and said hello impatiently.
“Mrs. Crane?” a man asked.
“No, this is Mrs. Hollowell, her sister. She had her phone forwarded here, but she’s left.”
“Well, you can take the message, Mrs. Hollowell. This is Eddie Turkett, Sunshine’s uncle.”
I sat down on the sofa, my knees suddenly weak. “Yes, Mr. Turkett. What’s happened?”
“Junior Reuse has had to call off the search tonight because it’s dark. But he wants to start again in the morning, said to get volunteers. I’m out at the compound with Mama and Papa calling people. Do you think maybe you and Mrs. Crane could come help us?”
“Of course we can. Do you want us to bring some other people?”
“If you can. The sheriff’s going to divide the area between here and the river into sections and then organize groups for each section.”
“What time?”
“First light and before it gets too hot. Four-thirty?”
“We’ll be there.” I paused. “Mr. Turkett, how’s your mother?”
“Holding up pretty good, everything considered. My sister and brother should be getting in from Atlanta in a little while, and she’s baking them a pound cake. I told her to go on to bed, but she won’t listen. Says they’ve got to have a pound cake.”
“Let her stay busy if she wants to.”
“Guess I don’t have a choice.”
I was sure he didn’t. “We’ll see you in the morning, then.”
“Okay. And Mrs. Hollowell? If you’ve got any boots, you might want to wear them.”
“Boots?”
“For snakes.”
Oh! I said I would definitely wear boots, that we would all wear boots.
After he hung up, I tried to call Mary Alice. She wasn’t home yet, and I couldn’t remember her car phone number. Damn.
The kitchen door opened and Fred came in, looking mighty chipper for someone who had been at work since seven that morning. “Hi, sweetie,” he said, looking into the den where I was sitting with the phone in my hand. “What’s happening?”
“You want the good news first or the bad news?”
“The good news.”
But I couldn’t think of any.
Six
W e were late getting to the Turkett Compound the next morning. It was all of five o’clock and I had a rip-roaring headache when we turned onto the dirt road that ran through the briar patch.
“You sure this is it?” Fred asked.
“Of course it is.” I answered crossly, but Fred didn’t seem to notice. He was busy trying to keep the car in the deep ruts formed by years of drivers avoiding briar scratches. A small cloud of red dust hung in the air above the trail; a larger one billowed behind us.
“And Mary Alice drove her Jaguar down here?”
“Very carefully. She kept saying ‘shit’ a lot.” The first rays of the sun popped up over the horizon and hit me in the eye; I cringed.
The whole night had been surreal. First I had had to explain everything to Fred, everything from the chief’s body impaled on Meemaw’s linoleum to Sunshine’s disappearance and the bloody nightgown. And then—I don’t think you’d call it the icing on the cake—I had to tell him about Haley and Philip Nachman, their imminent wedding and departure for Warsaw.
He sat in his recliner, leaning toward me, listening intently, not interrupting. I related the day’s events, beginning with running into Meemaw at the restaurant and ending, I believe, with the two-tier wedding cake, the top tier to be kept in the freezer and to be eaten on anniversaries. I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and waited for his reaction. Nothing. After almost a minute of silence, I opened my eyes. He was still leaning forward; there was a slightly puzzled look on his face.
“Say what?” he said.
So I had to go through the whole thing again. This time I got the questions such as “What were y’all doing out there in the first place?” which you would have to be pretty dense not to figure out, to “Warsaw? The place where they sell insurance?”
After that, it was downhill all the way, ending with a call from Sister
“Mrs. Crane?” a man asked.
“No, this is Mrs. Hollowell, her sister. She had her phone forwarded here, but she’s left.”
“Well, you can take the message, Mrs. Hollowell. This is Eddie Turkett, Sunshine’s uncle.”
I sat down on the sofa, my knees suddenly weak. “Yes, Mr. Turkett. What’s happened?”
“Junior Reuse has had to call off the search tonight because it’s dark. But he wants to start again in the morning, said to get volunteers. I’m out at the compound with Mama and Papa calling people. Do you think maybe you and Mrs. Crane could come help us?”
“Of course we can. Do you want us to bring some other people?”
“If you can. The sheriff’s going to divide the area between here and the river into sections and then organize groups for each section.”
“What time?”
“First light and before it gets too hot. Four-thirty?”
“We’ll be there.” I paused. “Mr. Turkett, how’s your mother?”
“Holding up pretty good, everything considered. My sister and brother should be getting in from Atlanta in a little while, and she’s baking them a pound cake. I told her to go on to bed, but she won’t listen. Says they’ve got to have a pound cake.”
“Let her stay busy if she wants to.”
“Guess I don’t have a choice.”
I was sure he didn’t. “We’ll see you in the morning, then.”
“Okay. And Mrs. Hollowell? If you’ve got any boots, you might want to wear them.”
“Boots?”
“For snakes.”
Oh! I said I would definitely wear boots, that we would all wear boots.
After he hung up, I tried to call Mary Alice. She wasn’t home yet, and I couldn’t remember her car phone number. Damn.
The kitchen door opened and Fred came in, looking mighty chipper for someone who had been at work since seven that morning. “Hi, sweetie,” he said, looking into the den where I was sitting with the phone in my hand. “What’s happening?”
“You want the good news first or the bad news?”
“The good news.”
But I couldn’t think of any.
Six
W e were late getting to the Turkett Compound the next morning. It was all of five o’clock and I had a rip-roaring headache when we turned onto the dirt road that ran through the briar patch.
“You sure this is it?” Fred asked.
“Of course it is.” I answered crossly, but Fred didn’t seem to notice. He was busy trying to keep the car in the deep ruts formed by years of drivers avoiding briar scratches. A small cloud of red dust hung in the air above the trail; a larger one billowed behind us.
“And Mary Alice drove her Jaguar down here?”
“Very carefully. She kept saying ‘shit’ a lot.” The first rays of the sun popped up over the horizon and hit me in the eye; I cringed.
The whole night had been surreal. First I had had to explain everything to Fred, everything from the chief’s body impaled on Meemaw’s linoleum to Sunshine’s disappearance and the bloody nightgown. And then—I don’t think you’d call it the icing on the cake—I had to tell him about Haley and Philip Nachman, their imminent wedding and departure for Warsaw.
He sat in his recliner, leaning toward me, listening intently, not interrupting. I related the day’s events, beginning with running into Meemaw at the restaurant and ending, I believe, with the two-tier wedding cake, the top tier to be kept in the freezer and to be eaten on anniversaries. I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and waited for his reaction. Nothing. After almost a minute of silence, I opened my eyes. He was still leaning forward; there was a slightly puzzled look on his face.
“Say what?” he said.
So I had to go through the whole thing again. This time I got the questions such as “What were y’all doing out there in the first place?” which you would have to be pretty dense not to figure out, to “Warsaw? The place where they sell insurance?”
After that, it was downhill all the way, ending with a call from Sister
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