“I won’t. I promise.”
The photographer smiled and then hugged her. “Have babies and be happy,” she whispered fiercely in Caitlin’s ear. “There’s plenty of time for work.”
Jordan’s urgency sent a shock through her, but before she could analyze the feeling, Jordan hiked her camera bag higher on her shoulder and walked toward her car the way Caitlin had dreamed of walking since she was a girl. Like she’d been everywhere in the world at least twice and was on her way to one of the few places she hadn’t seen yet. But the truth was, Jordan had already been to Cuba. She’d flirted with Castro, for God’s sake. And what she wanted more than anything now was what Caitlin already had.
So why can’t I be content? Caitlin wondered.
Jordan didn’t look back as she drove out of the parking lot and turned onto 24, headed back toward Highway 61 South, the black Suburban on her tail.
Terry Foreman walked up to Caitlin and shook her head. “Those guys were pretty cool. Are we heading back now?”
Caitlin looked down at the multi-tool in her hand, wondering what kind of crazy jams it had gotten Jordan out of over the years.
“Caitlin?”
Caitlin looked up at Terry. Actually, she saw no reason to go home just yet. Natchez was filled with reporters, all working the same story, and all hunting for a lead like the one she had folded in her back pocket. Penn and John were still interrogating the jailed Double Eagles, trying to force a confession out of one of them, like stonecutters looking for a crack in the face of a rock. And worst of all, Tom was still missing.
But I still have the map, she thought.
Mose Tyler might have fled the area, but somewhere in Athens Point or Woodville had to be someone who knew the location of the Bone Tree. There were probably quite a few. Most would be white—ex-Klansmen or Double Eagles who’d been there for god-knows-what rituals that made widows out of wives. Those men would never show Caitlin where that tree was. But there must also be black men who knew the tree’s location, as Toby Rambin had claimed he had.
She just needed to find one of them.
“What’s that?” Terry asked, pointing at the multi-tool.
“Just something Jordan gave me to remember her.”
“Huh. Wow.”
Caitlin shoved the tool into the pocket of her jeans.
“Hey,” Terry said, sounding worried. “Don’t look now, but there’s a black guy staring at us. He’s creeping me out.”
“Where?”
“Behind you, at the gas pumps, gassing up a truck.”
“Let’s go in the café, then.”
“Shouldn’t we just head back to Natchez?”
“Not yet,” Caitlin said. “He might follow us down the road.”
Terry’s eyes widened. “God, you’re right.”
Caitlin wasn’t worried about any black guy following them to Natchez. She just wanted to buy some time to think. It would be abnormal if men gassing up their vehicles didn’t stare at two reasonably attractive young women standing outside a combination bait shop/café. She simply wasn’t ready to leave Athens Point yet. In fact, if she had an extra vehicle, she would send Terry back without her, then search for a reliable guide to take her back into the swamp.
“Order me a cheeseburger,” Caitlin said, nodding at the quick-service counter. “And get yourself something. I need to run to the bathroom.”
“Okay.”
Caitlin walked toward the restroom but didn’t go in. The dining area was a collection of booths with bright orange plastic seats and wood-topped tables. The smell of hot grease and onions permeated the air. Most people probably bought food from the counter, but there was a waitress who would come to your booth and take your order if you wanted to sit for a while. Three booths were occupied, all by groups of men. Two groups were black, one white. The black men were older and drank coffee as they pored over racing forms. The white men looked like truckers. She wondered what would happen if she approached one of the black men and struck up a conversation.
Jordan wouldn’t think twice about doing that, she thought, trying to work up her nerve.
CHAPTER 65
PEGGY HAD LAID out a platter of roast beef, cheese, lettuce, and tomatoes in the kitchen. She and Annie were making sandwiches for themselves and for Officer Ervin. The iron skillet crackled and popped with melted butter as Ervin’s grilled cheese crisped up. (He’d seen Kirk Boisseau’s earlier and decided he wanted to try one himself.) Annie had the den television tuned to the Baton Rouge station and turned up loud, so that she could hear any relevant news that might break in on regular programming. Earlier she’d heard on the Jackson, Mississippi, station that an interview with Caitlin would be broadcast on WJTV during tonight’s six o’clock report.
Peggy scooped the heavy grilled cheese out of the skillet with a spatula, then cut it in half and poured some potato chips onto the plate from a bag.
“You take that to Mr. Ervin,” she said.
As Annie disappeared through the back door, Kirk Boisseau entered the kitchen from the den and asked if there was any coffee.
“I can make you some,” Peggy offered. “Or I can offer you iced tea. I just made a pitcher.”
Kirk looked suspiciously at the pitcher by the kitchen window, then walked over to it and tapped its glass rim. “It’s not that syrupy sweet stuff like we drank when I was a kid, is it?”
Peggy laughed. “The kind you can pour over pancakes? No, these days even my tea has Sweet’N Low in it.”