Read Online Blackwater Lights by Michael M. Hughes - Free Book Online
Authors: Michael M. Hughes
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himself
.
“Here.” Denny spread the map. “This is from 1978.” He drew a circle with his finger. “This is Blackwater, along this squiggly road.” The town was surrounded by a nearly solid expanse of green ink, with a snaking river alongside it. “You can see why we don’t get a lot ofthrough traffic.”
“What’s north?”
“Not much. State road winds through here. National forest is here, the rest is a mix of state and private land.”
Ray studied the map. He had driven along that curving, hellish road to Crawford’s. “So the camp had to be somewhere off the road, if that many vehicles needed to park. Is there anything out there? Houses? Farms?”
Denny nodded. He moved his finger along the curving road. “Up here is the only African American church within … gosh, I don’t know. Probably a hundred miles or more.”
The preacher with the X-ray eyes. An old man, certainly old enough to have run a summer camp for gifted children. No one suspected preachers of bad behavior back then.
“You okay?”
Ray refocused his eyes. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. What can you tell me about the church? I think that might be important.”
“Used to be non-denominational—Pentecostalist. Lots of testifying, speaking in tongues, that kind of thing. All white people. In the early eighties a black preacher took it over. Another odd bird. Some say he just bought the church outright. Most of the congregation left.… Blackwater isn’t the most racially enlightened town, you might have noticed, and the idea of a black man even setting foot in this county was a bit much for most people. He still has a few people in his congregation, maybe fifteen or twenty, I’d guess.”
Ray sighed. “You sure it was the eighties when he showed up? He wasn’t here earlier? Like ’72, maybe?”
“I’m pretty sure. Yeah, it was definitely later than ’72. But I’ll check.”
“But what about up here? Near the edge of the map.”
Denny shrugged. “Some wealthy homes. A construction company owner has a second home there. And a philanthropist guy who pumps a lot of money into charities and the like.”
Ray inhaled. “Crawford?”
“Yeah.” Denny tilted his head. “You know him?”
“I know of him.”
“Huh. Interesting. He’s a bit of a mystery man. Likes to be left alone. I think I’ve seen him twice in the past ten years. I don’t even know if he actually lives there.”
Ellen’s eyes were puffy and red when she finally arrived. She smiled dismissively. “Allergies,” she said.
A scruffy waiter brought beers for Ray and Denny and a coffee for Ellen. Ray poured his beer and held out his glass. “You guys … I’m really grateful for the help you’ve both given me.”
Denny looked at Ellen with a raised brow, then back to Ray. “No problem.”
Ellen clinked her coffee mug against their glasses. “My mother always said the way God measures people is how they treat strangers in need.” She smiled at Ray. “Not that you’re really a stranger anymore.”
Denny held his beer glass aloft. He looked like he was going to say something, but just nodded.
Ellen pulled her Marlboro Lights out of her purse. Denny stared at them as if they were sticks of dynamite.
Ray leaned forward. “Denny, I need to catch you up on a few things.”
Denny nodded. “Sure,” he said. “What’s going on?”
Ray told Denny what he had told Ellen earlier that day.
“Holy moley,” Denny said. His face had gotten splotchy. “I knew Crawford—”
Ray held his finger to his lips. Ellen hissed.
Denny drew back. “Oh. Sorry.” He looked around. The bartender stood watching a pro wrestling match on the TV. A few others had arrived and were having dinner, but no one seemed to be paying any attention to them. “I knew he was rich. But not that rich. And the”—he lowered his voice—“drugs. That’s unusual.”
“Oh, there’s plenty of drugs around here,” Ellen said. “Trust me. I have three meth-head cousins
.
“Here.” Denny spread the map. “This is from 1978.” He drew a circle with his finger. “This is Blackwater, along this squiggly road.” The town was surrounded by a nearly solid expanse of green ink, with a snaking river alongside it. “You can see why we don’t get a lot ofthrough traffic.”
“What’s north?”
“Not much. State road winds through here. National forest is here, the rest is a mix of state and private land.”
Ray studied the map. He had driven along that curving, hellish road to Crawford’s. “So the camp had to be somewhere off the road, if that many vehicles needed to park. Is there anything out there? Houses? Farms?”
Denny nodded. He moved his finger along the curving road. “Up here is the only African American church within … gosh, I don’t know. Probably a hundred miles or more.”
The preacher with the X-ray eyes. An old man, certainly old enough to have run a summer camp for gifted children. No one suspected preachers of bad behavior back then.
“You okay?”
Ray refocused his eyes. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. What can you tell me about the church? I think that might be important.”
“Used to be non-denominational—Pentecostalist. Lots of testifying, speaking in tongues, that kind of thing. All white people. In the early eighties a black preacher took it over. Another odd bird. Some say he just bought the church outright. Most of the congregation left.… Blackwater isn’t the most racially enlightened town, you might have noticed, and the idea of a black man even setting foot in this county was a bit much for most people. He still has a few people in his congregation, maybe fifteen or twenty, I’d guess.”
Ray sighed. “You sure it was the eighties when he showed up? He wasn’t here earlier? Like ’72, maybe?”
“I’m pretty sure. Yeah, it was definitely later than ’72. But I’ll check.”
“But what about up here? Near the edge of the map.”
Denny shrugged. “Some wealthy homes. A construction company owner has a second home there. And a philanthropist guy who pumps a lot of money into charities and the like.”
Ray inhaled. “Crawford?”
“Yeah.” Denny tilted his head. “You know him?”
“I know of him.”
“Huh. Interesting. He’s a bit of a mystery man. Likes to be left alone. I think I’ve seen him twice in the past ten years. I don’t even know if he actually lives there.”
Ellen’s eyes were puffy and red when she finally arrived. She smiled dismissively. “Allergies,” she said.
A scruffy waiter brought beers for Ray and Denny and a coffee for Ellen. Ray poured his beer and held out his glass. “You guys … I’m really grateful for the help you’ve both given me.”
Denny looked at Ellen with a raised brow, then back to Ray. “No problem.”
Ellen clinked her coffee mug against their glasses. “My mother always said the way God measures people is how they treat strangers in need.” She smiled at Ray. “Not that you’re really a stranger anymore.”
Denny held his beer glass aloft. He looked like he was going to say something, but just nodded.
Ellen pulled her Marlboro Lights out of her purse. Denny stared at them as if they were sticks of dynamite.
Ray leaned forward. “Denny, I need to catch you up on a few things.”
Denny nodded. “Sure,” he said. “What’s going on?”
Ray told Denny what he had told Ellen earlier that day.
“Holy moley,” Denny said. His face had gotten splotchy. “I knew Crawford—”
Ray held his finger to his lips. Ellen hissed.
Denny drew back. “Oh. Sorry.” He looked around. The bartender stood watching a pro wrestling match on the TV. A few others had arrived and were having dinner, but no one seemed to be paying any attention to them. “I knew he was rich. But not that rich. And the”—he lowered his voice—“drugs. That’s unusual.”
“Oh, there’s plenty of drugs around here,” Ellen said. “Trust me. I have three meth-head cousins
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