“This can’t be good,” she said.
“No. Look, we need some help tonight. Verna’s dead on her feet. I’m not much better. Pippin is at full throttle and the whole house is wired. We gotta get some sleep. Verna doesn’t want my mother over here and I don’t want hers. How about a big favor?”
“Sure. I’m on the way.”
It was the third time since the newborn’s arrival that Lacy had been called in for midnight duty. She had kept the four kids on several occasions so Hugo and Verna could enjoy a quiet dinner, but only twice had she slept over. She dressed quickly in jeans and a T-shirt and left Frankie at the door, obviously confused. She hurried through the empty streets to the Meadows and arrived at the Hatch home twenty minutes after the phone call. Verna met her at the door, with Pippin, who was quiet for the moment. “It’s got to be a stomachache,” she whispered. “She’s been to the doctor three times this week. Kid just can’t seem to sleep.”
“Where are the bottles?” Lacy asked, gingerly taking the baby from her mother.
“On the coffee table. The house is a wreck. I’m so sorry.” Her lip quivered and her eyes watered.
“Come on, Verna, it’s me. Go to bed and get some sleep. Things will be better in the morning.”
Verna pecked her on the cheek and said, “Thank you.” She disappeared into the hallway. Lacy heard a door close quietly. She squeezed Pippin and began walking back and forth across the cluttered den, humming gently and patting her on the rear. Everything was quiet but the lull didn’t last. When she erupted again, Lacy stuck a bottle in her mouth and settled into a rocking chair, cooing at her nonstop until she finally drifted away. Half an hour later, with the baby in a deep sleep, Lacy placed her in a portable rocking crib and turned on the switch for a quiet lullaby. Pippin frowned and fidgeted a bit, and for a moment seemed ready for another round of noise, but then relaxed and continued her nap.
After some time, Lacy left the baby and tiptoed into the kitchen, where she turned on the overhead light and was startled at the chaos. The sink was filled with dirty dishes. The counters were covered with pots and pans and food that needed to be put away. The table was strewn with empty snack boxes, backpacks, and even unfolded laundry. The kitchen needed a good scrubbing, but a proper job would be too noisy. She decided to wait until daybreak when the family was stirring. She turned off the kitchen light and, in one of those delightful moments that she could share with no one, smiled and thanked her good fortune at being single and so wonderfully unburdened.
She made a nest on the sofa near the baby and eventually fell asleep. Pippin awoke hungry and angry at 3:15, but a bottle thrust firmly into her mouth did the trick. Lacy changed her diaper, cooed and cajoled her into another nap, and slept until almost 6:00.
8
Wilton Mace lived in a redbrick split-level on a gravel road two miles from the casino. On the phone he’d been reluctant to talk and said he would have to check with his brother. He called Hugo back the following day and agreed to a meeting. He was waiting in a lawn chair under a tree by the carport, swatting flies and drinking iced tea. The day was cloudy and not as hot. He offered Lacy and Hugo sweet tea to drink and they declined. He pointed to two other folding chairs and they sat down. A toddler in a diaper was playing in a plastic wading pool in the backyard, under the watchful eye of its grandmother.
Wilton was three years younger than Junior and could almost pass for his identical twin. Dark skin, even darker eyes, long gray hair, almost to his shoulders. He spoke with a deep voice and, like Junior, seemed to weigh every syllable.
“Is that your grandson?” Lacy asked, trying to break the ice because Wilton showed no interest in doing so.
“Granddaughter, the first one. That’s my wife, Nell.”
“We met with Junior last week at Starke,” Hugo said.
“Thank you for going to see him. I make the trip twice a month and I know it’s not the best way to spend the day. Junior has been forgotten by his people, and that’s tough on a man, especially one as proud as Junior.”
“He said that most Tappacola believe he killed his wife and Son Razko,” Lacy said.
He nodded for a long time, then said, “That’s true. It’s a good story, easy to repeat, easy to believe. He caught ’em in bed and shot ’em.”
“Can we assume you’ve talked to him since we were there?” Hugo asked.
“I called him yesterday. He gets twenty minutes a day on the phone. He told me what you’re up to.”