Mark leaned on the edge of his desk. "I'm glad to hear you say that, Dad. Let's talk about Allen Harding's lies. I think we need to confront him, not settle out of court."
With that as my chance to get out, I signaled to Mark to call me and slipped out the door, still not sure if Vernon had been involved with the lynching.
Chapter Twenty-four
"I CAN'T BELIEVE you accused Dad of being part of Mr. Sams' death." Mark sipped his wine. The city lights sparkled through the window of his penthouse; soft, smooth jazz played low in the background. His tone implied he wasn't offended but knew his father couldn't have been part of the appalling act. Vernon had cemented his innocence in Mark's mind, at least that's the way I read Mark's reaction.
"I'm still not sure who really killed him." I pushed my body away from leaning against him on the couch, so I could see his eyes as we talked. "Walterene's diary said she believed Papa Ernest and Vernon were involved; the newspaper report said the Klan did it; Vernon says they were never part of the Klan and never had any association with them, but what if they did it, and let the Klan take the blame?"
Mark sighed hard. "Derek, I believe," he paused, "I know Dad would never do that. Do you honestly think any member of this family would be involved in murder?"
"Someone tried to kill me in the Observer building; someone hurt Ruby; someone made threatening phone calls to me at Ruby's house. Who else, besides family, knows I'm staying there?"
Mark thought for a second. "Your boyfriend Daniel."
"Why? Why would he? What does he have to gain?" I had tossed those questions around before and never come up with a logical answer.
"Maybe," Mark drew out the word as he thought. "Maybe he would do it to make it look like someone in the family so you would blame us, maybe cause problems for Dad's campaign."
"Damn it," I said, "I'm sick of hearing about that stupid campaign. The world doesn't revolve around Vernon 's Senate race."
"Hey, you asked." Mark massaged the back of my neck. "Let's go back to the bedroom."
"Is that it? No foreplay?" I kidded him. "I bet Kathleen gets at least some cuddling, some romanticwords."
"She needs to be warmed up," he admitted. "But, you," his hand rubbed the crotch ofmy jeans, "you are always ready."
MARK LEFT ME sleeping the next morning. I woke and called Ruby.
"You boys stay up all night drinking, then sleep half the day away," Ruby scolded.
"Mark's at work, and I've been up for hours." I fluffed the pillow and scratched my bad case of bed-head. "Did Valerie stay with you last night?"
"No, I sent her home."
"What?" I sat up. "I wouldn't have stayed here if I thought you were going to be alone."
"I have to learn to be alone sometime," she said. "Besides, I feel safe. I keep the doors locked and my Peter Beater within reach."
"That may be, but you shouldn't have sent Valerie home."
"Hogwash. I'm a grown woman; I can take care of myself."
I didn't believe her for a minute. "I'll be home in a little while- and don't use that Peter Beater on me when I come through the door."
I hung up the phone and headed for the shower. The water steamed as my mind drifted toward what Mark had said the night before. Was it possible that Papa Ernest and Vernon hadn't had anything to do with Mr. Sams' lynching? Could a young Walterene have made up the connection because she didn't like Ernest and Vernon?
I rinsed the shampoo out of my hair and soaped up my tired body. I hated to admit it, but Mark's sexual appetite wore me out. After a few more minutes of the hot water running over me, I turned off the shower and dried with a large soft towel. Clean and wide-awake, I draped the towel on the rack and walked into the bedroom. Where did I leave my clothes?
I glanced around the room, then a movement in the corner of my eye caught my attention. Kathleen stood in the doorway, my boxers hanging from the tip of her index finger. "You looking for these?"
Panic struck me immobile. The secret revealed-Mark's worst fear, now mine. Naked before her, I didn't know what to say or do. She tossed the boxers to me, and I snatched them in mid-flight, quickly pulling them on.
"I was just leaving," I stammered.
"How long?" she asked.
How long? What a question to ask a man you've just seen naked. "What? What do you mean?"
It seemed ice cloaked her stance; her pale emerald eyes bore into me. "How long have you and Mark been sleeping together?"
By reflex, I glanced at the rumpled bed. Screw her; I had him first. "Since I was fourteen."
She recoiled from the fact. "Fourteen? That son of a bitch." She turned and stormed out of the room, returned with the rest of my clothes and slung them at me. "Get out." Tears flooded her frantic eyes as she left me there at the scene of the crime.
HAS SHE CALLED Mark yet? I waited for the traffic light to change, wondering if I should go to his office to warn him, or just get back to Ruby's. The gleaming buildings of downtown Charlotte seemed to mock me and the mess I had made for Mark; neat and tidy, the sidewalks hosted bankers, lawyers, professionals moving in their uncomplicated, clean, respectable lives. I steered the car toward South Tryon, driving past Harris Tower, bank headquarters, and finally the Observer building. Within a few minutes, I pulled onto Sedgefield Road, then Ruby and Walterene's driveway.
"Ruby, I'm home," I yelled as I walked in the door.
She came into the den wiping her eyes; she had been crying, so I hugged her hard. The emotions of the morning plagued me: hurting Kathleen, the one innocent in the whole tangle I had brought Mark into; outing Mark, by accident, but still as I considered it, maybe I had wanted to expose our relationship. I was the one who said I wouldn't hide, but he was the one hurt. My arms wrapped around Ruby's soft, plump body, and my mind came back to her feelings. "What's wrong?"
"Just thinking about Walterene. I get so wrapped up in thoughts, I don't know what to do without her." She sniffed back more tears.
Rubbing her arms, I looked into her eyes. "It's okay to think about her. Remember how she loved working in the garden?"
"Yeah," she sniffed, "the tulips she planted last fall are gone; other flowers have taken their place. She loved planning what to add to the yard."
"She kept a beautiful garden," I agreed.
"Once," Ruby managed a small smile, "we planted daisies next to the birdbath; she said I put them too close together, and I said they were just right. We got into an argument right there in the backyard. She starting pulling them up, and I tried to stop her." Ruby chuckled between sobs. "I pushed her while she kneeled pulling up my daisies. I didn't expect her to fall over, so I lost my balance and fell on top of her." She looked at me and smiled. "Imagine what the neighbors thought. Two old women wrestling in the backyard, crushing daisies as we fought."
"Who won?" I asked.
"I did. I grabbed a daisy and hit her on the head with the root end of it. Dirt flew everywhere. She had just had her hair set. She stormed back into the house, yelling that I'd just cost her ten dollars."
I had never thought of them fighting, but all couples do. I said, "Lucky for her, it wasn't a rock garden."
"That's right," she smiled. "Let me fix you something to eat." She pulled away from me and headed for the refrigerator.
"No thanks, I have no appetite."
"Good Lord, are you feeling okay?"
The encounter with Kathleen left my stomach in knots; I wondered how Mark was reacting. "I'm okay," I lied. "I need to call Mark." Leaving Ruby in the kitchen, I went to her bedroom to use the phone in private.