“Who would want to put you out of business, Jackie?” The deputy gently grasped her shoulder when she started to turn away. “You’ve been poking into someone’s business. This is a message. If you don’t heed it, they’re going to seriously hurt you. Just like they did Jackson.”
“Who killed my daddy?” She kept her tone flat.
“Knowing won’t bring Jackson back and it could get you killed.”
She thought about showing Sandy the dress. It was the best evidence and she’d plucked it from the scene. Angels in White. Dead Cornelia Swanson. An empty grave.
She drove straight to the newspaper and turned in her film of the fire. She wrote her story and left it on Clint’s desk.
She made her last delivery at the Forest Grill, a bar on old Highway 45. Freddie McGee was a favorite customer. He was older with bad knees so she unloaded the moonshine. She put the jugs behind the counter. The building was half general store and half bar, with a short-order cook to boot. Dolly Mason could whip up a grilled cheese in under three minutes. Jackie didn’t even have to order. Dolly put the sandwich and a cup of coffee in front of her at the bar.
“I heard about the fire.”
Jackie felt the pressure of emotion yet again. She blinked back her tears. “I’m done, Dolly. I’m thinking about moving into town. Maybe buy one of those little cottages on Mohawk or Japonica. Not too close in.” She was surprised at how much she revealed and how these thoughts had come, unbidden, to her mind.
“You don’t need to be out in those woods alone. Moving into town is a good idea, hon. Maybe find you someone to date.” Dolly picked up a strand of Jackie’s hair. “You could be pretty if you let yourself. Eat your sandwich.”
Jackie sipped her coffee. She had to get back to the newspaper. Clint would be looking for her. She took a big bite of the sandwich and peered at the wall behind the bar. The place was old and not all that clean. Her eye caught a photo of three very young men at the pool table, holding sticks and grinning at the camera. Two small girls sat on the edge of the table. One had white-blond hair.
Dolly followed her gaze. “That’s your daddy.” She took the picture down and gave it to Jackie. “He was a handsome man. When he was young, all the women had a crush on him. He was also a bootlegger, which made him dangerous. Like a pirate.” She laughed. “When he married your mama, we were all heartbroken. I don’t think he ever looked at another woman after he said his vows. The same can’t be said for the other two. They were tomcats in heat.”
Jackie knew her father, but not the other two men. They were so young. “Who is that?”
“You don’t recognize Sheriff Hilbun?” Dolly pointed to the man on the left. “And that one there is Mobile’s most famous radio minister, Fred March.”
“And that is Lyda.”
“She used to go everywhere with Fred. Places she shouldn’t have gone.”
Jackie ran a finger over the glass that protected the photo. “So that’s my dad, the sheriff, and a television minister. That’s quite a trio. They were friends?”
“Once upon a time Lloyd Hilbun and Fred March were stevedores at the dock. That’s where the sheriff got his base of support to run for office, and Fred went in the other direction. He learned the power of persuasive talk as a union organizer.”
“Was Jackson a stevedore too?”
Dolly laughed again. “Not on your life. You father never worked for anybody but himself. He cooked mash alongside his daddy, who learned from his daddy. That’s why all your daddy’s clients kept buying from you. That’s generations of trust and quality. They kicked about buying from a girl — I heard them — but in the end, the ties were too strong.” She patted Jackie’s arm. “What are you going to do now?”
“I’m still deciding.”
“Your daddy wanted you to go to college. Get an education. He said legal liquor would push the bootleggers out if the law didn’t.”
Jackie didn’t say anything.
“I’m not your mama so I don’t have a right to offer guidance, but your paw and I talked sometimes. He was so proud of you, Jackie. He said you could be anything you wanted.”
Jackie stood up and put the picture back behind the bar. She had to get to the paper before Clint blew his stack, but she had one stop to make. She turned back at the door. “Who killed my daddy?”
“Even if I knew, I wouldn’t tell you. No one here would. That information won’t do anything but hurt you.”
The white dress she’d found in the woods was still in the backseat of her car. Angels in White. How long had that eaten at Lyda?
She parked behind the strip club and went in the back door. Euclid saw her and filled a glass with crushed ice and Diet Coke. He put it on the counter. “Sorry about your still.”
“End of a family tradition.”
“What are you aimin’ to do?” Euclid leaned on the bar.
She shrugged. “Freedom’s just another word for nothin’ left to lose, right?”
Euclid came around the bar. “Johnny’s on his way. Lyda’s been sick and missed her performance. He’s goin’ to pin that on you.”
She slurped the last of her Diet Coke. “I have to see Lyda. I got something of hers I need to return.”
“What would that be?”
“A white dress. She left it at my place.”
“I don’t know if she’s awake. She’s in bad shape.”
“What kind of shape are you in, Euclid?” She picked up one of his hands and examined his nails.
“What are you doin’?”
“Looking for graveyard dirt. Lyda didn’t dig up that dead girl by herself. Johnny Z. is crazier than a shithouse rat, but he didn’t do that. Had to be you.”
Euclid snatched his hand away. “You can’t prove it.”
“I don’t want to. Where’s the body?”
“It’ll show up. When the time is right.”
Jackie tapped the bar lightly with a finger. “I know what Fred March did to Lyda. But what about that dead girl’s mama?”
Euclid looked down at the bar, wiping at imaginary spots with his shirtsleeve. “Folks get hurt in the fallout. You should know that, what with your daddy getting shot and all.”
“Who shot my father?” She caught his wrist and dug in with her fingernails.
“Stop.” He shook her off. “You need to get out. Johnny said he’d hurt you if he caught you here again.”
She left him and walked through the curtain and into the long hallway that smelled of beer and piss. She opened Lyda’s room without knocking. Her friend was on the sofa, her eyes closed, her face pallid and waxy.
“Go away, Jackie. We aren’t friends.” Her lips barely moved.
“Why’d you torch my still?”
“I set you free.”
“Why’d you do that?”
Lyda pushed herself up so that she was leaning against the arm of the sofa. “I’m dying.”
Jackie shut off her emotions, refusing to feel anything. “That’s not my fault.”
“No, but it’s your daddy’s. And the sheriff’s. Everybody knew what Fred was doing to me. No one stopped him. No one lifted a hand. Not Jackson. Not the high sheriff. Even when I was working in New Orleans, Fred would show up. It wasn’t until I got sick that he stopped. Then he had the Angels in White to fill in the dark places in his soul. He didn’t touch those girls, though. He preserved their innocence. Because he had too much at stake. But me, he ruined me for anyone else. For love or having a family. And no one stopped him. Not even your daddy, who set such a store by you.”
“You left that white dress so I’d know you set the still on fire.”