painful inch. Whimpering. But the three old coots who always planted themselves out in front, to chew the fat, curse the weather, and hope for gossip, were in position. Straw hats covered grizzled heads, wind-burned cheeks were puffed out with chaws, and faded cotton shirts had gone limp with sweat.
'Hey there, Tucker.'
'Mr. Bonny.' He nodded to the first man, as was proper, seeing that Claude Bonny was the eldest of the group. All three had lived off social security for more than a decade and had staked out the awning-shaded sidewalk in front of the rooming house as their retirement heaven. 'Mr. Koons. Mr. O'Hara.'
Pete Koons, toothless since his forties and no fan of dentures, spat through his gums into the tin bucket his grandniece provided. 'Boy, looks like you ran into a mean woman or a jealous husband.'
Tucker managed a grin. There were few secrets in town, and a smart man chose his wisely. 'Nope. A pissed-off papa.'
Charlie O'Hara gave a wheezy chuckle. His emphysema wasn't getting any better, and he figured he'd die of it before another summer came, so he appreciated all of life's little jokes. 'That Austin Hatinger?' When Tucker jerked his head to the side in acknowledgment, O'Hara wheezed again. 'Bad apple. Once saw him whale into Toby March-'course Toby was a black boy, so nobody paid much mind. Must've been in sixty-nine. Stove in Toby's ribs and scarred his face.'
'Sixty-eight,' Bonny corrected his crony, because accuracy was important in such matters. 'That was the summer we got the new tractor, so I remember. Austin said Toby'd stole a length of rope outta his shed. But that was nonsense. Toby was a good boy and never took nothing wasn't his. He come to work out on the farm with me after his ribs healed. Never had a bit of trouble outta him.'
'Austin's a mean one.' Koons spat again, either from need or to emphasize his point. 'Went to Korea mean and came back meaner. Never did forgive your mama for marrying up when he was over there fighting slant eyes. Had his mind set on Miss Madeline, though Christ knows she never looked at him twice when he was smack in front of her.' He grinned toothlessly. 'You taking him on as a daddy-in-law, Tuck?'
'Not in this life. Y'all don't work too hard now.'
They chuckled and wheezed appreciatively as he made the turn and pushed open Burke's door.
The sheriffs office was a steamy box of a room holding a metal army surplus desk, two swivel chairs, a scarred wooden rocker, a gun cabinet for which Burke held the keys on the heavy chain at his belt, and a shiny new Mr. Coffee, a gift from Burke's wife at Christmas. The wood floor was scattered with hard little dots of white paint from the last time the walls had been done.
Beyond the office was a closet-sized John and through the John a narrow storage room with metal shelves and just enough room for a fold-up cot. This was used if Burke or his deputy needed to watch a prisoner overnight. More often it was used if either man found himself in the domestic doghouse and needed to give his spouse a night to cool off.
Tucker had always wondered how Burke, the son of a once-prosperous planter, could be happy here, making his living processing traffic tickets, breaking up the occasional brawl, and watching out for drunks.
But Burke seemed content enough, just as he seemed content to be married for nearly seventeen years to the girl he'd gotten pregnant while they were both still in high school. He wore his badge easily and was affable enough to remain popular in Innocence, where people didn't like to be told what they couldn't do.
Tucker found him huddled over his desk, frowning over files while the ceiling fan stirred stale smoke and hot air overhead.
'Burke.'
'Hey, Tuck. What're you…'He trailed off as he took in Tucker's swollen face. 'Holy hell, boy, what did you run into?'
Tucker grimaced, the movement costing him no little discomfort. 'Austin's fists.'
Burke grinned. 'How'd he look?'
'Delia says worse. I was too busy holding my insides where they belonged to notice.'
'She probably didn't want to hurt your feelings.'
Knowing the truth of that, Tuck eased himself down on the frayed seat of the swivel chair. 'Probably. Still, I don't think all the blood on my shirt was mine. Hope not.'
'Edda Lou?'
'Yeah.' Tucker poked gentle fingers under his sunglasses to probe his bruised eye socket. 'Way he sees it, I debauched a lily-white virgin who'd never seen a dick before.'
'Shit.'
'There you go.' Tucker caught himself before he made the mistake of shrugging. 'Thing is, she's twenty-five, and I slept with her, not her old man.'
'Happy to hear that.'
Tucker's quick grin pulled at his puffy lip. 'Edda Lou's ma must close her eyes and pray to Jesus every time he takes a poke at her.' Then he sobered, the image of Austin pounding it to his frail-boned, miserable-eyed wife too disturbing to dwell on. 'Thing is, Burke, I want to do what's right.' He blew out a breath, realizing there was more than one reason he'd come into town. This was the opening for the first one. 'Things worked out for you and Susie.'
'Yeah.' Burke drew out a pack of Chesterfield s, took one, then tossed the pack across the desk for Tucker. 'We were too young and stupid to think they wouldn't.' He watched as Tucker broke off a fraction of the tip. 'And I loved her. Flat out loved her then. Still do.' He flipped his matches to Tucker. 'It hasn't been easy, with Marvella coming along before graduation, our having to live with my folks for two years before we could afford our own place. Then Susie pregnant again with Tommy.' Blowing out smoke, he shook his head. 'Three babies in five years.'
'You could have kept your fly zipped.'
Burke grinned. 'So could you.'
'Yeah.' Tucker blew smoke between his teeth. 'Well, it comes to this. I don't love Edda Lou, flat out or any other way, but I've got a responsibility. I can't marry her, Burke. Can't do it.'
Burke tapped his ash into a metal ashtray that had once been blue and was now the color of smut. 'I gotta say you'd be a fool if you did.' He cleared his throat before venturing onto boggy ground. 'Susie tells me that Edda's been bragging for weeks about how she's going to be living up in the big house with servants. Susie said she never paid it much mind, but some of the others did. Sounds to me like that girl was set on life at Sweetwater.'
It was both a blow to his pride and a great relief. So it had never been him, Tucker realized. It had been the Longstreet name. But she must have figured that would get back to him sooner or later.
'I came in to tell you I haven't been able to get hold of her since that day in the diner. Austin came down on me, figuring I was hiding her there at the house. She been around town?'
Slowly, Burke crushed out his cigarette. 'I can't say as I've seen her myself for a day or two.'
'Probably with a girlfriend.' The idea settled him. 'Thing is, Burke, ever since we found Francie…'
'Yeah.' Burke felt a twang inside his gut.
'You got anything on that-or Arnette?'
'Nothing.' The failure had heat rising up his neck. 'County sheriff's mostly in charge. I've been working with the medical examiner, and the state boys have helped, but there's nothing solid. Some woman was sliced up in Nashville last month. If they can find a connection, we'll call in the FBI.'
'No shit?'
Burke merely nodded. He didn't like the idea of federal officers in his town, taking over his job, looking at him out of the corner of their city eyes and thinking he was a rube who couldn't lock up a passed-out drunk.
'It was remembering Francie that had me worrying,' Tucker continued.
'I'll ask around.' He rose, wanting to do so quickly. 'Like you said, she's probably staying with a girlfriend for a few days, thinking that'll sweat you into a proposal.'
'Yeah.' Relieved that he'd passed his burden onto Burke, Tucker stood and limped to the door. 'You'll let me know.'
'First thing.' Burke walked out with him, took a long slow look at his town. Where he'd been born and raised, where his children raced the streets and his wife shopped. Where he could raise a finger in salute to anyone and be recognized and acknowledged.
