick asked.

  “Somebody named Carol Quinn. Says she’s a lawyer.”

  Adam and Hick exchanged a surprised glance and Hick rose to answer the call. “Don’t forget,” Murphy said as he slid to let Hick out of the booth. “I helped you with this one.” Murphy grabbed Hick’s arm. “You owe me.”

  “I’ll let you know if I find anything out,” Hick said and went to the back of the diner.

  “Sheriff Blackburn,” Hick said into the receiver.

  “Sheriff? My name is Carol Quinn, and I’m an attorney advising Thaddeus Burton. I wonder if you could meet with me somewhere. I have some questions I’d like to ask you.”

  “Can you come here, to Cherokee Crossing?” Hick asked. “I’m not welcome in Broken Creek at the moment.”

  “I’ll be there in an hour.” The line went dead.

  9

  Sunday, July 18, 1954

  Hick stood at the window of the station sipping his third cup of coffee and watching for the lawyer. He ran a finger over the film of dust that had settled on the venetian blind, then rubbed his fingers together and watched it float feather-like to the floor. The sound of gravel crunching drew his eyes back to the street and he watched a shiny, black Oldsmobile pull up in front of the station.

  A young woman exited the vehicle, smoothed her skirt, and walked toward the door. She entered the station and marched straight toward Adam’s desk. “Sheriff?”

  Adam nodded in Hick’s direction. “That’s the sheriff.”

  She turned and let slip a surprised “Oh!”

  Hick was used to it as most strangers to town still thought he was too young to be sheriff. He walked toward her and held out his hand. “Sheriff Hick Blackburn.”

  She leveled a business-like gaze at him and took his hand with a grip meant to impress. “How do you do? My name is Carol Quinn.”

  “A pleasure,” Hick said with a nod toward the small side chair at his desk. Carol Quinn was not what he expected when Murphy had said a New York lawyer was on the case. Young, attractive, and dressed in a trim, dark gray woolen suit, she seemed to be trying very hard to be the big city lawyer small town folks would expect. She sat in the offered chair, removed her hat and gloves, and fluffed her blonde, short hair.

  He took a seat behind his desk and met her gaze. “What can I do for you, Miss Quinn?”

  She crossed one ankle over the other and placed her hat and handbag on the edge of his desk. “I understand you’ve been checking on Thaddeus Burton’s case. I wondered if you could tell me what you found.”

  “I haven’t found much,” Hick said. “All I can tell you is th
at Thad didn’t run over that man. I examined the truck and he could no more drive that thing than I could move a boulder by blowing on it.”

  “You have no suspects?”

  “Suspects?” Hick leaned forward and crossed his hands. “Ma’am, that’s not my jurisdiction. I couldn’t arrest anyone, and I have no power, no right, to even question anybody.”

  Carol rolled her eyes. “Just as I thought. You people always cover for each other.”

  “You people?”

  “Cops, you cops. You always look out for each other, make sure nobody gets in trouble no matter how illegally or brutally you act.”

  Adam slapped his hands on his desk and sat forward. “Now see here, Miss Whoeveryouare—” Hick held up his hand to quiet Adam, but kept his eyes trained on Miss Quinn.

  “Earl Brewster’s a son of a bitch. I wouldn’t do a damned thing to help him, so you best get that thought out of your head real quick. Brewster’s the kind of man that makes this job tough for anyone who wants to do right. I’ve had plenty of run-ins with him, and believe me, I wouldn’t cross the street to help that bastard.”

  Carol Quinn looked from Hick to Adam. “Pardon me if I’m a bit skeptical. I just spent more than an hour trying to make sense of why that fat bastard thinks Thad was involved with this in the first place. I couldn’t get anything he said to make sense.” She shook her head. “The man appears to be an unscrupulous, despicable human being, but I have no idea if you’re being honest with me. It’s hard to tell down here.”

  “And what the hell is that supposed to mean?” Hick made no effort to hide the edge in his voice.

  “It means down here,” she snapped. “Where Jim Crow is the law of the land and half of you can’t read. It means here in the sticks where stupidity and illiteracy reign supreme.”

  Hick rose to his feet and looked down at her. “Regardless of your misguided opinions, I will ask you now to kindly leave. You may not understand or like us, but at least we know how to behave respectfully.”

  Carol put her hat on with an angry gesture. “I should have known better than to think I’d get any help here. But that priest … he told me to come. For some reason, he seems to have a high opinion of you.”

  Hick thought of the fear in Thad’s eyes when he peered out from his cell, and decided to try to keep his exasperation in check. “Where’s Thad now?”

  “He’s home with his daddy, but I’m staying at a motel close by. His father is intent on a guilty plea. I tried to explain to him that Thad has a right to a trial by jury but his mind is made up. I plan to stay around until Wednesday and do my best to inform the family of their rights, but they don’t seem to want to listen.” She pulled on her gloves with a jerk. “The stupidity of it all baffles the mind.”

  “Perhaps, if you’d take the time to understand people, rather than running roughshod over them, you’d be at bit less baffled and a bit more sympathetic.”

  “You’re very opinionated, aren’t you?” she asked, with her head cocked.

  “I deal with people at their worst moments day in and day out. I’ve seen enough hurt and pain to last a lifetime and something tells me that you, with your high northern ideals and your shiny black car, have no idea what it’s like to feel true pain.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “You have no idea what I deal with day in and day out. How dare you preach at me, you … you … stupid hillbilly.”

  Hick kept his temper in check and his voice flat. “Good luck trying to piece this thing together on your own.” He turned back to his desk and didn’t look up when the station door slammed shut.

  “Well, she’s pleasant,” Adam said.

  Hick laughed. “Yeah, and Brewster deserves her. Let’s go ahead and look into things like we planned. Can’t see as she’ll be much help so there’s no need to fill her in.” He rose again and stretched. “I best be getting home. Maggie’s probably wondering where I am.”

  “I’ll call if anything happens, although it seems we’ve met our quota of daily excitement already.”

  “And then some,” Hick agreed, with a wry smile.

  Hick was unfazed by his meeting with the high and mighty Miss Carol Quinn of New York City. He had seen enough Carol Quinns in the army, people who thought they knew everything, people with a false sense of superiority, a perceived advantage over the ways and beliefs of the rural south. Her pert opinions and flat-out rudeness were nothing he hadn’t experienced before, and he wasn’t about to waste his time trying to change her mind.

  As he turned in and followed the two dirt lines in the side yard that served as a driveway, he spied his sons seated on the porch. Their legs were straddled, their heads down, eating watermelon and letting the sticky, red juice drip down their hands to their wrists and then onto the ground between their feet.

  At the sound of the car, their faces popped up and the watermelon was cast aside. They ran to Hick and pressed their dirty cheeks against the legs of his trousers. He rubbed the top of their heads and asked, “What did you learn in Sunday School today?”

  “Jake slept,” Jimmy said with a serious face. “But he’s just a baby.” At five, Jimmy would soon be entering school and felt the importance of paying attention in a classroom. “I learned that we should forgive a lot. It was more than seven times, but I don’t remember the exact number.”

  Hick looked down at him with an affectionate smile. “I don’t reckon the number is that important,”

  The front door swung opened and Maggie came out onto the porch, still dressed in her Sunday best, one hand resting on her swollen abdomen. Her long, dark hair was pulled back because of the heat, and her eyes brightened when she saw Hick. There were times when his feelings for Maggie overwhelmed him, nearly choking him with emotion. This was one of them. He hopped onto the porch, wrapped his arms around her, and kissed the top of her head.

  “Good morning,” she said, playfully removing his hat and kissing him. “You get any sleep?”

  “Not yet. Maybe I’ll try and take a nap this afternoon before I go back to work tonight.”

  “Your sister, your mom, and all the boys are coming for dinner, remember. If you want a nap, you’d best get one now before the house explodes.”

  “I’d forgotten,” Hick admitted as he held the door open for Maggie. He usually looked forward to Sunday dinners with his large, extended family, but this pregnancy was taking a toll on Maggie, and he’d tried to discourage her from hosting the regular get togethers. “It’s an awful lot of work for you,” he said, with a worried frown. “I’m sorry I haven’t been much help.”

  “Don’t be.” Maggie hung his hat on a hook. “Just get some rest. They won’t be here for a couple of hours.”

  “What about you?”

  “I’m going to put my feet up and peel some potatoes. Mourning is on her way, and your sister volunteered to do most of the cooking.”

  “Are you sure there’s not something I can do?”

  “Yes, there is.” She took him by the shoulders, turned him toward the bedroom, and gave him a gentle push. “Get some sleep.”

  With his bed before him, he realized how tired he was. It had been over twenty-four hours since he’d closed his eyes, and exhaustion pressed on him as he sat and removed his shoes. Even though it wasn’t even noon, the heat in the room was oppressive. He stripped off his uniform and threw it toward the hamper, climbing on top of the bedspread in his t-shirt and underwear. He was so tired, sleep overcame him before he pulled the pillow under his head.

  Suddenly, his eyes popped open. His heart pounded. His forehead was beaded with sweat. There it was again. A sound, not exactly like a shot, but close enough that it caused the blood to surge through his veins. The sound of laughter and muffled voices followed the noise and he woke enough to realize it was his nephews. He turned over and tried to catch his breath. Sounds and smells still had a way of grabbing hold of him, even after all these years. He’d be right back on the battlefield, and the stress and tension of the choices he’d made would w
ash over him. In those moments, it took all his self-control to stay calm.

  He lay in bed another moment, but his legs longed to be moving, so he sat up, hands shaking, and reached for the pack of cigarettes on the dresser. But then he stopped. Maggie didn’t like him smoking in the house anymore. He stood, ran his fingers through his sweaty hair, and then pulled on a pair of trousers and a checkered shirt. Opening the bedroom door, the breeze from the windows in front of the house washed over him, cooling his damp forehead. He took a deep breath, and headed for the kitchen where he found Maggie mashing potatoes at the table, while his mother sat drinking iced tea. Mourning and Pam were busy frying chicken in a cast iron skillet.

  “Hello Andrew,” his mother said, her face lighting up when she saw him. Elsie Blackburn was the only person on earth who still called Hick, “Andrew.” Andrew Jackson Blackburn was a family name, a remembrance of some distant relative who fought with Andrew Jackson way back in 1812. Even when he was a child, his mother was the only one who called him “Andrew.” He was “Andy” at school until the class learned about Andrew Jackson, or “old Hickory.” Hickory had, at last, been shortened to Hick, but his mother could never bring herself to call him that.

  He crossed the room and kissed her aged cheek. It saddened him to see how small and delicate she had become. His father’s death haunted her, but it was his mother who was the ghost. It was as if some artist was erasing her before his eyes. The lines of her eyes, face, and even her body becoming faint, less distinct with each passing day.

  Pam looked up from the chicken she was frying. “Get a good nap?” Hick had always been close to his sister in spite of an eight-year age difference. Pam mothered him when he was little, and when he had returned home from Europe a changed man, she worried over him. In fact, she was the reason Hick had applied to the sheriff’s department in the first place. She figured that Adam, already a long-time deputy, could keep watch over her little brother and help guide him on a career that would keep his mind occupied on the here and now, instead of drifting back to the unspoken things that haunted him from the war.