Ruth Ann stared back at the house. Lester was still watching. “Yes.”
“Mrs. Hawkins, do you want to press charges?”
“No. I want to go back inside my house. My husband probably curious what’s this all about.”
“I wonder why,” Eric said.
Sheriff Bledsoe said, “How ’bout I go tell Lester about you. Then mosey round the corner and get the car, take my time getting back while he keeps an eye on you.”
“No, Sheriff,” Ruth Ann said. “Please don’t!”
“Sheriff, I’ll shut up. One question. Why am I still handcuffed?”
“May I go now?” Ruth Ann asked. “All my neighbors are watching.”
Several of the neighbors were outside, some blatantly gawking; most feigning work in their yards, discreetly gawking.
“Yes, you can go. I need you and Lester at the station within the hour.”
Ruth Ann stared at him. “Lester?” Lips trembling: “What on earth do you need Lester for? He doesn’t know anything about this. You don’t need him. I can answer all your questions.”
Sheriff Bledsoe rattled the box. “This may be linked to a murder, and there’s neck bones on your back porch, Mrs. Hawkins. Chatterbox claims he didn’t put them there and you say you didn’t, either. Somebody did, and I aim to find out who. Tell Lester what you need to tell him and y’all meet me at the station.”
“You sorry bastard!” Ruth Ann hissed at Eric. “Sheriff, you see what he’s trying to pull, don’t you? I dumped his sorry ass and he’s trying to break up my home. That’s all this is, Sheriff.”
“Ha!” Eric said. “Your home was tore up long before I came along. Ask anybody, Sheriff. She’s serviced more men than an army recruiter.”
“Hold on, son. There’s no need for talk like that.”
“It’s true!”
“It’s true you murdered my father!” Ruth Ann said.
“Hell naw! You know damn well I didn’t!”
“You showed up at my house with poison and neck bones.”
“Woman, please! I didn’t bring no damn neck bones to your house!”
“Yes, you did!”
“No, I didn’t!”
“Yes, you did!”
Sheriff Bledsoe knew he should step in and squash this silly bickering, yet was curious what would happen next.
Ruth Ann got within inches of Eric’s face and shouted, “Yes, you damn sure did! And now I think about it, you were the one who insisted on serving Daddy. Remember?” Baritone voice: “Let me fix your plate, Mr. Harris. You need more napkins, Mr. Harris? May I wipe your ass, Mr. Harris?”
“You a lying hoe!”
“Sheriff Bledsoe, is there a problem?”
They all turned to see Lester standing on the front porch.
“Lester,” Ruth Ann said, tone cordial. “Lester, everything is fine. We were… we were just having a friendly conversation. Go back in the house, Lester. I’ll be there in a minute.”
“Is that right, Sheriff?” Lester asked. “Looks to me y’all arguing out here.”
Sheriff Bledsoe looked from Eric to Ruth Ann. Eventually Lester would have to be told, though he wasn’t sure he should do the telling. And why hadn’t he come out a long time ago?
“It’s all right, Lester,” Sheriff Bledsoe said. He grabbed Eric by the arm. “Let’s go.” To Ruth Ann in a low voice: “An hour, you and Lester at the station.”
Then he started down the sidewalk with Eric in tow, tipping his Smokey to all the good people on Whisperwood Drive.
Chapter 16
“Rhino-who?” Robert Earl said.
“Rhinoplasty,” Estafay said. “Also called a nose job.”
They were riding in Estafay’s Ford Festiva, Robert Earl driving, Estafay in the backseat fanning herself with a newspaper.
No air conditioning, all the windows rolled down, a steady stream of heat and the stench of cow manure whipping their faces.
“What you need a nose job for?”
“I’ve always wanted one. Since we can finally afford it, I might as well get it done.”
Robert Earl sneaked a look at her in the rearview mirror. Yes, her nose could use some work: nostrils looked like the entrance to two dark tunnels.
“Estafay, what makes you think we can afford a nose job now? I don’t have a problem with it, I just don’t think we can afford it now.”
“Yes, we can afford it now.”
“How?”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ve been told to do it, and I will.”
“Who? Who told you to do it?” He sensed himself getting angry. If some man told her to get a nose job, or simply hinted at it, he would whip the car around and head straight back to Dawson.
“God,” Estafay said.
Robert Earl grimaced; he’d forgotten about Him. “God told you to get a nose job?”
“Yes, He sure did. Remember Friday morning, when I was talking with the Lord?”
“Yeah,” Robert Earl lied. She and the Lord conversed so frequently, no way could he remember a specific conversation.
“That’s when He told me.”
He drove a mile or so before mustering the nerve to say, “So the Lord said, ‘Estafay, go get a nose job even though your husband just quit his job and he doesn’t have diddly-poo in the bank.’”
“Get thee behind me, Satan!” Estafay shouted. Robert Earl jumped and momentarily lost control of the wheel. “Blasphemy! That kind of talk is nothing but blasphemy. If you don’t understand the Lord’s work, it’s best you keep your mouth shut. Ask the Lord for forgiveness, Robert—right now, before He strikes you dead!”
He steered the car across the centerline to miss a flattened skunk in his lane. The odor lingered for two miles.
Estafay slapped the back of his seat. “Ask Him for forgiveness!”
“Forgive me, Lord.”
“You’re not asking for a loan, you’re asking for forgiveness. Say it with conviction, like you mean it.”
“Forgive me, Lord,” with less enthusiasm than before.
“It’s bad enough we’re unevenly yoked, spiritually unbalanced, saved and unsaved, and for you to question the very faith what sustains you, to look righteousness in the eye and mock it—blasphemy! Adulterous blasphemy! Robert, you know…”
He stopped listening; he’d heard this particular sermon a thousand times. He daydreamed of the day he opened Robert Earl’s Gas Station and Exotic Snake Farm. All day, he thought as Estafay ranted on and on, all day and night. No matter what—flood, earthquake, a death in the family—he would keep his station open all day and night.
Heck, he might even live there: a cot and a hot plate were all he needed to live on. Come by anytime, we never close.
Estafay slapped his seat again. “Are you listening to me?”
“Yes, Estafay.”
“What did I just say?”
“A divided house cannot stand.”
“It sure can’t. Amen. He who doesn’t know the Lord, he who is ignorant of His works, should keep his fat mouth shut.” Robert Earl arched an eyebrow and gave her a look in the rearview mirror; he hadn’t heard that one before.
“Whatever the Lord tells me, Estafay Bernice Harris, one of His chosen children, to do, let no man, especially my so-called husband, rend asunder. Do you hear me?”
Robert Earl slowed the car down for a pickup truck going thirty miles below the speed limit. Two events that never failed to occur during one of their rare road trips: Estafay preaching and his driving up behind a geezer in a pickup truck snailing along just when it was impossible to pass because of a curvy stretch of road or steady oncoming traffic.
Either was an agony worthy of pulling his hair out and committing himself to the state hospital. But to endure both simultaneously.
Lord, have mercy!
“Do you hear me, Robert?”
He steered the car onto the shoulder and sped past the truck. A large cloud of dust rose up, preventing him from shooting a nasty look at the driver. Gravel pinged against the undercarriage.