“I apologize for our son,” said Tally Ames, and her voice broke again as the mention of one son seemed to renew her grief for the one so newly dead. “He’s—We’re—”
“I understand,” I told her, even though I didn’t. Unless it was because I was the one who found his brother’s body, so let’s kill the messenger?
“We do appreciate your offer of help, though,” said her husband. He put his arm around Tally’s shoulders to guide her toward the tent with picnic tables. “Come on and sit down, Tal. Kay’s getting you something to drink.”
As I started to walk away, Dwight called to me. He was holding out that stupid stuffed Dalmatian. “Sylvia forgot her dog. Could you stick this in my truck for me on your way out?”
“You sure you don’t want to forget it yourself?” I was only half joking.
“And find myself in the doghouse tomorrow? Not hardly. Course, if you don’t want to be bothered—”
“Don’t be silly,” I said. “Hand it over.”
With the thing hoisted on my shoulder, I walked on down to the main gate. The patrol cars and emergency vehicles had effectively closed the carnival for this night. Most of the gaming concessions were shuttered tight and looked shabby and forlorn with but a scattering of unflattering security lights to illuminate their gaudy fronts. Deputy Mayleen Richards had rigged herself a flat surface for her laptop and was typing in names and addresses so efficiently that only a few people were still in line when I got there, and the line moved briskly.
She smiled at the dog on my shoulder. “Oh, hey, Judge. I see you got lucky.”
“Not me, your boss.”
As she entered my name and numbers on the glowing screen, I made my voice casual. “Many of my relatives here tonight?”
Her sturdy fingers manipulated the keyboard and the list she’d compiled obligingly sorted itself in alphabetical order. Haywood and Herman and their wives had been there along with Robert and Doris and some of their grandchildren. Several of my nieces’ and nephews’ names were starred like mine to indicate they’d played the Dozer. As I’d feared, Stevie’s name wasn’t there at all, which made it a safe bet that Eric Holt’s wasn’t either. I made a mental note to look into it, but not tonight.
“You wouldn’t happen to know where Dwight parked his truck, would you?”
Mayleen stood and shaded her eyes against the bright headlights of cars and trucks streaming from the parking area. There were still quite a few vehicles back there in the darkness and more than hall were pickups.
“Is that it down yonder towards the end?” she asked, pointing in what was also the general direction of my own car.
Shifting Mr. Dot to my other shoulder, I told Mayleen goodnight and headed across the gravel and grass lot. Dwight’s truck was there all right, but both doors were locked. I considered slinging the dog in the back to let it take its chances, but I know that enough of my fellow citizens would think this ridiculous object was something worth stealing, so I lugged it on over to my car and crammed it in the front seat, where it sat looking through the windshield as I fastened a seat belt around its bulk.
I wondered what Blue and Ladybelle would think if they caught sight of a dog like this in my car. Those two hounds belong to my daddy, but they like to lope across the fields and visit me, and they’re always trying to hitch a ride in my car if I start to leave while they’re there.
My brothers keep offering to get me a dog of my own even though I don’t want to bother with one just yet.
“You need you a good loud barker,” says Haywood.
“Protection,” says Herman.
“After all,” says Will, “you are living out there all by your lonesome.”
I should be so lucky
My so-called lonesome is only an illusion of isolation and nothing more. Daddy cut me off a few acres of the farm when I built out there, and while my plat’s surrounded by fields bordered in trees and brush so that no other house is visible, I wouldn’t have to yell loud to have half my family there in a heartbeat. The farm is criss-crossed by tractor lanes and somebody’s always passing by my place at any hour of the day and night, either one of the boys or one of their children.
Whichever, there are so many watchful eyes that only complete strangers or total fools would risk coming onto Knott land with evil in their hearts.
The lights of Dobbs dimmed in my rearview mirror as I drove westward under the three-quarter moon. I knew my surface thoughts of dogs and busybody brothers were just a stalling effort to keep my mind from playing an endless loop of that young man crumpled on the floor of the Dozer, his face like raw steak, those bloody quarters spilling from his mouth.
Blood money?
Money to keep his mouth shut?
Surely his killer intended some sort of symbolic statement with that grisly touch?
And why had his brother been so hostile? At the Pot O’Gold, even before I found Braz’s body, he hadn’t taken my outstretched hand when his mother introduced us. I’d ruled in favor of Ames Amusement Corporation and had put a judgment on those vandals that would repay any monetary loss they’d suffered. Was he mad because I hadn’t sent them to jail instead?
Or was he simply acting out some sort of adolescent angst with his parents and it wasn’t about me at all? And for that matter, why wasn’t that boy in school instead of traveling with a carnival?
“
