“You sounded way off in space.”
Not in space, she thought, visibly blushing. Just in the shower. “The reception down here isn’t always that great. When I call tomorrow, I’ll use Judy’s phone.”
“So how is Judy doing, considering?”
Patricia tore herself away from the gap in the door, then went back and sat on the bed. Her last real image of Ernie had been of him stepping out of the shower, in the reflection. She struggled to reengage her mind against a backwash of guilt. “Actually, okay, I think. She’s seemed to be handling Dwayne’s death pretty well since I got here, but now she’s kind of rocked by what happened last night. She even said something to the effect that it might be a good idea for her to sell the Point.”
“I think she should. Sounds like the whole place is turning into Drugtown. Sell it before all the property value goes down the tubes.”
“Really, Byron, it’s not that bad. There’re luxury condos going up on the other side of the river. That’ll drive any bad elements out faster than anything.”
“I hope you’re right.”
“You get back to work now,” she said, “and I’ll call tomorrow. And there’s something you need to know.”
“What?”
“I love you,” she said.
“Well, I love you, too, so come back soon, will you?”
“I will,” she promised, and then they hung up.
Patricia sighed. My fantasies are out of control! It aggravated her so much now. But at least there was some solace: Dr. Sallee said this is common for women my age. There’s no reason to feel guilty, because they’re just fantasies. I’d never really cheat on Byron. . . .
Before she could consider anything further, she spotted Ernie coming down the hall in a robe.
“Hey, Ernie?” she called out.
He stuck his head in, his long hair combed out in wet lines. “Oh, hey. I didn’t even know you were here.”
Yeah, I’m here, all right, spying on you in the shower. “I meant to get up early, but it took me a while to fall back to sleep once we got back from the fire. How’s Judy?”
“It’s funny,” he said. “She’s more pissed off than depressed about the Ealds. She don’t like the idea that Squatters are makin’ dope on her land.”
“Well, it’s just a few of them.”
“Yeah, I know. She’ll be all right. It’s just too much goin’ on at once. She ain’t handlin’ it well.”
Patricia deliberately avoided eye contact. Just his being in the same room relit some of the shower fantasy’s fire. “I wanted to ask you something. Do you know who officially declared Dwayne dead? I know he was cremated at the funeral home, but where was he autopsied? Is there a family doctor or something?”
“It was the EMTs who picked his body up just off the Point,” Ernie informed her. “And they took Dwayne’s body to the county hospital there, to the county morgue. So I guess that’s where they did the autopsy, but that’s about all I know. You might wanna ask Chief Sutter.”
“I already did,” she said, looking off. And he seemed vague.
“What’cha wanna know that for?”
She shrugged. “I just want to see the autopsy report. Nobody seemed to know any details about the murder, not even Judy.”
“That’s ‘cos Judy doesn’t want to know ’em. You know how she is. She coulda got a copy of the autopsy report, legal-like.”
Legal-like, Patricia thought. Even the backwater way he talked seemed attractive. “I do know how she is, and I can’t really blame her. Learning the details of how her husband got his head cut off would just rub her face deeper in the tragedy. But I keep hearing funny things about the incident, and no one seems to know exactly what happened.”
Ernie nodded. “Just like any small hick town. Everything’s rumors.”
“What other rumors are there?” she couldn’t help but ask.
“Well, over the past coupla months a lotta Squatters have disappeared—that’s the biggest rumor goin’.”
“I’ve heard something along those lines. But they didn’t really disappear, they just pulled up roots and moved somewhere else. Even Squatters can get sick of living in the same place.”
“Sure, and that’s probably true. But that’s what I’m talkin’ about. The way people are in a town like this. There’s always gotta be a mystery goin’ on, even if it ain’t true. Rumor is some of these Squatters was actually murdered. By Dwayne.”
The comment jolted her. “Dwayne?”
“Um-hmm. And you wanna know the rest?”
Now Patricia was almost laughing. “Of course!”
“Rumor is that Everd Stanherd used his boondocks magic to kill Dwayne—for revenge.”
“And people actually believe this?” she asked, astonished.
“Oh, yeah.”
“I don’t believe in ‘boondocks’ magic, and I’m sure you don’t either.” She paused, looking at him hard. “Do you?”
He paused himself, which seemed strange, then cracked a smile and said, “A’ course not. All I meant is to show ya how things work here. There’s rumors for everything. And that’d be great if you really could see Dwayne’s autopsy report, and put an end to that rumor.”
“Oh, don’t worry, I will.”
“I got work to do in the yard, so I’ll see ya later,” he said, and disappeared from the open door.
What a strange conversation. But at least it got my mind off . . . him. Middle age is turning me into a closet slut! And he was right about the rumors. People made them up to make their lives feel more interesting. Patricia had to admit she was intrigued herself, and that was why she picked up her cell phone again and called her office. Her associate put her through to the boss, the chief managing partner, Tim McGinnis.
“So how are things down there in . . . where?” he asked.
“Agan’s Point, southern, southern Virginia.”
“Never heard of it. Sounds like a hillbilly town.”
“It sort of is,” she said through a laugh. “D.C. and this place are two different worlds. Everything all right at the firm?”
“Well, other than the roof threatening to collapse since the day you left, things are great. I hope you get back here soon, because the Walton account wants to go to settlement.”
“Give it to the associates; I don’t have to be there.”
“They want you, nobody else. I guess you’re the only lawyer in D.C. they trust. Please come back soon.”
“God, you sound like my husband. Don’t worry; I won’t be more than a week.”
“Thank God.”
“But I also wanted to ask you something.” She got to the point of her call. “Didn’t you tell me once that some buddy of yours works for the governor of Virginia?”
Tim laughed snidely. “Yeah, but he’s not my buddy; he’s my brother. He’s the number four man in the state government, director of public safety. Oversees every police department in the state, every fire department, county sheriff’s—everything.”
Perfect, she thought. “Are you in any position to ask him a favor?”
Now Tim laughed harder. “Since I practically put his boss in office with private fund-raising contributions, I think I can safely say my brother would shit turkeys and whistle ‘Dixie’ if I told him to. Why?”
Patricia was amused by the talk. “I need access to an autopsy report, and I don’t have the time to do a FOIA request. My sister’s husband—Dwayne Parker. Nobody knows the exact cause of death, and I want to find out.”
Tim’s incredulity could be sensed over the line. “I thought you said he got his head cut off! That’s the cause of death: head cut off.”