“So that’s all he had to say?”
“That was it,” Ellsworth said, and she turned and went back into the house. Jesus, he didn’t know how much longer he could hide the truth about their son, or even why he still felt the need to do it. Each lie begat another, and the only purpose they served was to postpone the inevitable, because sooner or later it was all going to come out. He should have been straight with her from the beginning, told her that Eddie wasn’t in the military the same day he’d found out himself. Now, however, thanks to Sykes, telling her would be twice as hard. A public nuisance dumped out along the Ohio River with some old drunk who sounded a lot like Uncle Peanut! No, he couldn’t do it, not today anyway. Maybe tomorrow, he told himself, after breakfast. But then, just as Eula stepped out on the porch and handed him a piece of pie on a plate, he looked up to see a bird, the color of new snow, fly from one of the oak trees in the front yard. He watched in amazement as it headed east along the road toward Meade, the same route the constable had taken, and suddenly, for a short time anyway, all the little worries and doubts and fears that ruled his life melted away, seemed to take flight along with the bird. “Sit down,” he said to Eula. “There’s something I need to tell ye.”
65
WHEN LESTER WALLINGFORD explained to his father why they had Sugar locked up, the police chief made a sour face and said, “How much shit we talkin’ about?” His nervous system was giving him fits, as it always was immediately after returning from a trip to see his mistress in Washington Court House, a former queen of the Highland County Bell Festival who seemed determined to suck the very lifeblood out of him with her demands. Neither of his sons nor his wife knew about the affair, but he was finding it harder and harder to keep it that way.
Lester held his hand in the air. “Maybe yay high, that much around.”
“He from around here?”
“No, he claims he’s from Detroit, but I’d say he’s just a tramp from the looks of him.”
“No money then?”
“Only thing he had in his pockets was a razor and a couple of walnuts.”
“Mrs. Grady’s, huh?”
The son nodded. “She’s already called three times this morning. Wants him and Pollard both put in prison. She’s recommending five-year sentences, says she’ll get her brother-in-law to fix it up.” Mrs. Grady’s niece was married to a judge in Pickaway County, and she had used his influence several times to get her way when the law in Ross County seemed a bit reluctant to grant her wishes. Egbert Sterling, an amateur horticulturist who had beaten her out of first place for two consecutive years in the local flower show, was the latest victim of her wrath, and was now serving a six-month sentence for assault on a Pickaway County law clerk, even though the man had several witnesses testify at the trial that he was spreading lime in his garden at the time of the alleged attack. “She also told me to let you know that, from what she hears, Washington Court House is a regular Sodom and Gomorrah these days,” he said. “I think maybe she’s gone a little simple.”
“She said that?”
“Her exact words.”
Chief Wallingford sat down at his desk and swallowed a handful of aspirins, then poured a good inch of Sir Alistair’s Stomach Soother into a cup of coffee. He thought for a minute, not so much about Mrs. Grady, but about something his mistress had said that morning, about how if he didn’t leave his wife, she was going to make things rough on him. After he had moved heaven and earth to cover her worthless baby brother’s gambling debts! His only option was to go out to the Whore Barn tomorrow, see if he could squeeze a little bit more out of the pimp. A piece of jewelry would keep her happy for a couple more weeks anyway, maybe even longer if it was gaudy enough. Why had he ever gotten involved with the highfalutin bitch in the first place? He’d known as soon as he slipped his cock into her that he was doomed. It had always been his nature to feel a bit depressed after he got his gun off, but with Marjorie Flagstaff, he’d actually heard a death knell ring in his head the moment he’d rolled off of her. And now the old bitch Grady had found out. Goddamn it to hell. He’d be at her beck and call every minute of every day for who knew how long.
“Dad?” Lester said.
“Yeah, yeah,” Wallingford said. “Take a wheelbarrow and a shovel down there and have him clean her yard up, then turn him loose.”
“What about Mrs. Grady? She’s gonna—”
“Jesus, Lester, I can’t keep a man in jail just because she’s got a bug up her ass.”
“Well, where do you want me to have him put it?”
“Goddamn it, boy, I don’t know. Have him dump it in the creek.”
“The creek? Hell, I eat fish out of there.”
“So? Won’t be no worse than what the paper mill puts in it. And you keep an eye on him until he’s finished, too, unless you want to do it.”