CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Turning east on 50, Shelby crossed the railroad tracks. She would go to Chere’s, and she would go to SOUTHERN ROCK. She passed by Bub’s. No one to be seen. She flipped on the radio and spent the last few miles humming softly to a Chopin Etude and refocusing her mind until she drove into Cheval Ranch. The yard was deserted, not a single vehicle or person or even cat within her view as she angled down the entrance road. Through the canopy of trees, pinholes of light shot sporadic punctures on the lawn and blue-gray blobs of Spanish moss lay strewn about—surreal discarded wigs. The property had an entirely different feel from just the last time she was here, like a landscape sprayed with poison where everything has died. She moved on by the house and saw no sign of cars or Mrs. Hamer, either here or in her yard. She paused in front where everything—the door, the windows, and the porch—had begun to look a little seedy. The curtains hung in disarray and were not completely closed and a pot of red impatiens had spilled its contents down the steps.

Shelby drove around the house and toward the barn where she parked before the entrance and got out. Still silence. No one in sight. She walked through the open barn door toward the rear. Well in the distance, she saw the group of horses grazing, and as she emerged out back, she saw Mercy Gaines, sitting on the tail gate of a faded yellow pickup, drinking a Dr. Pepper. The scruffy hound was laid out beneath the truck, his back against a tire. Mercy was dressed in jeans and sneakers with a plain white sleeveless tee shirt. As she approached, she saw his upper arms were huge, his muscles gleaming in the sun like melting chocolate. He turned to look at her but didn’t move.

“Mercy, is it? How are you?”

He took another swig of soft drink and answered, “If you’re lookin’ for my Daddy, he went to town with Cash. Won’t be back till afternoon.” His voice was low and resonant. He didn’t sound especially friendly, but he wasn’t hostile either.
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“Well, I’m not looking for anyone particularly. Your father may have told you, I’m invest— looking at the death of Claude Collette.”

“You a cop or somethin’?” Mercy polished off his soda and turned his eyes toward her without changing the angle of his head.

“No. A Psychologist. From Brunell.”

He jerked back and laughed a little snorting laugh. “Makes sense.”

“May I ask you what you mean?”

“Things as happen here.”

“How are things around here?”

Mercy shook his head. “They goin’ south.”

“How?”

“That’s not for me to say.” He stood and stretched up to his towering height, aimed the empty soda can toward a rusted metal drum beside the barn, and sunk it. She couldn’t help but stare at him.

“Mercy, I’m not asking you to stick your neck out. If I give you my word not to quote you, could you tell me how you see the situation?”

He continued not to look at her and, stepping very slowly in an ever-tightening circle near the truck, kicked imaginary objects from his path. He stopped and, pursing up his lips, said, “Well, for one, they ain’t been givin’ us our time.” He stole a peek at her, then looked back at his feet. “Used to fill in off times workin’ on his rentals. Mr. Claude. That ain’t happenin’ any more. I ain’t makin’ any money much at all. Cash ain’t either. Pop, he’s near retirin’, so he don’t mind so much.”

“How was it when he was still alive? Mr. Collette? Did you like him?”

“He’s good enough. Treat us better ‘n mos’. My Daddy always said that’s ‘cause he’s French.” Mercy cracked a little smile, his large, impressive body now relaxing as though he'd begun to trust her. Or trusted himself. He sat back on the truck. “Knew how to run his bi’ness.”

“So the ranch just isn’t run well now. Is that how you see it?”

He looked directly at her, brown eyes snapping sharply, and said, “It ain’t run at all.”

“What about Chere? Isn’t she in charge of things?” Shelby moved forward to the pickup and leaned against the side.

He snorted again and laughed, “She ain’t got time for that.”

“Why not?”

“Tied up in her games.”

“Games?”

“Men games.” He glanced at Shelby knowingly.

Though she was extremely curious, she looked at him intently as she tried to figure how to keep the conversation going.

He went on. “She be comin’ after me if I’s dumb enough to let her. But I know a pack of trouble when I see it.”

“What men, Mercy? You mean her husband, Dar?”

“Well, he’s been around. But I don’t know for sure what chance he stands. He’s the fall-back man is how I see it.”
“Who else is she involved with?”

Mercy stood, face veiling once again. “Can’t say no more. I said too much already.”

“Mercy, I’m just trying to find the truth. And that’s real important. I promise you I’ll keep my word. What you tell me helps me focus where to look.”

Looking down, he moved from one foot to the other. “Yes, Ma’am. But I got work to do right now. I got to go.” He began to edge away.

Well, ....” She tried to think of something new to lure him into talking but couldn’t. “Thank you. I appreciate your time.”

He threw his hand up in the air and moved toward the open field. She didn’t know where he was going, and she guessed he didn’t either, but he seemed to need to get away.

Shelby stood and watched him go, then walked back through the dusky barn. Pausing outside the entrance, she looked around, still seeing no one on the grounds. The rear of the house itself was dingy gray and with a vacant look. In a bucket on the porch, a cast-off mop leaned like a broken branch. Several faded throw rugs were molded to the railing like their weeks outside in weather had glued them there. Ahead of her, beyond the fence was the tiny Hamer house, saffron in the sunlight. She scanned along the wires between the yards until she saw a gate and walked toward it.

Pressing the metal latch, she moved out from the shadows into the yard. A miniature garden just beside the house was only loosened dirt, empty now of vegetation, probably between its seasons. Walking up the small back stoop, Shelby peered through the kitchen door. Though there was no one to be seen, she heard the sound of television coming from the front. She knocked loudly.

Through the glass, she could see a modest kitchen. The decor was neat, uncluttered, with its painted cabinets of white, a fern green enameled table, and two matching chairs. Birdlike, Cora Hamer padded gingerly toward her from the hall. She wore a baggy pair of dark brown slacks and an unaffected blouse of tan, buttoned down the front, and with sleeves down to her wrists. She unlocked the door. A wash of breakfast bacon hit Shelby in the face.

“Oh,” she said, “It’s you. You looking for Chere?” Her voice was cracking, and she cleared her throat. “She’s not here. She’s gone again.”

“No, not Chere. I really came to talk to you.”

“You did? Well, my .... ” She grabbed a hankie from the pocket of her slacks and pressed it to her face. “Come in. Come in.”

Shelby stepped inside. “Am I interrupting what you’re doing? Your television show?”

“Oh, no. I just have it on for company. I don’t even know what’s on.” Cora turned and led her toward the front.

Shelby followed. As she walked on through the kitchen, she saw dishes in the drainer on the sink—two plates, two cups, the silver and one skillet. Into the hall and on the right, they passed a bathroom set in tiles of green and white. Two bedrooms open to the left, one likely hers, with a multicolored quilt and a clustering of fancy pillows on the double bed. Next door was a smaller room, with single bed made up in just a sheet and pillow of a neutral shade and mini-blinds suspended at the window that were closed against the light. They emerged into a tiny living room with a sofa and two wing chairs draped in flowered sheets. The television, tuned to what appeared to be a western, and several tables sat along the walls with lamps and figurines—one Hummel and some others Shelby didn’t recognize—and a small, black, well-worn Bible.

“You can sit right here.” Mrs. Hamer pointed to one end of the sofa. She tapped the volume on the TV, lowering it, and sat down at the other end. “What’s your name again?”

“Shelby Wallace, Mrs. Hamer.”

“Oh, yes. That’s right. You remembered it,” Cora teased and smiled, showing several snaggled teeth between some missing spaces. “What brings you out to see me?”

“Well ... ah ... I’m trying to help the family, and I had a couple questions.

At that, she looked confused but cleared her throat again and said, “Okay.”

Shelby asked, “Do you know who Claude would fish with? At the quarry.”

“Oh, my, ah, different ones.” She cocked her head. “Fished with Jesse. That’s my husband. Fished with little Claude before he died.”

“Did he fish with Louis? The brother? You may know him as Frenchy.”

“Him? Oh, I don’t know about that man. Frenchy. ‘Rene used to tell me they was cut from different cloths. Old Claude and the brother. All I know’s he don’t come out here to visit.”

Shelby said, “I just spoke to Mercy Gaines. Do you know him and his family very well?”

Cora ran a gnarly hand through her faded frizzy hair, tamped it down, and looked away like she was telescoping to the past. “I’ve known those boys since they was born. Their daddy, Robert, started working here about the time my husband, Jesse, did. They all worked here together. Till Jesse died.” Her face was vacant and seemingly devoid of feeling. “Worked for Claude for over 20 years.”

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Hamer. Was that long ago?”

“When Lyle was in the War.” She cocked her head as though trying to remember. “That first war in the desert.”

“Desert Storm?”
“Yes, Desert Storm. Jesse passed, and Lyle got out and came on home.” Cora continued slowly. “Claude helped him get a job at SOUTHERN there. He helps out here part time.”

“And Lyle is your son?”

“Yes.” She lifted her head, a drift of pride returning to her face. “I know I look like I’m his grandma, but I had him in my 40’s.”

“Oh.”

“The Gaines boys started now ... oh ... I guess, three, four years ago.”

“Mercy seems to be worried about the ranch. That it isn’t running well. Have you noticed that?”

She stroked her cheek and answered, “Well, it’s not settled out. Least-ways, that’s what Lyle says.”

They both kept silent while she mused on Cora’s words. Then, Shelby asked, “How would you say that Chere is doing? With her father’s death?”

“Oh, my ... that’s a problem. She’s running wild. Flies off everywhere.”

“How did she and her father get along before he died?”

Her sparrow eyes were watery now like they were coated in a mist of recollection. “When she was a little thing, he was wrapped around her finger ... his ‘Shirley Temple doll’ is what he used to call her. Then something happened ‘bout the time that she was married ... before or after ... I just don’t remember ... and things was not the same.”

“You don’t know what that was about exactly?”

“No, no I don’t. Might have been about the brother. Claudie. She was very jealous.” Cora floated off into another silence.

“Have you met Mr. Kingston, Mrs. Hamer?”

“You mean that lawyer fellow?”

Shelby nodded and Cora answered, her spindly body stiffening, “Oh, yes. I met him. He don’t come from ‘round here ... ” she shook her head, “and I’ll be just as happy when he goes back where he came.”

“You don’t like him,” Shelby replayed as Cora shook her head again and asked, “What do you think of Chere’s husband, Darley?”

“Darley acts the kid. He don’t do like he should. Now, I don’t believe in no divorce, but he had his chance. He should make room for someone else.”

Someone else? Shelby looked at her and wondered. She was flooded now with questions but glanced down at her watch and saw it was nearly noon. She was eager to get on to the quarry. She hoped no one was working there that day. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Hamer, I’ve got to go. I wanted to ask you if you know anything about what’s happening at the mine. At SOUTHERN ROCK. Maybe next time.”

“Oh, dear. I’m sorry, too.” Cora looked like she’d like to grab her and hang on. “Oh, I don’t know very much about that place out there.” Her wrinkled face was at its liveliest and she looked happy to be helpful. “But my boy does. Lyle. Ain’t much that goes on out there that he don’t know.”

Shelby took her hand and told her, “Thanks so much. You’ve been very kind. If need be, may I come back again?”

“Oh, my yes. I’ll be here.” She stood and blinked her eyes sincerely. “I got nowhere else to go.”

Shelby left the little house and walked back to her car. Making a quick decision, she punched Cole’s number on her phone and waited for him to answer.

“Hello.”

“You busy?”

“Only moderately. What’s up?”

“I’ve got a couple things I’d like to ask you.”

“Shoot.”

“Well, okay. What’s going on with you this afternoon? You available for some research? ‘Cause I’d like to take a boat ride on the Withlacoochee if you’re ready.”

He was silent for a moment, then replied, “If that’s how you want to spend the evening, I think that could be arranged. What else?”

“You’ll probably need to give this thought. I’d like to know how Chere, and Claude before her, get their money from the mine. How it’s figured. How it’s paid. Any ideas how to do that?”

“Well, give me time to think. I’ll come up with something. What time this afternoon?”

“How’s four o’clock? At my place.”

“I’ll be there. Anything else?”

“No. That’s enough for now.”

“Okay. See ya then.” Cole hung up the phone.

Shelby left Cheval for SOUTHERN ROCK.

Coming Friday, September 10: Installment 19: Partners?