tomorrow and tomorrow.”
Nell laughed. She reached for her latte, took a sip. It was cold.
“That woman staffer has a law degree from Tulane,” Lee Ann said.
“What the hell she’s doing—” Lee Ann’s cell phone rang. She picked it up. “Hello?” Her hand tightened on the receiver; the knuckles went white, almost as though they were piercing her skin. “Got it,” she said, and clicked off. All of a sudden Nell could smell her.
Lee Ann slowed down, glanced over. “I’m not sure what to do about you,” she said.
“What do you mean?” Nell said.
“Drop you off or bring you along.” Lee Ann bit her lip. “Bringing you along might be better, but . . .”
“Bringing me along where?” said Nell.
“To meet Nappy Ferris,” Lee Ann said; then, after a little pause, she stepped on the gas.
C H A P T E R 7
Lee Ann drove fast, hunched over the wheel. She swung north on Stonewall Road, passing the DK Industries yard, where Nell caught a glimpse of Duke Bastien striding somewhere in a hard hat. Then came strip malls, used-car lots, gun shops, the town line, and they crossed into Stonewall County, rural and piney, where all the faces were black.
“Aren’t the police searching for him?” Nell said.
“Looks like I got there first,” said Lee Ann.
“How?”
“Reporter’s weapon numero uno,” Lee Ann said. “Contacts.” She slowed behind a pickup with farmworkers in the back; they gazed down through the windshield of the convertible, eyes expressionless.
“Can I ask you something personal?”
“What if I said no?”
Lee Ann laughed. “Everyone likes you—did you know that?”
“Is that the question?”
Lee Ann laughed again. “No. The question is did Johnny Blanton know you were pregnant?”
No reason that question should have hit Nell so hard, but it did, the long-lost feeling of just starting out came welling up; the feeling of starting out on something new and grand.
Lee Ann’s eyes shifted toward her, looked a little alarmed. “You don’t have to answer.”
D E LU S I O N
49
“No,” Nell said. “I’ll answer. Johnny—” Nell wasn’t a crier, but she felt tears building; and forced them back down. “Johnny knew,”
she said. At that moment, she pictured his face with the clarity found in life, not memory—his exact face, so young and happy—when she told him the news. “We were going to get married.”
“So when he stepped in front of you,” Lee Ann said, “he was actually protecting two people, you and Norah.”
Nell had never considered that before. Lee Ann’s take seemed a little maudlin to her, even sensationalizing, the way material might be hyped by a— “Lee Ann? Are you planning to write a book about this?”
Lee Ann’s eyes shifted. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”
“My God, you are planning a book.” Then it hit her. “Do you know something I don’t?”
“To answer that question, I’d have to know everything you know.”
“Alvin DuPree murdered Johnny. Clay caught him and put him away. Now there’s some crazy talk about a tape, but it won’t add up to anything and DuPree will spend the rest of his life in jail. That’s what I know. So I’ll ask again—do you know more?”
“No,” said Lee Ann.
“End of story,” said Nell.
“One more thing,” Lee Ann said. “When did the romance start?”
“With Johnny?”
Lee Ann shook her head. “With Clay.”
“No precise date,” Nell said. “He called me about a year after . . .
after it was all over. We had coffee.”
“So you hadn’t met him before.”
“Before when?”
“The murder.”
“No, of course not.”
“Did you know the Bastien brothers back then?”
“No. Why do you ask?”
Lee Ann shrugged. “Your husband’s close to them, isn’t he?”
“He’s close to Duke,” Nell said. “I wouldn’t say he’s close to Kirk.
What are you getting at?”
50
PETER ABRAHAMS
“Just accumulating facts,” Lee Ann said. She went by a fireworks
Nell laughed. She reached for her latte, took a sip. It was cold.
“That woman staffer has a law degree from Tulane,” Lee Ann said.
“What the hell she’s doing—” Lee Ann’s cell phone rang. She picked it up. “Hello?” Her hand tightened on the receiver; the knuckles went white, almost as though they were piercing her skin. “Got it,” she said, and clicked off. All of a sudden Nell could smell her.
Lee Ann slowed down, glanced over. “I’m not sure what to do about you,” she said.
“What do you mean?” Nell said.
“Drop you off or bring you along.” Lee Ann bit her lip. “Bringing you along might be better, but . . .”
“Bringing me along where?” said Nell.
“To meet Nappy Ferris,” Lee Ann said; then, after a little pause, she stepped on the gas.
C H A P T E R 7
Lee Ann drove fast, hunched over the wheel. She swung north on Stonewall Road, passing the DK Industries yard, where Nell caught a glimpse of Duke Bastien striding somewhere in a hard hat. Then came strip malls, used-car lots, gun shops, the town line, and they crossed into Stonewall County, rural and piney, where all the faces were black.
“Aren’t the police searching for him?” Nell said.
“Looks like I got there first,” said Lee Ann.
“How?”
“Reporter’s weapon numero uno,” Lee Ann said. “Contacts.” She slowed behind a pickup with farmworkers in the back; they gazed down through the windshield of the convertible, eyes expressionless.
“Can I ask you something personal?”
“What if I said no?”
Lee Ann laughed. “Everyone likes you—did you know that?”
“Is that the question?”
Lee Ann laughed again. “No. The question is did Johnny Blanton know you were pregnant?”
No reason that question should have hit Nell so hard, but it did, the long-lost feeling of just starting out came welling up; the feeling of starting out on something new and grand.
Lee Ann’s eyes shifted toward her, looked a little alarmed. “You don’t have to answer.”
D E LU S I O N
49
“No,” Nell said. “I’ll answer. Johnny—” Nell wasn’t a crier, but she felt tears building; and forced them back down. “Johnny knew,”
she said. At that moment, she pictured his face with the clarity found in life, not memory—his exact face, so young and happy—when she told him the news. “We were going to get married.”
“So when he stepped in front of you,” Lee Ann said, “he was actually protecting two people, you and Norah.”
Nell had never considered that before. Lee Ann’s take seemed a little maudlin to her, even sensationalizing, the way material might be hyped by a— “Lee Ann? Are you planning to write a book about this?”
Lee Ann’s eyes shifted. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”
“My God, you are planning a book.” Then it hit her. “Do you know something I don’t?”
“To answer that question, I’d have to know everything you know.”
“Alvin DuPree murdered Johnny. Clay caught him and put him away. Now there’s some crazy talk about a tape, but it won’t add up to anything and DuPree will spend the rest of his life in jail. That’s what I know. So I’ll ask again—do you know more?”
“No,” said Lee Ann.
“End of story,” said Nell.
“One more thing,” Lee Ann said. “When did the romance start?”
“With Johnny?”
Lee Ann shook her head. “With Clay.”
“No precise date,” Nell said. “He called me about a year after . . .
after it was all over. We had coffee.”
“So you hadn’t met him before.”
“Before when?”
“The murder.”
“No, of course not.”
“Did you know the Bastien brothers back then?”
“No. Why do you ask?”
Lee Ann shrugged. “Your husband’s close to them, isn’t he?”
“He’s close to Duke,” Nell said. “I wouldn’t say he’s close to Kirk.
What are you getting at?”
50
PETER ABRAHAMS
“Just accumulating facts,” Lee Ann said. She went by a fireworks
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